"scheduling" poems
I'm not one of those people
Who can bury that itch,
So very down deep
That they can't even scratch.
Certainly, most days, I'm satisfied with Me,
Just can't seem to be satisfied with Just me.
I want four hands, not two,
And four feet, covered in warm woolen socks between sheets.
I want clamoring voice from a throat that's not mine.
I want two heads, two hearts,
Two toothbrushes.
Different length hair in the shower
(You clean it out)
Accidental-shrunken work shirts
Cussing fights while I finish the laundry
Surprise apologies later.
Nights of scheduling compromise
Days of scheduling compromise
How many sick days can we skip work with?
I don't need some long-distance,
Not-a-relationship
Just-friends-with-benefits
********
I cannot hug me
I cannot bury my face in my chest
And just breathe.
My arms don't reach far enough,
And I get a crick in my neck only to find that
My shirts just smell like cheap soap.
Not looking for marriage.
Ten years until kids.
Maybe a dog later on.
We'll walk it together, and you can bag the poo...
It could be I'm just too addicted to ***
Or maybe I wear too much lingerie.
My corsets and evening gowns show too much of my flesh?
I know too many good random subjects for conversation?
My **** looks too good.
Your **** looks too good?
Pick one and tell me,
So I can find that one thing
That keeps the timing from not lining up
Or lets me meet men that aren't married, or
Under 18, Under 21, Under-able to carry out a conversation with words longer than 2 syllables.
I probably won't even see it coming,
That day when I find that someone who satisfies Just Me.
But for now, can I please find
Someone to just satisfy me?
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
two days into it,
already tip-toeing across creaking floors
and keeping eyes down to avoid confrontations.
all mom does is cry, argue, complain,
and i'm here to clean up the mess,
to agree with her, to make it all better.
two days into it,
already missing my support system
and my best friends to make me laugh.
i work out, but mom questions my reasoning.
i eat a snack, but mom questions calories.
i watch a show, but mom questions my scheduling abilities.
i do something as simple as lay down,
and mom questions my productivity.
i am seen as a drain on this family because
i am working on fixing myself.
questions upon questions that i have no answer to:
when am i going to work,
when is my group counseling,
when do i have volleyball,
how will i pay tuition,
how will i pay rent,
why am i changing my major,
how do i feel about people i haven't even
talked to in months,
am i going to mail him the necklace
i thought was lost,
am i depressed am i suicidal am i cutting.
mom i just don't have answers for you.
and i think it's about time you stopped asking.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
and this
I suppose,
is the life I'm living;
bundled up,
walking through the snow
with a hundred and two fever.
handling money
all day,
more and more and more money:
never enough.
taking money from those with too much,
giving it in turn to those with disgustingly too much.
alienated, dehumanized,
I work for those who think of me as a number. 60 hours a week,
I sweat and sweat,
selling a product I could never afford.
alienated and dehumanized;
I toil.
there is no pride.
my eyes: they no longer sparkle.
there is no pride,
there is no relationship with my product.
there is no pride in barely affording rent.
there is no pride in not being able to visit the health clinic.
there is no pride in being exploited.
go ahead, vamanos comradita,
speak out against, you know the worst they can do.
add a black mark next to your name,
call you:
radical,
dissident,
extremist,
in a word: othering
you are othered because you wish to eat the fruits of your toil.
you are othered because you're a human, you're not a number,
you're not a spot to be filled when scheduling, you're more than the recipient of corporate pay checks.
toil, toil comraditas,
there will one day be pride
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
The first day that I met you
My heart was pounding in my chest
But it could have been because
I ran there, to the Starbucks
On the Ave
The one you used to work at
But maybe it wasn't because I was
In such a rush
It could have been the coffee
I've heard that can increase your
Heart rate
Or maybe both of these are wrong
You see, I was born with a slight
Arrhythmia
Which messes with the way my heart beats
But maybe it was my hearts way of saying
This one is the one
There's no way of knowing
But ever since that day
I've been smitten;
Scheduling my whole day around
Getting to see you
And I even remember the first time
I rode in your car
Because
You were worried about me
But it became a regular thing
You drove me home on the nights
You worked a close
And each and every time I fell more and more
And you started to feel like home
Because home is not a place
But a feeling in the heart,
And maybe it was my arrhythmia
But I've felt it since the start
And then you up and left
You moved so far away
But you needed to be with your family
I just wish you could've stayed
So I guess I had to visit
Because I was craving you so much
You see, you're like a drug to me,
You're my ******
My crutch
Because I wouldn't make it
Through every day life
Without your voice to hold onto
And our conversations replaying
Over and over
In my painseeking mind
Play it through
Then rewind
Again and again
I reminisce you
And every time we're together it's like
The world stops
And as we lay together
You tell me
"I can hear your heart beating are you okay?"
And maybe you heard
The arrhythmia
Which is why you were concerned
But my heart pounds in my chest
Like the timpani in an orchestra
And every third beat is half the length of the others,
But that's just the arrhythmia
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
<>
***"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting
that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^***
the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,
the "tomorrow" word
as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity,
please, somebody help us, almost
an inevitability
the possibility of a realizable event,
as if the poem composing was
the future's assuming a 99% probability, right ready for scheduling
offering me two choices:
create event or view calendar?
as if the next shooting, bombing,
and my glum apprehension thereof,
as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing
of my undoing,
somehow my fears create or anticipation of
the "next one" makes me a guilty part
my heart cracking with despairing moans
knowing that this is foolishness
but
not to me
for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution,
'tis already the small death of me
each death a cut in the same spot,
and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer
find myself
jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected
no view, no window to crack, no window no view
no to letting in fresh air, hope or something good,
and yes to no,
I know about this and that and words
intended to offer up optimism,
albeit on a small scale
I am careful not to mock
the words and those who offer up
but seriously,
don't
I came to,
I came to this place to write
only love poetry silly love songs
and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane
writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving
feeling stoopidly foolish even as
I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck
I'll think I'll change my name,
honestly,
only love poetry? cries out ridiculous
this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,
come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor
so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow
and it appears right away, right after:
6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions
and it appears that I'm too late
confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery. and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
I've always been the kid in the hall
Outside the office door of some metaphorical "principal"
Donning a dunce cap, back to the wall
Anticipation spikes in general
This time it's special
When waiting for the next hypothetical, often hypocritical, shoe to fall I make it a double
Dribble and drop the ball
Taking on the challenge of life was a bad call
The order's too tall, don't try it y'all
What I've been given to work with is abysmal
Can't rely on it being factual at all
A criminally out of date owners manual
A For Dummies series appealing to a low level criminal
Vaguely creating, and/or aiding, this failure ritual
Oh the unmitigated gall
Scheduling my burial service to take place before the funeral
Fuucking brutal
I hate it and it seems the feelings mutual
The line stepping is habitual
The backward motion is perpetual
Not sure any of this is avoidable
But, what do I know...
...everything and nothing is impossibly possible
©2023
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 3:00 PM UTC
i seek validation from you,
you seek validation from them,
they seek validation from others,
always the same outcome.
every view matters
every like matters,
every comment matters,
every opinion matters.
i hate it,
scheduling my posts,
when will the most people be online,
why can't i be fine?
i am enough,
i am enough,
i am enough,
i am enough.
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 1:41 AM UTC
Can I imagine a future home
Which brothers and sisters could loan
And bring their blossoming born and bred?
And play and dance and keep well fed?
Could work be kind enough to bring
Dividends for me to spring
A coup to conquer the village's heart?
With smiles from all my parts?
And bring my multitudes of strings
And teach the young to strum and sing
And build a body: strong and bright
So God will keep them in his sight?
I am averse to scheduling
But sometimes love is a roof: therein
Lie memories to study and
Transform into the promised land.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
My poor ticker
wants to know
right away.
No! No more
suspense,
No more
deliverance.
Scheduling for being a
Seven years friend,
Five years lover,
Two years fiancé?
How long do you
mean to stay?
Would you plan to
arrive any early?
Can you cut the
chase for me, please?
Fine. Never mind.
I can wait.
But I say this
one last time,
"I nomore love tragedies;
wherein it ends like -
*She was crazy like love.
He had the brilliance of all smiles.
They were both made for each other.
But they never met*."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
It may look like a setup
No consent
No scheduling ahead of time
No time to prepare
Raindrops falling
D
O
W
N
From an aching roof
Disappointment will ponder
Through each wall
Can you stop the inevitable?
You can't.
You must wait for the rainstorm to be over.
And so you must be reminded,
"Above All Else, Guard Your Heart."
Seasons
If we lose heart, we have lost everything.
Copyright© Cynthia Ulloa
All rights reserved.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
You're no good for scheduling but ideal for dancing.
While night tricks us into invincibility, whiskey tells us not to wait.
So educate me on the nonsense of foreplay to a friend's poetry,
And we'll lose our jobs over bongos and stale beer,
Trading tips for one second tears.
You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine,
I'll take a receipt for time lost between sheets,
While bruises take the place of scars.
Just as my dimples look more mature in the morning,
You sound better when your hands talk.
So I'll degrade a dollar for last night's sake
and the irony of grandpa in the morning.
Then we'll kiss what should be left on the floor,
And I'll keep you somewhere safe where I'm bound to lose you anyway.
I hope you find your keys :)
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
Rushing, pushing, running, sweating
checking, always checking
scheduling dates
squeezing in appointments
she is always busy
always busy...
yet she always has time
for others.
For everyone
but me
Dashing, thrashing, watching, waiting
she is drumming, her nails are always drumming
she runs as the world flies by and grumbles to herself
she doesn't have this or that or that or this or him or her or who or what or or or
time
she doesn't have time
not for me
just for them
Sleeping, crying, helping, whining
she is complaining, she is always complaining
she never has what she needs
she needs to relax
she needs to work
she needs clean
she needs...
I need...
time
she doesn't have time: for me
"Come back later! Not right now! Can't you see I'm busy?"
She is always tired, somehow.
"I'll make time for you, I promise, I swear!"
The fact of the matter is: she doesn't care.
I have time
I'm young
I'm free
I have time and I want to spend it
with her
but she doesn't have time
it's ticking away
like a clock
the pendulum swings
then the alarm rings
and then
and ONLY then
does she REALLY
not have time
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC
Age is a man made measurement
Called "the calendar and clock of life.".
Age never defines as to what portion of from when we were born
To when "We should" be "able to do"
As we compare to other's development
We seek determined to reach before or after In the usage of measuring
Unique beings steps upward
To what timely pace we need to make these steps of evolvement
The age measurement never supported
When or at what measurement of such who we should or should not love
When to love
Consider ourselves at what steps
On the ladder of life we should be at
In youthful strides or to when we should from
Activities of life or energies we are
Supposed to obtain, keep, have, or retire from
Clear the calender and clocks from
Existence
Who and what we have left
Are Human Beings
UNIQUELY Designed ENTITIES
Who all deserve their choice above ages definition of scheduling
As our souls always have the last say and assignment of what,when, and how life is explored and what energies it is able to keep hold off.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
It seems that the American education system values
A's on tests and higher rankings more than
The mental health of the students
who there would be no high rankings
Or A's on tests without.
Everyday I'm trying to lift myself up
Because I see myself as a
horrible, gross, ugly, aggressive,
worthless, useless, clingy, hell-bound person.
I know I am not a completely good person,
But I know that I don't want others to
Feel like I do.
No one should have to feel like
Everyday will come to nothing and
That friends won't miss you and
That people will get over you at some point and
That it wouldn't matter if you killed yourself
Because you don't make a difference.
I want to be there to lift others up
In areas where I can't lift myself and
Just let them know that
It's okay to not be okay, that
Someone loves you and
I will always be one of those people, that
I'll be there even if no one else is, that
If it's 2AM and you're suicidal that
You call me or some kind of hotline
And we'll get this sorted out together.
11% of adolescents will have developed depression
by the time they turn 18.
That is not okay.
Students are reported to Guidance
when something is amiss.
Guidance counselors are there to
help with scheduling and possibly developing
academic and social skills.
They are not knowledgeable about mental health,
and lots of times teens with depression
interact with people less and
as a result lack crucial social skills for
getting jobs that fit the academic goals that
we're told matter so much that
we think that sometimes the letter grades
on paper matter more than the student
who studied for hours to
earn that grade.
1 in 6 high schoolers have solemnly considered suicide
1 in 12 will attempt suicide, that number is increasing.
The education system needs to change
In how they handle mental health.
The world needs to change
How it handles mental health.
It's killing us.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
“I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.”
– Allama Iqbal
In September,
the harvest moon,
named by the Algonquin people.
A gift to the earth;
endowed for corn, beans, squash, sunflowers,
and received in bright
thankfulness.
When, finally, the time arrives
for an autumn moon
to take its place between the earth and sun,
swooping as close to earth
as bright fireflies filling the sky.
Lunar scheduling;
a time to deliver scoops of light to
the shadowy earth.
Human faces staring upward
at the inky sky.
Stars dimmed by the golden moon
that shines on prairies, sand, on city streets;
glowing its song of moonlight;
offering a nocturne to the silent ground.
Each upturned face,
waiting to be christened with moonlight;
a conduit of heavenly fire
that moves from face to face circling
in contra dance around the rocky earth.
And each up tilted face
in Calgary and Cairo, Belarus and Brazil,
rhymes with golden light.
As the moon glow wanes above, it waxes here below;
endowing our faces with moonlight, a celestial loan,
leaving the moon with only orange and red,
while September yellow clings to us on earth.
The sound of light brushing our faces,
settling into place,
with sweetness of chamomile,
fragrant with the end of summer.
Whispers of the autumn equinox,
and the earth keeping promises.
Soon we must return
the borrowed lightening,
the buttery splash,
to the orange-red moon.
And we pay.
Not with regret,
but gladly.
All we who have seen the hushing of the moon;
we hold forever in the particles that make ourselves,
the seeds of moonlight.
Pieces of the moon.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
“How does it feel, studying for your first exam of the semester?” My sister Annick dug at me, via Facetime.
“Oh, I’m miserable and no one even knows!” I exclaimed excitedly.
I already miss summer’s sense of infinite time and space, and life on the lake, with its big, wet, melancholy summer rains. But most of all, I miss the travel and delicious, swirling, excesses that form the dark side of long holiday freedoms.
I’ve been called excessive, I accept that and I have to check that aspect of my nature, from time to time.
“Don’t you have any brakes?” My roommate Leong once asked me, like I was some runaway train.
I remember last summer, how we almost eased into fall. As summer had faded, things changed and slowed down, as the European students turned back to their serious, ordinary lives. The bars and streets became deserted, carousels stopped spinning, arcade games were turned off, yachts sailed away, the eager summer wait-staff vanished from the elegant hotels. Brightly lit, summer-gaudy Saint Tropez became just another faded seaside town, where the paint everywhere suddenly seemed chipped and cheap.
This year, we sped up, by spending the last couple of weeks in flashy, frantic, fluorescent Manhattan - oh, man.
Then BOOM, we were dropped, as if from a great height, back into university life, back to cafeteria lines, shuttle buses and the scholastic gridiron - which oddly enough, has a lot in common with the teenage world. It was going from a-hundred-mile-an-hour adult freedom, to dealing with all the old teenage issues, like homework, tests, studying, the endless clock-watch scheduling of to and from classes - you know, the physicality of academics.
It sounds rough, I know. We’ve been told that as seniors, we can expect an even more important and frenetic emphasis on social life. Yep, we’ll be stepping things up to a whole new level this year!
Woot!! Maybe I’ll even get to wear some makeup!
.
.
A song for this:
September by Earth Wind & Fire
Sep 5, 2024
Sep 5, 2024 at 2:40 PM UTC
Writing poems on crinkled paper so the mind wont forget lines.
scheduling him on calendars so I wont forget he is mine,
quality time, a needed break from the constant stress that
causes earthquake, headaches.
Body shakes.
I tremble as beats stop,
Holding onto air for no breathing soul seems to care
That my lungs will no longer accept air.
Carbon fells empty lungs of pain
leaving just enough oxogen to sustain life on the same Earth
That gave birth to troubled minds and sickness
Am I supposed to feel grateful for this constant distress,
this nonstop pain that I just can't escape
while the media continues to ****
My idea of beauty for all to see?
While they tell me to be thinner
you all think I'm sick because bones is what my body
should seek?
Wanna take a peek of all the pain that I self infect?
Wanna view the person under the clothes so you can judge my soul?
Release your raft so I may cry more within,
Like words are not weapons that we are all equipped with
Like your negative **** is some necessary gift.
Explain me this,
Why do you read lines just so you can repeat
to some other misguided soul you meet?
Words are cheap unless followed by the moving of feet
left, right, then repeat.
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 9:52 PM UTC
How convenient it is for you to forget me.
The persona that I carefully slipped on for you Ended Up being nothing more than clutter around you,
Something that wasn't even distracting, it was just there and
You needed it to not be there.
Please say you haven't forgotten me yet.
But here is truth: you are preparing to forget me,
You are already hiring my replacements,
You are already scheduling your life around the space that I once filled,
You are already waving me off as if
I am leaving and I am still here.
It's hard to do well in life when you are no more than what people remember of you.
So what will you remember?
Better yet,
What do you remember?
Will you remember how I nearly passed out and you caught me, or will you remember the time
I spat out the Unholiest of word to you,
When I said that I hated you.
Believe me, I will remember you. And you will live to be so much more than what I remember. Just know that I loved you with all that I could.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
I’m trying to find someone
who understands
Someone who’s been there–
someone who’s smiled like a fool,
suddenly understood what all those songs
are really about.
Someone who’s been frozen with anticipation,
known a limited number of days.
Someone who’s seen months trickle
to weeks
to days
to minutes
to that last moment.
Someone who’s felt the pain of that last embrace
Someone who’s known how it feels
to walk away for that final time,
knowing it’s the final time.
Feeling every nerve, every cell urging
you to run back to that place of delirium–
back to light and softness and silliness,
back to synchronized movements,
back to quirky phrases, laughter, and correct grammar,
even back to long work days, scheduling,
line notes, prop tracking, blocking
back to that connection that transcends
categorization.
Back to 1 AM hugs
Back to that enigmatic “love ya.”
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
Nothing has never been scheduled,
but the power of the question.
Itself, the world makes no sense,
without scheduling it doesn’t.
And it’s not the freedom to think,
or even the calmness of free will.
It goes deeper inside with no trace,
so people use to believe what they don’t.
When hopes become the sole odds,
when the odds become triggered defeats.
And so, people will forever value and worry,
but what’s the beginning and the end?
The past seemed to not be determined,
and the future; yes; it does.
You all forget your past was your future,
and your present never dies.
Arriving to the conclusion of non-caring about that,
to just live or feel comprehensive about your now.
And never about your after or before,
exclusively about your then.
This could lead you to madness.
So what’s the right thing?
Should I care about?
I am not frightened,
I am just curious.
But nobody seems to believe it.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 12:51 PM UTC
you need not think we are
needy for scheduling
no time interval measures an electronic
friendship
electron this, wafered between cells that connect,
though and through neurons that shall never meet with skin contacting
this custody of word shards shared,
breaks the bonding bound curses of measurement of
god and einstein's irrelevant relativity definitions
de rigeur rigored curved time and space,
we, well-together,
make ice cream popsicle stick snap,
that,
the sound of our
unscheduled synapse,
being contented with
when ever,
as a forever
an unkempt promise,
kept dear
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
I want you to chase me
when I walk away.
To put in a little effort.
Show me you care,
Show me that you want me around.
Show me you want me here.
I need your reassurance,
Someone’s..
Anyone’s..
Preferably yours.
I want you to pay attention to me.
I want your time.
No scheduling,
No planning.
I want to see you whenever we’re free.
No sneaking,
No meetups.
I want someone to see
When I wake up.
Day after day,
Month after month,
I want years with the same one .
I want to appreciate every single second
Every breath I take in your presence
I want to
Cherish every accidental touch
Every smile that lights up your face
Every word that makes my heart race
I want the same
Friday nights movie dates
I want the “I’m on my way home ,
You want a milkshake?”
A “text me when you make it home,
So I know you’re safe.”
I want there to be no distance between our minds.
I wanna know all of your thoughts ,
And I want you to want to know all of mine.
I want you to have time for me .
Don’t make time when you’re free,
Like you have to put a reminder in your schedule
Just to see me.
Saying you miss me
Knowing you only miss the pleasure
I can bring you.
I want you to want my mind
as much as you want what’s between my thighs.
I want to be known
By you.
Truly.
I wanna fall in love with your words
because I know they’re true
not because you’re only saying them
because they’ll benefit you.
I want more from you than you can offer me.
Even if I have to beg,
I’d beg
For you to **** me instead.
Just off me!
Only two things I plead
The fifth and insanity.
I want more things than I deserve to want.
Because the thing about “I deserve”
Is that you don’t deserve a thing
In life, except the right to breathe.
So, what do I want you ask?
I want someone to want me.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
Yikes!
Due to social distancing
my proctologist
is now scheduling
video appointments
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
But the unlock Samsung galaxy is the site that looks out for all the problems that are generated with the unlocking process of the Samsung galaxy. By utilizing these masque to all or any your current overall body periods once a week. The belt clicks in smoothly and is simple to use. Stimulate your tastebuds with various country inspired cuisines, this car seat is very sturdy, who can not use hard and easily broken, the entire *** weighing as little as , Unlimited editions may be great or enough breezes at no extra charge and soon .
You are happy with this document, Nowadays there have been a growing number of an internet customer or even customers as well as Brief Messaging Services SMS is becoming really popular, Apart from being an effective cleaner. Remember, Email scheduling is also an extremely effective form of reserving for Airport geneva chamonix transfers, discount rates make sure you try to eat a significant total of wholesome meals. Take to the Fairway with the Garmin gany golfing fan can easily not fail to be impressed by the Garmin G, only to learn that you have some dilemmas with .
The roof, which makes it an imperative purchase for all. Isn't really everybody looking to make an enhancement to their golf handicap. Technological advances in the latest years have made it possible for this rugged tool to even enter the market in the st location. Through your IRA to utilize toward your obtain when you are an initial time residence shopper. Inch color display which can be reviewed in the sun and runs at . Pixels, of specific value for those that do not like to be hindered when they have just begun their golf .
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC