"seeped" poems
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.
Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...
...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.
His "I love you"s became poison,
That seeped deep into my bones,
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
i think we still exist
somewhere in the universe
behind the sun
where all of earth’s abandoned
soulmates go to rest
i think i can see us
when i look up at the sky
and squint directly into
the rays of light,
your brown eyes burning
into mine
i think we are together
in the time that trails behind
the present, dancing
in circles until the last stars
fizzle out
i think that our promises
seeped into the soil, like
february rain, our souls sown
together, tucked in
beneath the world
i think what we had is
somewhere just out of reach,
pulsing in the dim spaces
between heat lightning
and although, in this lifetime,
we became nothing but shadows,
monsters that linger on bedroom walls
we are there, we are alive,
and we are still in love.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
i am sinking
further into the darkened depths that is my mind
my heart,
my lungs,
my mind,
collapse
i try shake this illness that
holds my existence captive,
a prisoner in my own mind
i long for the days where my breaths were sighs
of relief,
of happiness
i ache for the moments where
life was not a gloomy mess.
where the sun seeped in through the window
and everything felt okay
will i ever feel whole again?
will i ever rid of this disease?
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
About a year ago,
I quit smoking.
My counselor - a
Firm anti-smoker -
Told me, "Well done,"
And as I left
Her office, a thick cloud
Of bus-exhaust billowed
Up to the third story
Window, and seeped within.
"No smoking," the sign said;
"It's bad for your health."
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
The house was haunted
The family fled
They couldn't find the priest
So they got me instead.
I read aloud my poems
Full of sorrow and pain,
About dreary things
And nearly going insane.
"My Gawd", the ghosts cried
" This is fierce gloomy stuff,
I thought we were bad
But this, Enough! Enough! "
Well they wailed and they shrieked
And they wailed some more
Then holding their ears
They ran out the door.
Even ghosts they desert me I thought
After they'd gone
They'd never even heard of a sorrow
so deep
Or a pain as sharp as mine.
I sat there all alone in the silent house
With not a whisper, no! not a mouse
When all of a sudden there came
something strange
A little sound like that of slow trickling
water.
"Have you something to say to me
House", I asked
"Before I up and leave you forever",
The little sound, it stopped all at once
and looked up
As if very surprised at having been
discovered.
I rose to leave
But quickly turned back amazed
When from down & out of the
chimney
Crept this little voice so slight & warm
& tender.
" Forgive me Sir", it said,
"But I could contain myself no longer,
That little sound you hear, the tiny
trickle
Is but the teardrops from my eyes
dripping
Such a pain and sorrow as yours
I never heard before
Those anguish drenched words
They seeped through my walls right
into my heart
They pierced me deeply,
Yea, they pretty near tore me apart,
I'll remember you Sir when you're
gone
I don't think I could ever forget you".
I listened and was sorely moved
"Thank you House ", I said, "thank
you, thank you kindly"
And turning again at the front door
"Goodbye House, look after those
who'll live here, won't you".
Outside the birds, they were singing
And up in the sky, the sun
The sun, it was shining.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
Last Night it rained and poured,
Lightning and Thunder.
Passion seeped thru the Sheets,
of Two Hearts that lay Under.
Kisses were exchanged,
to pacify the brewing Storm.
Hands went Flirting,
soaring the Temperatures Warm.
As both legs got locked
high up the Shoulder.
The Night, turned Darker
and the moves, got Bolder.
Nights on White Satin,
are truly a Delight.
Romance is on the High Seas,
until the Sun pops it's Light.
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 8:46 AM UTC
Thin, white wrists.
Bone white
Like china
And just as brittle.
They make that coarse, scraping sound when they touch one another.
The kind of sound that delicate, expensive teacups make when stacked
The wrong way.
It makes me cringe.
Little blue veins kiss the surface of them,
Hissing and sizzling when the air gets
Too close
Like tiny snakes.
These wrists
Have made promises.
They have
Borne loads.
These wrists have snapped like twigs
Under the weight of a heavy,
Punishing love.
But, pressed back together the way they'd been,
They hardened oncemore
Like stone
And the cracks and fissures
Sank inside again
And smooth, unmarred, delicate white skin emerged
To begin the process over.
At night the snakes whisper and murmur against my cheek in their sleep
And sometimes, quite suddenly,
They sink in their fangs
And I awaken with a start,
A sharp pain radiating out to my fingertips
Like a shock.
Last night I felt their strikes by the hour
One,
Two,
Three, more.
And this morning a strange... fullness
Began in my wrists
And seeped out
Up along my arms
Through my collarbones and down
Into my heart.
Perhaps it was the venom
Working
But where it spread I
Settled
Like an old stone wall.
Like the halls of a castle
That has seen too much death
And too many kings.
I sank into myself
For the first time
And the ground felt heavily solid
And I felt
Only the hollow hiss
Of little blue and green serpents
Dreaming inside me
And that
Was something like certainty,
Although of what
I still don't
Know.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
the magnolia was a bit of a *******
(as far as trees can be ********
and like very many other things—
like japanese candy from the Fugi Mart in Greenwich
(across from the McDonald’s and next to
the music shop where I got my viola)
and like pokemon cards and nintendo gaming systems
and like Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” on a pink CD in a Hello Kitty radio
—that ******* of a magnolia was a distinctive taste
of the years I spent growing up in my house at the end of Wyndover Lane.
the ******* thing was almost perpetually in bloom.
it barged into both spring and autumn
(it didn’t give a **** about timing)
those pink and white spongy petals padding the ground
and at first you think it’s ******* beautiful
sitting in the crook of the trunk where it split into
two large
separate branches
tilting your chin back to catch a glimpse of blue between fat blossoms
then the petals start rotting
water-retentive little *******
and you can’t sweep ‘em away because they stick to the patio
brown clumps slipping under rubber soles
my dad lets loose a string of curses
and the magnolia shakes with laughter
I tried pressing the petals in a notebook once
while I was in that naturalist phase it seems all little girls go through
when you make fairy houses out of bark in the backyard
and put flowers between the pages of books because it feels
oh-so-much-more significant
than picking a pretty thing and showing it to mom
but the magnolia seeped through my spiral ring
and when I opened it up a month later they were dry tan papery things
not at all velveteen and rosy
and there were garish pink bloodstains all through the ten pages
on either side
magnolias don’t preserve well
except, honestly they do don’t they
then of course there’s that childhood tragedy that everyone has
when your dog got hit by some soccer mom’s suburban
or your teddy bear was lost in an airport
or maybe you just liked to cry because some things
were just really worth the tears at the time
but when I came home and found out they cut down my ******* ******* of a magnolia
I bawled
there wasn’t
even
a
stump.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
Autumn crept up on us slowly
We felt the lingering touch of Summer start to fade
And the heat that had seeped into our skin
Was beginning to dissipate
I watched the leaves go from brilliant green
To deep oranges and reds
They were beautiful despite the fact that they were dying
It broke my heart to watch the trees betray them
When the last leaf fell, you were already gone
Summer has returned to me, this time I am aware that it is fleeting.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Love feels like coming home
But I've found homes in many people
Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us
Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor
After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet
It cannot be fit in a poem
People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty.
It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen.
It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers
Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden.
Love is like coming home.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
I saw you staring blankly in your room
You were lying down, like energy has nowhere to bloom
Mama always deliver you food
You don't eat with us anymore
I heard you cried, Mama told us about it
I understand why and my heart wrenched
I wish I can do or say something, anything
But I don't know what act or words will be soothing
I know your body misses to puff that smoke from a cigarette
It is hard to stop, friends who've been there told me about it
But you had to, we've been telling you to
And because your body is also disappointing you
I wonder where your sweetness has gone to
Maybe they literally seeped into your blood and runs through
Maybe I had inherited it in my veins too
Don't worry I am proud, because this is from you
Worrying has been your hobby lately
Because our youngest still has one more year 'til she finishes her college degree
The house, electricity, water expenses, and the money
Because you could work no more, as per your exhausted and old body
I wanted to tell you that everything's gonna be alright
But, Papa, I cannot lie
I honestly don't know if it will
I am also doubtful, I am also worried
But Papa, as your eldest, I am ready
To take on the responsibility you carried
I know, I know, it'll be heavy
But I can do it, don't worry about me
You have worked hard enough
See, we already came this far
If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had
The best family I can wish for, and the best of life
So please, be energetic again
Please eat with us again
Please dry your tears
Please get well
Please tell us those sweet-nothings
Or the corny jokes that had us laughing
And we'll tell you, you're still the most handsome being
Our eyes have ever seen
So get a lot of rest
This is just an obstacle, a test
Sit back and relax
Just watch your eldest, just watch
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
It was hard in the Moonta Mines that year
For the miners, down in the pit,
It wasn’t a place for a weak man, but
The Cornish Miners had grit,
They burrowed deeper with every day
Extracting the copper ore,
And the skimps grew high in the heaps that piled
Not far from the Moonta shore.
They wore their helmets deep in the mine
With a candle fixed to the brim,
And worked in the glow of the candlelight
While the pumps pumped out and in,
They pumped for water, they pumped for air
For the air in the mine was rank,
And water seeped at the lowest lode
Where the atmosphere was dank.
They built their cottages out of lime
And mud, with a building board,
On Sundays, that was the only time
Once they had prayed to the Lord,
The Cornish Miners were Methodists
Built numerous churches there,
And Cap’n Hancock had said, ‘Attend!
Or your job is gone – Beware!’
Those men of flint had hearts of gold
And they raised their children fine,
Sons would follow their fathers then
And go to work in the mine,
One Christmas Eve they were gathered there
By their hundreds, on the green,
A candle lit on their helmets each
Like a glittering starlit scene.
The wives and children were there as well
With their voices raised in praise,
The swelling sound of an angel choir
With their humble miners ways,
They called it Carols by Candlelight
And the movement grew apace,
It spread all over the world from this
The Moonta Miners grace.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Even though it has been ages
since we've talked
I know I got to you
I seeped under your skin
And I still reside there
Quietly waiting...
For you to feel that itch again
If you would just scratch
You could still feel me
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
How can one express their heart
when words are not enough,
how can I even dream to start
when my tongue finds it so tough.
Let me try...
You are the graffitti
tagging
me as yours
you are the scent
of stale beer
in late night smokey bars
you are the
pain of paper cut
where lemon juice seeped in
and the bitter
taste of sugar
replaced by sacherin
you are the days
felt wasted
and night times thrown away
and the silence
found in laughter
just to keep the tears at bay
you are my anger
my sorrow
and my pain
and given
my time over
we would do it all again.
These are not insults
these are the depths of my heart.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
Walking in a circle is, in the fondest sense, going absolutely nowhere, even though it feels better than walking completely backwards. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I have never even been face to face with you and mine grows weaker and weaker with the length of time between the moments I get to touch you. The strange thing is that, prior to meeting you, I have a hard time describing what it was I was even doing - the storms you have hurled into my quiet life is all I know now, and I never realized just how flimsy my own infrastructure was. I have seeped into the walls you throw dishes in and the floors you roll around on, and I feel everything your fists do equally, if not more. Who knows my body better than you? The places I dip and divide and slope and bend; who has held me down with nothing but words and sweaty silence that lay thick enough for us to cut with butcher knives? My stomach is trained to clench is desperation when your name is mentioned and I am nervous around anyone who shares with you; a picture is worth a thousand words, but your name is worth one million, and you've never spoken mine aloud but I have murmured yours, like a mantra, repeatedly, groaning in the way wounded animals do and trembling with that same fear. I can't count on my fingers how many nights I traded sleep for a reason to talk to you, and all too well do I know how many lifetimes are crammed into the seconds before an anticipated phone call. People might wonder how I even survive when you aren't around, but how many ways can a dog entertain himself when the master is away? Oftentimes, in a state of unwarranted panic, I claw at my clothes as though you are lurking underneath, and only rarely are you there, metaphysically. I am not the only person the rain falls on; I understand that there are plenty of others who are lulled by the charm of someone who knows nature of a human being in the way that otherworldly creatures might, but in this instance I know that everyone is haunted in their own exclusive way, and you are always flickering in the periphery of my blurry vision when my bedroom lights are out.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Eggs, eggs, toss them high in the air
Catch em, and gargle, and mash them, and swear
Eat them with shells, eat them with sauce
Eat them with bags, eat them with moss
Eggs, eggs, between sandwich bread
That's what the wise elderly miller had said
Before came the bomb and he had dropped dead
Before being poisoned by a surplus of lead
And then came a centipede, long and sanguine
And bit a small child, so recently weaned
Off the protein derived from his mother's fine eggs
So he had to start munching on his mother's fine legs
"Be warned" said the Miller, his hair all askew
While dousing his wounds with mountains of glue
A tapeworm emerged, and looked toward the sky
Feeling envy toward all the birds that could fly
But the Miller was quicker, even in old age
He smacked the worm soundly, in a manner enraged
Bruised from the damage, and covered in glue
The worm turned away from the sky that was blue
Never with pelicans would he fly with delight
Never with owls would he soar through the night
For all Darwin's cruelty, an injustice rings
Tapeworms simply have no need for wings
So he bit the old Miller, and laid ten thousand eggs
They hatched and devoured his liver and legs
And as the man writhed, waiting to die
He vomited upward, up toward the sky
The tapeworm went flying, up toward the clouds
The air felt exhilarating, the rushing wind loud
For once in his life, he soared with the birds
Then in came a swallow, and bit off a third
His body, segmented, fell in parts to the ground
Tears seeped from his eyes, his face in a frown
From the ground he gazed up into the ominous fog
Before being lapped up by an unlucky dog
The End
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
Go choke on your delusional idea of love. No does not mean “change my mind” No does not mean liquor me up, get me good and drunk till I can no longer verbally reject you. My slurs of terror and anguish as I try to shove you off of me. Did it make you feel good? Did you feel like a real man- To take what was mine. Did it boost your ego? You had no right to sneak into my bedroom and steal my girlhood. I was 13. Chaos seeped into what was a serene life. The torturous and endless cycle continued for 3 god **** years. What man is so weak? So weak that he has to take what he feels he’s entitled to, from a little girl. I can never get back what you stole from me. They couldn’t find any evidence to prove the assault even happened, but the trauma can never be erased from my mind. The skin replaces itself every 7 to 15 years, so scientifically speaking your hand prints are still eminent on my skin. This flesh and bone is no longer mine. That home I took my first steps in, was no longer mine from the moment you creeped in. But you do not own me. I can still recall the first time I frantically searched for a sharp object in all the clutter, just trying to make myself distasteful to you. But you ignored the blood dripping from my thighs, dismissed the warning signs as if you were colorblind. Nothing could stop your calloused hands and feeble mind. Years later, your pressure still stands heavy on my heart. I labeled myself as damaged goods. But I am a ******* work of art. And I can’t undo what you did but I can use my voice to speak on the pain you’ve caused me. To raise awareness for those still suffering. You did not stunt my growth because I am in full bloom. I will not let you define a single part of me. I will grow as you regress. As you destruct everything you come in contact with. I will touch people and I will make jaws drop. I will be someone. Just watch me.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Your touch went deeper than my skin.
You've penetrated my being.
I breathe you in.
You've seeped into my every cell.
I have your name tattooed on my heart.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
she had an uncle who spent
twenty years in the ring,
landing solid blows until
he landed
in a downtown Oakland hotel,
older than he, wrecking ball got it
in the dawn of the cyber age
but for ten droning years,
it was his cage
he never had a title shot
but he kept his belly full
and had cash for the women, the drink
never drove a car, cabbies knew him
and knew the smell of gin meant
“keep the change”
when his legs got weak
and his left eye went to blur
the money stopped rolling in
but he still thirsted for the gym, the gin
he got himself a gig at Big G’s
just enough hours to clean out the showers,
to keep the johns from smelling of ****
and a few greenbacks comin’ his way
he would end each day
alone in his room, inhaling the gloom
that seeped over the transom
like smoke from a smoldering fire
but there was no fire left in the ancient hotel
or Parrot’s burned up belly
only fading memories
of a wounded warrior
who taunted his opponents
by mimicking every word they said
in the ring, where he earned a bird’s name
but never its sweet song, before time
took its tattered toll
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
turbulent **** glistening
our eyes were blistering
it was running from her mouth
she let it bleed into her own
what is this hell
she has
put
me
in
she is stripped naked
thrown into my mind
it is there she is greeted
with her favorite fear
of
****
i
am
not
like this
they tie me up
throw me
in
an
closet
we hear her screaming
we can't save her
they will
be
coming
in
me
next
fighting with the rope
they have left the light on
what's this
an
box
ahh
save my life
this
loaded gun
now
how do we get out
of
the
turbulent **** glistening she seeped
?
...
..
.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
what is unconditional love?
Unconditional love is known as affection without any limitations.
I felt this unconditional love the first time I stared into your green eyes
brown curls covered the ground where your head lay and I was seeped to a place that left me blind, or maybe I just didn't want to see how you obviously loved another.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
It was more like I was slowly sinking
deeper and deeper each day
You poured your love into me
And it drenched my heart
streamed through my veins
Soaking every single cell of my body
Leaking out of the pores of my skin
And dripping from my fingertips
To bleed into everything I touch
It flooded my chest
And filled up my lungs
Until it spilled out of my mouth
Trickling from my tongue
Saturating every single word I say
It flowed through every part of me
And eventually seeped into my bones
Making all that I am
Crave all that you are
I never fell in love with you
I drowned in it
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise
When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC