"sharpener" poems
The eraser erased my bad habits
While the pencil drew in new ones
The glue stick glued on a whole new face
As the scissors cut away my background and past
The ball point pen then made the changes permanent
While the colored pencils shaded in my body
The calculator changed my way of thinking
As the sharpener grazed over my rough edges
Finally, the ruler
I had to measure up to your standards
Now me and you
We walk, talk and think the same
Two moving as one
I don't even know who I've become
What I was before
You've changed me more than you'll ever know
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
“i haven’t seen her in years,”
said the hospital bed,
“though i’ve seen many others,
who sobbed violently like her,
who sunk into me like a young, rusting anchor.
who could not get comfortable in one position or
one mindset or
one truth.
i have felt them dig in their heels
and try to ache and and fight and
scream, just quietly enough not to wake their roommate.”
“i remember their shapes,”
said the hospital bed,
“how their voices rose slowly like a far-off ambulance siren,
how their faces fell when they remembered the emergency
was right here.
i have been kicked, punched,
clung to, held on to,
as if gravity switched suddenly and they feared
yet another aspect of the universe was against them.
i’ve seen ***** sheets and i’ve seen clean ones. i’ve
seen boys with tattoos on their faces and
razor marks on their arms. i’ve seen pain.
i’ve seen girls who wouldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who couldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who had turned a light off once and never wanted
to do anything else. i’ve seen pain.
i’ve felt love before
more often than the lovers thought they loved,
more strongly than the fighters thought
they could fight.
in shaky hands folding down blankets
more carefully than they have all week
in heads that flop ungracefully onto
pillows, securely,
fulfilled.
in the slow turn of a hospital bracelet
around a pale wrist,
in large, golden brown hands,
inspected through tear-blurred eyes,
through scratched glasses,
picked up off the floor after discovering
force won’t carry a ring of thin plastic
as far as you thought.
i hear change in whispers,
good night, good luck,
in hushed acceptance, in ‘yes,
i really am here’. in
screams that send nurses in panic only to find
you were laughing. in numbers,
in ‘five hundred milligrams,’
in ‘three gained pounds’, in
‘one more day’.
i hear shock, i hear fear,
in echoes of parents’ voices,
‘why here? why now?’
i have heard and seen and felt all of them.
but she,”
continued the hospital bed,
“hasn’t been in here in a while.
i haven’t heard her whisper
to her roommate about what she did
‘that night’, i haven’t seen her
sneak away from her pile of pajamas
as if she didn’t just hide something there,
i haven’t heard her empathize
with a pencil sharpener.
it’s been so long,
it’s hard to imagine,”
said the hospital bed,
‘i hardly remember her'.
if only the hospital bed knew
that she could hardly remember
herself from then either,
if only it knew she hadn't stopped
fighting once she left
if only it knew
how she felt when they said
she only needed to go to therapy
every other week.
it felt like progress,
and it felt like hope,
and no one better than
a hospital bed
could understand that.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
there is this girl
she's my pencil
her heart is my pencil tip
her eyes are my sharpener
once I broke her heart
and all my poetry left undone
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
I never got to thank you
Mister electronic pencil sharpener
I never got to thank you
Mister mechanical pencil
I never got to thank you
Mister dull pencil, because your eraser still works
And mister pencil without an eraser, because you’re still sharp
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
The blood boils inside my veins, heating every road in my bloodstreams corrupting my nervous system until there's an earthquake.
How can I save myself when rescuing myself means dying?
Surviving
that's all we try to do.
But when living is so hard and dying is so easy it makes me wonder,
why are we still breathing when a knife, a safety pin, a pencil sharpener blade can take it all away?
It seems we're addicted to pain.
Whether in the form of trying to escape or trying to get by
and I can't figure out which is worse.
-k.d.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
This sharpener blade
Pressed on my skin
Drawing blood as I breathe in.
The scars will not fade
And the scars will not lie
About the story of my life.
The sickening felling I get afterwards
I know that this is no good.
There I one thing that vegetable
One thing that makes me think
And that is the heartbeat
Which tells me that I'm alive
I cannot escape the feelings
Of never being good enough
I cannot escape the feelings
Of wanting to let go of life.
I'm desperate but still I can't accept
This life is just too hard to handle
So many people think I am strong
But they can't see the tears that fall.
I'm not good enough for life
I'm not good enough to stay alive.
With this cold blade pressed to my skin
I can feel the blood oozing
This lets me know I'm alive
That's the last thing I want to be.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
the museum of my heart
has a blurry picture of his green eyes
the boy whose I name I never knew
there's a special exhibit
of all the bathrooms I had a breakdown in
there's polaroid pictures hanging
of all the friends I lost through the years
and all the friends who lost me
there's the poetry I wrote about them
words written in red ink and messy handwriting
there's statues of copper and tin
of all the lovers who couldn't love me
there's a constant humming of white noise and lo-fi
echoes of unspoken words I kept and ones I never heard
there's a selection of wingless butterflies
and a collection of blunt pencil sharpener blades
there's a basket of fortune cookies
and every single piece of paper carries the same aphorism:
"amidst the loneliness, the things you loved will forever haunt you."
there's old tv sets and a stack of DVD's
of all the films I wish I'd seen
there's all the skeletons I've hidden
secrets written on napkins and snuck between the wall cracks
there's a brand new guillotine and a golden noose
carefully kept for anyone who tries to hurt me
there's blackberry trees, an open ceiling
and dark splatters covering the ground beneath it
there's a chapel with empty seats and burned bible verses
rose petals and pink, lilac and blue candles
where an altar waits for a future love's mementos
there's a fountain of sweat, blood & tears
there's me standing in the corner
waiting to hand you your ticket and lure you in
there's angels and devils praying that you make it to the end of the tour
Jan 29, 2023
Jan 29, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
Teenage girl, lost in the world
asked her little brother if she could borrow his pencil sharpener
***** aren't you a little old for coloring?" He teased and gave her the sharpener.
With a faint smile she replied: "Maybe, but I like the color red."
a.c.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Stencils and pencils
Sharpener mishaps
Doodles, scribbles
Scrambling shades
Blending sketches
Running axis points
Spherical shadows
Tinting hints and hues
Pencilled portraits
Cruel crooked eyes
The bendy nose
Philosophical muse
Artistically inspired
Shading and fading
Realistically amused
Fused within reality
Surreal tuned vices
Meet-ups and sit ups
Outlines freakily patched
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Laughs and screams,
Smiles and tears
A newly found love,
And "the boy I was gonna marry heartbreak".
You yell at your parents,
Hit your little brother,
And for what?
Because your mad at some high school boy,
Who couldn't keep it in his pants?
You should be yelling at him...
But ohh no...
You could never do that.
"It was a mistake."
He says,
"I love you, and I promise I'll never,
Ever, ever, ever do it again."
And then tops it off with a dazzling smile,
And runs his fingers through your hair,
Kisses your cheek,
And says,
"I gotta run, love ya babe."
Yeah...
He's gotta run...
Run to your bestfriends house,
Because he's bangin' her tonight.
Liar.
Ooops...
He did it again.
It was an accident..
Again.
But you forgive him,
Because you love him,
And he "loves" you.
You throw your friend to the side and proclaim,
"Its all her fault!"
But then one night when yall are hanging out,
He goes to the bathroom,
And leaves his phone sitting on the bed.
BUUUZZZZ
New text message,
From some girl named Brittany?
"Who the hell is Brittany?"
Not thinking,
You open the text.
It says,
"We gotta talk, now."
"Why is this chick wanting to talk to MY man?",
You think to yourself.
"What's going on."
"It broke..."
"What broke?"
"The ****** you idiot."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm pregnant."
There it is.
He did it once again,
And ******* up big time.
Can you forgive him?
There's physical,
Living,
Evidence this time.
You do what any rational teenage girl would do...
You throw a tantrum,
Scream "I hate you.",
And run home to daddy.
You tell daddy...
Daddys mad.
He runs out of the house,
Gets in the truck,
And races down the road,
Without a word.
You go up to your room,
Because what else can you do?
You go to your desk,
And see your drawings,
A beautiful art,
Thats always been your outlet.
But hows it gonna work for you this time?
What are you gonna do?
Draw him on top of the name Brittany,
With his **** in the middle of the A?
You sling everything off your desk.
The pencil sharpener hits the wall,
And breaks,
Leaving the metal blades exposed.
You pick it up,
And begin to draw.
But this time,
There isnt any pencils,
And there isnt any paper,
Just metal and skin.
You hack away at your teenage soul,
Going through your "emo" phase,
Wanting to feel normal,
And trying to make a time machine,
With your blood as the key,
To get rid of all the hurt he had caused.
"How did you handle the pain of all that?"
People at school ask when the word gets around.
"Drawing is my outlet."
You say,
And then walk away,
Pulling down your sleeves,
So your broken teenage soul is encased in last years sweater.
A teenage soul.
At 13,
So alive,
So new.
By 18,
Its dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
If I were a month, I’d be September.
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Thursday.
If I were a planet, I’d be Saturn.
If I were a sea animal, I’d be coral.
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a bookshelf.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be a sapphire.
If I were a flower, I’d be bougainvillea.
If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a crisp autumn wind.
If I were a color, I’d be auburn. (much like my hair)
If I were an emotion, I’d be wonderstruck.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a pomegranate.
If I were an element, I’d be air.
If I were a place, I’d be a field of wildflowers in Scandinavia or a bookshop in Northern Italy.
If I were a taste, I’d taste like sweet and bitter black tea.
If I were a scent, I’d be the smell of freshly baked goods.
If I were an object, I’d be a pencil sharpener.
If I were a body part, I’d be freckles.
If I were a song, I’d be Thoughts of Flight by Edmund.
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be bright purple converse.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
Before taking out a clean sheet of paper,
I hold before the blue of the window
a freshly-sharpened pencil pointing toward heaven
and blow the imperceptible dust
from the needle-tip
before getting down to business.
For in life’s long journey
few things afford greater satisfaction
than turning the crank
and powering the cylindrical burrs
of a mechanism which sharpens
the dulled mind of a yellow number 2 pencil.
In the silver pencil sharpener
I witness the marriage of utility and beauty
—a model for art and a purpose for life
celebrated each morning before this small altar.
2.6k
"Hey mom",
I say.
"Can you go get me another pencil sharpener?
Mine...
Umm,
It broke."
"Sure thing."
She says.
She comes back with a set of 12 small ones.
"You break yours all the time,"
She says,
"Will this do?"
"Thats perfect."
I say,
And I walk away to my room.
All this time,
I've been using led pencils.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
i have feelings
you have feelings
... we all have feelings!
some feelings stick
other feelings are magical
and some feelings even connect with other feelings
... how magical!
feelings are meant to be shared
like a gigantic 64 pack of crayola, the ones with the fancy sharpener
however, some feelings hurt
like a nail going through the layers of skin, causing blood to pour out
so always, be careful of your feelings
not everyone will share them, or want to be aware of them
feelings can cause misery, and joy
be careful with them!
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Life used to be simple
A box of crayons was all you’d need
Everyone had some
And shared with all
When you got older though
People would take your crayons
Without permission
And never return them
Turning your 24 pack into a 16 pack
Or that cool 96 with the sharpener in the back
To just a box with a sharpener on the back.
The people who used to be your friends
Are now just the ones who took your crayons
Or brought back half a crayon
No one ever said life was easy
But childhood was supposed to be right?
A box of crayons
made life fun
and worthwhile
at least for a little while
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
They used to like me
but now I just get used
once or twice in year
I felt pointless
I guess I was dull
Not young and mechanical
Until you made me feel sharp
I guess you steel little bits of me
But if my life is short I’d rather give you my all
They call me a #2
Makes sense you must be number one
But I notice I am not the only one you make feel sharp
You really go around
I guess I am more dependent on you than you were on me .
And now I know they aren’t the only ones who used me .
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC
Counting
Saving
Stashing.
How many will work?
Or! Maybe I can
disassemble
my Pencil Sharpener.
Or better yet,
Knit a long,
Skinny,
Scarf.
Where to hang it though?
Perhaps I could take a
Too Hot
Bath,
And sit till it's cold.
Maybe...
Weigh myself,
Until I'm satisfied
That'd do it too.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
I found the class fish wrapped in single-ply
tissue and pencil sharpener refuse,
her poinsettia-sunset scales picked clean,
gathered in a Styrofoam cup. Her coral
fins crumbled, leaving rough edges like split
chalk or hopscotch gravel. Her last ocean
was the cover of a Nat Geo from
1995. Easing my fingers
beneath the matchstick spine, I deftly walked
to my desk, and laid her on construction
paper. I casted her slivered ribcage
in glue before I poured the scales, hoping
she'd triumphantly flick some harmless fire
when she woke, but she just laid there, shining.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
There are some evenings…
You just happen to tilt you head back and dusk is already right in front of your face.
Sometimes it’s just you, sometimes, some dude taps on your shoulder and while pointing straight upward he goes “Hey…look at that!”
And of course you’re gonna look, ‘cause what’s to see is just not real.
The sun is suddenly more than a big ball of flaming gas, the clouds more than some vapor. This red hot blood spread across the sky seems to come right from your veins.
You gaze into this huge scenery and you realize that it’s taking everything away. No more endless commute to your office, no more ******** for your missing pencil sharpener, no more reports, boss, todesangst… **** for what it’s worth girls don’t even have ***** anymore.
Right that moment, it’s all burning along with the clouds and slowly sinking.
Then you just have enough time to blink twice and it’s dark already. Daddy Sun is gone to his other family.
You’re still there though, staring at nothing, feeling your existential mess creep back up your spine, cramped between the pencil sharpener and some girl’s *****
What are you supposed to do then?
You’ve just been the enlightened Zen monk from the movie for a full minute, and now papa’s gone home, you’re back to your old whiny self. **** it up.
How are you supposed to return to your everyday’s plasma screen craving and internet **** when you feel you’ve just been dumped by the Sky itself?
I mean… how are you supposed to survive a sunset?
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
Blood stains covered my art supplies
You didn’t believe in that artistic risk though
It wasn’t too long before my sharpener laid in in your trash can
You picked my pills and I off the tiled floor
I thought i’d be the one who’d be flushed
But it was the pills that drained down the toilet
You always grabbed my hands as they craved color
That familiar purple stain my skin wore too well
You bought me a fidget cube to fiddle with my tensions
You took everything I loved from me
Every form of devilish comfort
Alot more than I could ever do for myself
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
Once there was a Cup
And inside the cup there was a Dragon
And the dragon shrank to the size of a pencil sharpener
And inside the pencil sharpener there was a needle
And the needle grew to the size of a chopstick
And I used it to clean my ears
And Ive been hearing better ever since.
With my newly clean ears
I realised that
I'd heard the poem all wrong.
What it really said was...
Once there was a Hat
And inside the hat there was a wagon
And the wagon shrank to the size of a bottle opener
And inside the bottle opener there was a beetle
And the beetle put on some lipstick
And I used the lipstick to help me speak more clearly.
And I've been speaking more clearly ever since.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
You hurt, and you come to me.
It is a common mistake,
But can prove to be a lethal one.
I will tell you,
Day upon day,
Night after night,
That your life will not get better.
Has not. Cannot. Should not.
You rip me from a pencil sharpener,
Or from the thing you use to shave your legs.
You hate me,
Want to throw me out,
But no longer does it matter.
I see your tears an I absorb them.
Your face is so ugly when you cry.
You are beautiful,
And you give me the power to destroy that.
I love taking everything you care about,
Away from you in a singular moment.
You are sitting on the side of the bath tub.
I am in your hand, already sharp and poignant.
You lift me, and I get excited.
This is my time, I shout.
But will you survive it?
You are playing a game of Russian Roulette, my child.
I am a dangerous vice to keep hidden.
Your parents don't know,
Seeing as you wear sweatshirts even in the dead of summer.
The unforgiving letter on your wrists falls on deaf ears.
Considering that the only people who know,
Would not dare confront you.
They think they are protecting your friendship.
At that, I laugh.
You are no longer in control of your hand.
You follow me along the outlines on your arm.
And I am your instinct.
It is only a matter of time before you cut a little too deep,
And scare the hell out of yourself.
One question remains.
Why do you turn to me?
As some source of peace or escape?
I only give you partial pleasure,
For when I hit your skin,
I go knock on the doors,
Of my friends the Endorphin family.
However, they are getting older,
And the son Dopamine can has a curfew to make.
He will only stay present for so long.
You find yourself longing for more time with them.
So the next day, you cut again,
And you hate it.
But without fail, you still find relief.
I am a vicious cycle.
Soon enough your suicide note will be written in red.
Whether you hoped to die or not.
Your life is not your own anymore.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
(10/25/12)
The black days of history that many do not know
And many refuse to accept - of how the black man
Helped AMERICA to be the greatest country yet.
They was brought here as slaves because the
Color of their skin !
But their minds was never searched to see
What lied within.
Every ethnic group that came to the states
Had many a hardship that they had to face.
Every race that came was given a derogatory name
Which they had to accept and had felt the shame.
But they all contributed to this great nation of ours
Which is now known as the greatest power.
These are just a few facts of what the blacks
Had given to this nation, and many of these
Became part of our salvation.
FACTS: )1) john love- invented the pencil sharpener in 1897
2) Joseph lee -invented a bread making machine that mixed
The ingredients and kneaded the dough in 1895
3) Thomas l Jennings was the first African American to receive
A patent in 1821 which was for a dry cleaning process.
He used the money earned from his patent to purchase
Relatives out of slavery and support abolitionist causes.
4) madam c.j. walker (1867-1919) daughter of a former slave
Who suffered hair loss in her twenties and created hair care
Products , and allowed her to open a factory and school to
Train hundreds of black women to be economically self sufficient
And become one of the first female millionaires in U.S. history.
There is still something that burns in my heart
And when I think of it -it tears me apart
Of all the people in this great nation
That have been put to the ground
There lies one race that still lives
Way below the poverty line and
The government says there doing fine.
The “AMERICAN INDIAN” who had
Most all treaties broken and of this the
Government hasn’t spoken.
Many families of five and more
Living in a shack without a door
Just a blanket to stop the wind
To me this is a crying sin.
The Indian charities having to buy
fifty five gallon drums for water
And many of them on “back order”.
I know that I started writing this poem for the blacks
But on the Indian nations - I can’t turn my back.
We have to help one another, for we’re all
Sister and brother.
GOD BLESS US ALL
© L . RAMS
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC