"secretly" poems
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
49k
"Society is cruel to make us believe we are sane, but we all secretly know that deep inside our minds, we are all insane."
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
The mother is first—
she is for all and down to earth.
She, the mother Fathima,
descended from uncharted Heaven—
that pivotal frontier
only the Prophet of all prophets has seen.
Then, there was no Adam, nor Eve, nor even Jibreel.
Every star across the seven skies
wishes to kiss that golden dust.
Not to mention the Moon at the center,
waning and waxing—openly and secretly—
unleashing its longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece against its forehead.
She knows—only then
the rough seas beneath her will calm,
bathed in the soft raining moonlight,
rubbing off upon a lucky, blossomed forehead.
Oh, if only—
scarcely could they ever see it!
The galaxies, since their inceptions,
have longed for it.
The bliss of the eyes—tucked away from the scene.
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!
It finds its core, its resonant lore,
in the shadow of the original feminine—Fathima.
There, the original matter explored;
Paradise breathed beneath her—
but she touched down at the heart of the Earth
without stepping or touching on Paradise,
only to give her stake away to others.
No land she would take on her way back, indeed.
Not in her name.
Do you know where Fathima’s grave is?
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges
most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs
vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores
hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark
schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen
businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve
I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year
or were it better
that we also took a rest?
* * *
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
If you are a girl and you are bisexual,
you're really just a ****
If you are a boy and you are bisexual,
you're really just gay.
Bisexuality isn't a real thing,
it's a phase. You're confused.
All girls are secretly bi.
You're just more honest about it.
Bisexuals like everyone,
they don't know how to have real relationships.
Bisexuals are looking for attention,
They're dramatic,
They're confused,
They're *****
Idiots
Sinners
Immature.
Wrong.
Bisexuals are people.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
I fall in love with everyone,
I'm falling hard for you.
You aren't something easily found,
you're rare,
and real,
it's true.
You've traveled such a rugged path,
but through the trials you grew.
This isn't all just simple math,
it's souls
and spirits too.
The future holds
what you can't grasp,
but you can see it through.
And when I place it on a graph,
it all adds up to you.
Scatter plot the present and past,
you'll end up with the new.
But isn't music,
secretly math,
that follows certain que's?
No!
Music
represents our love,
for all that may ensue.
It's symbolic
of our emotion,
either happy
or blue.
It's what I feel,
that prompts my life,
with what I need to do.
The sounds i hear,
release my fear,
and in my heart imbue.
A fire,
I could never start,
without some help from you.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
The way you stand
The way you sit
The way you secretly laugh for a bit
You’ve been hurt
You’ve been broken
And yet your heart is wide open
You think no one sees
You think no one cares
But that is really just not fair
Because I see
Because I do
My heart is filled by just looking at you
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
I recorded this years ago, but it's still funny today.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMpjsFkALLM
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Silently I cry hoping no one hears
Secretly caring for another in love's affairs
Experiencing love's worst of weapons
Heartbreak ominously beckons
Silently tears fall as I lie alone
On the bathroom floor unbeknown
For there are no more words, no more lies
Only a silent tear that never dries
Silently I cry with images of his face
Dimpled cheeks, his kiss and warm embrace
Hopelessness ensues for the way he held me tight
Remembering he's with her tonight
I lay in bed at night beside the one I'm bound
Holding my breath as tears compound
Feeling the love I once gave and then knew
All the while he's with someone new
Silently shedding tears as my life takes its toll
Killing my very essence, my mind, body and soul
Hearing the words, feeling the crippling pain
A lover's secret inevitably ends in vain
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
i am secretly in love with you
but i do not want to say to you
I feel it silly to say to you.
that i loved you always, and do still
if not love, it is what near to love
but this does not let me say to you
cause i feel i do not behove you
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
Cold now.
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.
I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.
Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe
that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.
In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.
17.4k
You look at me and you frown in jealousy.
Yeah, you secretly know I have swag.
Pants a little low, black and red shirt that says
“Sit down and learn from the Master,”
and a matching hat that states what you already know-
“FRESH”
You taste the bitterness of your words as you whisper lies to my back.
Yeah, you secretly know I don’t care.
Pants a little low, red and yellow shirt that says
“My swoosh is bigger than yours”
and a matching hat of who you think I resemble-
Superman
You hear the high pitched hissing that I’m doing well and hope that I fail.
Yeah, you secretly know I’ll succeed.
Pants a little low, black and blue shirt that says
“Just Did It”
and a matching hat that reminds you of what you need to do-
“OBEY”
You touch my strong shaped shoulders with yours and utter no apology.
Yeah, you’re secretly freaking out with excitement.
Pants a little low, blue and red shirt that says
“Don’t Bro Me If You Don’t Know Me”
and a matching hat with the best known bickering buddies-
Tom and Jerry
You smell my confidence in the aroma of chocolate axe and you pinch your nose.
Yeah, you’re secretly going to buy it later.
Pants a little low, black and white shirt that says
“Don’t sweat my swag”
and a matching hat that proclaims my feelings for you-
“I <3 Haters” and under the brim it says why-
“MOTIVATION”
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Everything's alright.
Look around you.
Everyone's been trying
While you barely get by,
And live in your hole alone.
I can't be
There for you.
You were never
There for me.
You paint your
White Roses Red,
And take no prisoners.
It's off with their head.
You say you want me,
But I don't love the dead.
I know you secretly hate
Those White Roses Red.
Blood stains.
Didn't you know?
You should have thought that out
A long time ago.
You want to protect me
From things
That are harmless.
Well,
If you want to protect me
Look in the mirror,
And protect me
From what you see.
I'm not bulletproof, you know.
You may be oblivious
To the scars that you made..
But they show.
You can't go by,
Because to you
Nothing is alright.
But I can't stay
And tell you to fight,
Because I know you.
It will do no good.
You paint your
White Roses Red,
And take no prisoners.
It's off with their head.
You say you want me
But I don't love the dead.
I know you secretly hate
Those White Roses Red.
I won't like you
Until you say
That you were wrong
And wash the red away.
But I won't wait around
Because in truth I know
That I would have to wait
Until my dying day.
Just wash the red away
Until it doesn't show.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
I knew he was special,
over what you call sanity,
he is still admirable.
Among his rejection,
I guess I just had to make sure that
craving him secretly,
was all I could possibly do.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
The girl who would rather spend her Friday night at home organizing her room than at the parties.
The girl who would rather curl up and read at lunch than sit and socialize over talk of nothing but "people".
The girl who would rather drown out the world with music than sit in class and be involved.
The girl who would rather work alone and finish her homework in class, than sit in the big social groups making weekend plans.
The girl who would rather be independent and be judged as a loner than be friends with people who will secretly judge you.
The girl who would rather collect books and records than makeup.
The girl who would rather study astrology than watch every show on Netflix.
The girl who would rather thrift shop and buy $3.99 boots than buy top of the line $80 boots.
The girl who realizes that all of this does not make her any better than them.
The girl that realizes she is only trying to impress herself; confidence is key.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
Having observed others and containing the self consciousness of a noticer (do other people look at me the way I look at them?) she would dress in old borrowed clothing that smelled like other peoples’ laundry and leather because secretly she wanted to wear the other people try them on and she had this wrinkle between each brow that made her look just sort of worried no matter how she tried to press and smooth that wrinkle down with her thumb and in very private moments she’d stare at her features in the mirror with a sort of curiosity because she’d been told by leering men that she was beautiful but sometimes she saw only features: Nose eyes mouth all in pretty good proportion sure but she supposed the thing that held her curiosity was not her face itself but rather the disconnect between the face and the universe of thought behind it and all this she’d marveled at a very young age as ma would see her staring at herself in front of the bathroom mirror or in store windows and tell her not to be so vain kid to hurry along
And so she feared writing about her own vulnerable beauty for fear that she might be both of those things—vulnerable and beautiful. Instead she would take an hour long train ride, fake-dozing so as not to be ticketed, walk anonymous between busy persons until she reached a place that satisfied her Washington Square park, perhaps, or some small playground on the lower east side, or down by water or the hip corner shops in Brooklyn. And there, in strangers, she would find her vulnerable beauty, and there with the aid of a pen they became her and she became them.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
To the girls who are secretly so broken
You WILL be alright
I know you have scars on your soul
Maybe your heart
Possibly your wrists
None of this is your fault
And even if you think it is
Let it go
Not that you can, that easily
But try
I know you are broken
I know you're not okay
Especially when people ask how you are and you answer "I'm fine"
When what you really mean is "I'm alive"
But what do you really care about your own survival anymore
Well I just want you to know
There is beauty in broken glass
And to me
There is immeasurable beauty
In broken girls
So don't you ever forget
You cannot be defined by pain
You're too beautiful for that
Stay strong, broken girl
Nothing is ever really broken
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Don't look at me that way
You can't always have your way
No I'm not someone you slay
And no you can't ask how much I weigh
Don't say the place where I belong is the kitchen
Just because I am a woman.
Don't stare at me secretly from the window
Don't think you can impress me you ******
Don't think you could ever be my shadow
Always behind me trying to follow
Don't think my courage can't be summoned
Just because I am a woman.
Don't think you can sit in the empty seat next to me in the bus
What , do you think I can't create a fuss ?
Don't think you can just touch me and run
It shows you're scared and what makes you think you have won?
Don't you think it's unfair to continue female foeticide
What makes you think you're the one to decide?
How is it an honour, when it is honour killing ?
Why can't you be the one to understand her feelings?
No , I don't think you can treat me like vermin
Just because I am a woman.
So how about you show us some respect
And your actions , you began to inspect
And how about you treat us as your equal
I'm pretty sure that is legal
So how about you apologise honestly, it will be forgiven
Oh yeah, that's because I am a woman.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
You and I
have a story
behind closed doors,
sneaking at night,
stealing kisses,
secretly holding hands.
But you and I
both know
this story
shall never be told
not even to a single soul.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
I know I’ve said erasing it
Is not facing it
And that to face something takes bravery
Well, I’m done crying
And I’m sick of waiting
For something that will never happen
I’m sorry I missed you
And that I fell for
“unconditional” love provided
Through thick and thin
Until the final spin
When you split
Slowly but surely
You erased the happiness
The love we had
For one another
Slide it under the cover
To be buried with me
Now, it’s my turn
Never thought it'd come to this
So much for learning to trust
Instead ill learn to erase
And delete every last place
I secretly hold you in
I faced it
And I took the beating hard
While he ran
And left me standing
On a ledge looking up, praying
For answers
I’m done hurting
Done with thinking you won’t leave
That you couldn’t have left
So I’m going to block you
From my memories for a new
Day that I will get through
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
Dating gay guys works
For women now and then.
You might end up dating them
Over and over again.
Many are good dancers
And dress in current style.
And while you won’t get laid
You’ll have fun for a while.
After dating all those jerks
You’ll surely wonder why
You never had the idea of
Going out with a gay guy.
You can dress pretty and
Never need to wear a mask.
He won’t make a move on you
No matter how you ask.
Dating gay guys works
For women and gay men.
You might end up dating them
Over and over again.
Many are good dancers
And dress in current style.
And while you won’t get laid
You’ll have fun for a while.
Your girlfriends will see you
With a guy who is lava hot.
And if he isn’t to femmy
They won’t ask whether or not.
They’ll just see you at bars
And dancing the night away.
They’ll never think to ask
If that big hunk is gay.
Dating gay guys works
For women and gay men.
You might end up dating them
Over and over again.
Many are good dancers
And dress in current style.
And while you won’t get laid
You’ll have fun for a while.
And the girl talk you can have
About all the smoking guys
About their gorgeous bodies
Their smiles and their eyes.
If you pick the right guy
You can find out right away
Which other guys in the club
Are actually secretly gay.
Dating gay guys works
For women and gay men.
You might end up dating them
Over and over again.
Many are good dancers
And dress in current style.
And while you won’t get laid
You’ll have fun for a while.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
•
you
secretly
wishing, for
your writes to be
noticed•simple sign
that they have not been
missed•with every view
and every like•your popu-
larity does spike•somewhat
places your art on the poetry
map•between major players,
you close the gap•constantly
checking to see who's been
reading•you're always deli-
ghted to see the *'yellow
lightning'*•a wish...
for those who
are writ-
ing
•
secretly hope not only for your words to be
reaching far and wide, but also... trending•
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Stress overpowers
My everyday thinking.
I appear to be afloat
But secretly, I'm sinking.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.
Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.
I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.
When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.
When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.
It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.
When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.
And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.
I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.
You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.
"Hey. I made it another day."
I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.
I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.
By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.
I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.
And if I have kids one day, do you really think...
That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...
By making blue or pink...
...cupcakes?
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC