"shinier" poems
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan
Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while
These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****
I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
Some raindrops fall faster and heavier than others,
and some raindrops are shinier or larger than other raindrops
some raindrops are part of refreshing April showers
some rain drops turn into pretty snowfall,
and some raindrops become harsh thunderstorms.
but all raindrops eventually hit the ground
and form puddles with other raindrops.
and when the puddle evaporates
the raindrops will fall once again
And maybe this time,
the once innocent April showers
will become crushing thunder storms.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
she wanted to die.
like you,
except, only once
at a time where you loved her
but didn't know it yet.
she - brown eyes,
perfect smile (at least you think so),
dimples, white teeth, obnoxious laugh.
you - tripping fingers, shaky hands,
full lungs, tapping feet,
brown eyes.
the two of you, dull.
unnoticed, like the warning labels
on your bottle of painkillers
and her prozac.
the warmth, absent and missing
like the liquor someone must
have taken from the refrigerator.
you thought, it's useless
to live for nothing except pain and
numbness and numbness
and numbness.
she thought, it's useless
to live for nothing.
the two of you, wanting to die
trying to die
but didn't. couldn't,
like that one time you wouldn't
get out of bed.
and now, together.
both smiling, laughing fully
but not complete.
the warmth, there but
not burning.
about just enough to keep a
fire going.
though she swears she feels
the heat,
you are still gaining back
your fingertips
from the numbness.
numbness.
numbness.
you thought, it's useless
to die if she is here.
and now, living.
the missing, gone
like the old medicine you flushed
instead of taking.
and your brown eyes, still dull.
hers, too.
except louder, now, and shinier.
demanding, like the heavy parts of the earth.
together, and complete.
she wanted to die.
and you wanted to die, too.
and "never again"
she says, "because you're never
leaving me,
and i'm never leaving you."
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
I wonder what it would feel,
For once in my life to be choosen first.
I keep yearning for him to choose me first, to love me first, to be happy with me for who I am. To stop comparing me to the first wheel. Every time I realize I'm only second wheel.
What's wrong to be second wheel you ask me? Well there's nothing wrong in being second wheel. It is the feeling that comes along with it that makes it wrong. The feeling of being used, the pretentious care. It just hurts, it hurts so much that you want to just stop feeling.
You want to stop feeling the anger that why are you second wheel? you want to stop feeling all the pain he caused you. The only thing you've given him is unconditional love. The worst part is you'll still choose him first!
You can't help but love him. He's your blood. You have to love him.. isn't he supposed to love you the same way? All the second wheel can ask is why doesn't he choose me first just once in my life?
Poor second wheel doesnt realize she is always going to be second wheel. She will never be valued for who she is! She is just a second wheel!
She sits here hoping he'll realize what he did was wrong! Deep down she knows he will never realize it , his first wheel is better, shinier, smarter, and just everything he wants. The second wheel remains where she is, behind, no one to care about her . A burden forever. Poor Poor second wheel, one day she'll learn to give in and learn that hope is meant to shatter in her life!
Till then she'll live in a false world and have hopes that will only break her heart!
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Its name is sadness.
Violent sadness.
It's creeping up again
It is giving me anxiety
Because I don't want it
To crawl in my skin
Again and be comfortable.
With the anxiety brings depression.
It's always been there,
Never completely going away.
But I can ignore and it slows,
Grows smaller everytime
I smile and laugh.
But every time someone leaves
Me for someone shinier,
The sadness spreads like wild fire,
Like the mold on strawberries
I cannot eat.
I wish I was born thin like her,
Perfect like her,
Golden like her,
The one who steals them away.
As I watch the monster crawling
Towards me,
I analyze it.
I watch the way it moves slow,
Trying to not be discovered
Like the way I do.
It moves swiftly,
Not in pulses.
I watch it creep,
Pulling itself from
Whatever depths it came,
Like the way I do.
And that's the scariest part.
I watch it's iridescent
Nails crawl closer.
It has a diamond ring.
...
So do I.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
She paves the path
Of dynasties carved
With buckets of sludge upon back;
Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb,
But under shinier red flags,
Cloth coated, with lesser blood.
She’d had a hint of gray
She’d not had last time,
She had a newer limp
She’d not had last time,
Her ***** furthered from firm,
Reaching for the ground, a promise,
In years to be wed with,
And yet the underneath
Of it all remained as radiant
As any sun’d ever been;
And come the cloudy day she leaves,
Even mine own eye
Will remain far from dry
As I’d remember freshly cured bacon,
And her tender chopsticks offering life;
She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
In the greenest meadow,
With the clearest stream,
And the bluest sky,
There lived a lion.
His mane golden and his teeth white.
He had not yet tasted the flesh of deer.
On the other side of the meadow,
There lived a doe.
Her fur was a silken brown.
She knew not of lions.
The lion saw the doe, and was in awe.
She was clean, she was beautiful.
He wanted a taste.
He spoke to her in low, calming tones.
Speaking to her lovely lies.
He said he craved a taste of her flesh.
She fell for the lion.
The doe wanted to please the lion.
She offered him a taste.
So he tasted.
But the lion couldn't control his hunger.
He tore at her flesh.
Wounding the deer.
The green grass turned red.
The sky grew dark.
When he had enough, he got up.
He looked at her.
He growled, he hissed, he walked away.
He wanted no blame for his own doing.
The doe nursed her wounds.
And the water turned red.
She grew strong again.
Washed clean by the stream.
The grass green again.
The sky blue.
But her scars remained.
The silken fur turned ragged.
The doe had a friend.
One with much shinier fur.
One more beautiful than she had been.
One that was unable to stand on her own.
Her friend was weak.
Weary from running.
She also did not know of lions.
The doe told her of the lion.
Showed her the scars.
Her friend saw, and hated the lion.
Or so she said.
The sky grew dark again.
The lion came back.
His mane with deep red in it.
His teeth bloodstained.
The doe was wary.
The doe knew he was flesh-hungry.
Her scars ached.
And she knew.
Her friend was in danger.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
_Marge_ retrogrades lazily towards the hills;
Her name, printed the width of her cab-over dinette
In crinkled cobalt cursive,
Totters eccentrically as her handbrake fails.
SNAP-AP
Oblivious to errant camper vans (and centripetal forces in general),
Barney speeds maniacally along a deserted city street;
Golden coated and joyously poochie,
His tongue flabbers as fast as his bicycle courier dad can pedal.
SNAP-AP-AP
Mr Blue buys buckets at Bunnings
To match his cerulean suit and shinier-than-shiney satin shirt;
Periwinkle rhinestone shoes carry him unabashedly passed the second glances and sideways looks;
There goes the best dressed DIY-er in town…don’t ya know.
SNAP-AP-AP-AP
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 7:01 PM UTC
I hear ur breath match the same beat as mine, i want our rhythm to last forever until the end of time.
Ur arms are around my waist holding me tight, you light me up inside; shinier then the brightest star at night.
Bodies so warm together i can feel the heat,
I would never want this on pause; just play and repeat.
So for now i'll end this little sweet poem for you while you sleep *** can't wait to kiss you with the essence of the morning sun.
Truly yours
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
It's funny the pull one person can have.
The way they can make the world right-
bring flight to your very soul-
Only to rip a hole through you
in the very next breath.
I don't get it.
This whirlwind, this tornado of emotional distrust.
How did you gain such power over me?
I will gladly stand her to be showered by
your kisses and professions of affection
but all it takes is a split second of self-doubt
and I'm left wondering...
Are you better off without me?
There are others, you know...
Much prettier, shinier baubles out there,
just waiting to be picked up and admired.
I'm flawed, filled to the brim with troubles,
not wrapped in nearly such a neat package.
Funny, it is, the way this ferris wheel works.
Just when I think I've found my comfort space,
my safe place,
...whoosh...
there is goes, oh so quickly,
blinked away much too rapidly.
How does one person gather that much strength
over my very own essence?
Funny the way that works.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Dreadful.
Trying to be everyone's clown
While feeling an anchor of reality drag at my guts.
Face paint drips around saline rain,
But everyone sees the drawn-on smile
And joke that my mascara's running.
Lucky mascara, I think; wish I could, too.
Perhaps I'll cry out,
Wipe off the face,
Hope that everyone sees it this time...
But there's already a crying clown across the street.
One with a shinier soap box...
And nary the burden of effort to show for it.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
We slowly danced
by the rhythm of the
classical music as
the enormous crystal
chandelier was
shining above us.
My dress was shinier.
Since when do you
start listening to
Beethoven like the
national anthem?
The slender skillful fingers
would only wish to
leave marks on the
white keys of the piano.
Instead, it left an invisible
satisfaction in my ears.
Red roses freshly planted,
they acted as an
intoxicating perfume.
The cold snake of
white tears froze my heart.
Flowers in my hair
suited me more than
pearls on my neck.
But i lost my balance and
the entire night sky
spilled upon me.
Along with the stars...
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
The people you meet and the experiences you've had
Those gavels that build up your pathway leading to a future
As bright as your accomplishments
As dark as your failures.
You may choose to be just another number
Or thrive to shine like thunder
To some you're a stop on the road;
A pebble in their vast sea of rocks
To others you're a destination;
An essential stone they place with rigid intention
You're their hero on the walk of fame
Or the outsider on the walk of shame
Thus, disappointment's the winner of this festive year
From your anger, losses to your biggest fear
It haunts your dreams
Steals away your sleep,
Here to degrade people from high above the clouds
To way down below
Rolling in the muddy hole
Made for our faded ashes
Alongside the endless mourns,
The trembling sounds of our murmuring voices
That hide a hint of joy
In tribute to all that's now long-gone
Insecurities, doubts, and all that once dragged us down
Making room for shinier stones
Full of life, reflecting hope
For a brighter future known for achieving goals
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
these days,
i feel i have become unlovable
they come and go and wouldn't even spit at my feet
they throw me away like a once-bitten apple
once they see a shinier, crisper one
on a branch only a little higher than where i hung
i feel i am a ghost
often it seems like i can never find a place to call "home"
especially not in my own body
i feel i am filled with fiery unrest
i will never watch the sun set peacefully
i will never "leave it be"
i feel i will never be happy
especially not where i am now
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
Visions,
smoke rings and grocery lists,
ovaries to kicks;
prisons of genetic streaming.
Kings dream of thieves
and thieves dream of
learning shinier schemes.
Laugh when the moon
sings eternally.
Laugh when spoonfuls of sense
are lifted by my shaking hand.
Laugh when anyone spits into
the abyss forever at their feet.
Laugh when the prismatic facsimiles
of mastery are scattering in the winds of change.
Laugh like it's the last cadaver stacked.
No scavengers.
No glass to crack.
No Saturn's curse.
None of that.
So laugh.
Laugh like the mad ********
you act like only exist
in past saturdays spent
in the bastion that was your grandmother's backyard.
Laugh.
Please, for fuck's sake, laugh.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 4:18 AM UTC
today, i wake up wearing an old band t-shirt and i’m sixteen again / pulling jumper sleeves over my palms / keeping my eyes on my feet / earphones in / willing myself invisible / refusing to step out of changing rooms in anything that clings to my skin / flinching from mirrors and cameras / nobody wants to stay too long at the beginning of a cinderella story / before the lenses and makeup and hair-flipping confidence / before the boys who call you a frigid ***** for expressing an opinion start to slide into your DMs / saying “hey, you seem cool, i’d love to hear you talk about feminism.” / but they’d love get you drunk first / love to get funny girl / cool girl / beer-pong and dancing on tables and witty comebacks / always-slipping-out-of-your-hands / let’s-tame-this-shrew-wild-girl / like yeah give this girl a stage but stop her if she makes you uncomfortable / we like a damsel-in-distress, big-blinking-eyes-trophy-wife / not the girl who stood in between her best friend and the ones who mocked her for her body / not the girl with bloodied lips instead of red lipstick / grinning, saying, “you’re going to have to go through me.” / nobody likes an ugly girl with a mouth full of words / so you learn to swallow them / be prettier, shinier, smoother / show them a piece of glass instead of dagger / lie in wait to turn the tables because you still remember / what it’s like to be sixteen and forced to look at your body as a liability / what it’s like to be sixteen and told your anger is embarrassing / just another teenage phase
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC
a momentary lapse of thought:
staccato thuds sounded by a hollow heart
upon the realisation that the clarity of 'best friends'
becomes muddled
and confused with the passing of time.
hearts become restless:
heads are filled with shinier thoughts
as the people once loved are replaced. we recreate ourselves
worlds away
from the ones to whom we once gave our soul.
the silence of an evening punctuated
by memories of our faded selves
they watch us as we blindly dance
to the symphony of their sighs.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
It teases me,
My destiny,
Giving few moments of happiness,
And then millennia of sorrow.
It challenges me,
My grievance,
Letting some smiles creep in here,
And then miles of loneliness.
But it must be lived on in hopes...
Of a better tomorrow,
Of a lesser lonely life,
Of a loving future wife,
Of a couple of cute kids,
Of a rainy day in togetherness,
Of a shinier life next rebirth.
But it sees me dream of my rebirth,
Another one in hopes of a better life,
And how my destiny mocks me,
I'm sick of its travesty.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
You have cut me up
and placed me beside other
shinier, redder apples.
you've given disapproving glares
and shaken your head,
arms akimbo.
You're trying to keep me in a box,
away from the "dangerous" world outside
but then you'd shake your fists
at my browning flesh
and putrid body.
I'm just an apple.
Why can't you see me for what i am?
I'm not the biggest
nor the juiciest.
I have yellow spots on my skin
and bruises on my flesh.
Why don't you love me?
Why can't you stop
comparing
and judging
and complaining?
You are my apple tree.
you made me.
Why can't you see
I'm trying
to be the best apple
that i can be?
It's not enough.
it's never enough.
I'm. Not enough.
and i never will be.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
Oh, lady fountain above
Sing to me with your long laced words of love
Take me away - into the Heavens above
“Look here, peasant say -
Nothing is above, nor below your stand.
All is equal in mind of me -
For the Heavens is not something that you see.
It’s a land void of cold and warmth -
And a land where bodies don’t count.
Heaven is a place where thoughts don’t roam -
It is a place without prayer or hope.
It is a place where action is blank,
And a place where words don’t voice -
Heaven is as far away as the Sun,
And as close as your own heart.”
I looked at the lady in my dreams with curiosity -
A glare of confusion written over my face.
I begged for a clearer translation,
For my mind is not suited for riddles on Sundays.
She borrowed a second, and then bowed to the right -
She smiled at herself, and then took off in flight.
She disappeared in a flash out of my sight -
I ****** my inability to comprehend,
And my insignificance in the beginning-less end.
I sat down where I was, and I pondered for a while -
The lady fountain and her charm,
Her wisdom and her flattering song.
She spoke without speaking,
And I listened without hearing -
I felt left in the dark, while she flew freely
Somewhere within the world of the holy unseen.
A week went by, and the skies changed rapid color -
First from blue to orange to green,
Then it all faded to an indigo sheen -
Shinier than metallic mobiles
And grander than the highest skyscraper.
The hues sanded time into fragments of measurement
And faded quickly into normality within the Now.
On that new Sunday, the lady fountain appeared again to me.
She brought with her a friend of angel wings -
They both said “Hello” and flew in transparent circles,
Claiming to be God’s favorite children.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
There are a lot of things I can never put into words, phrases, sentences, analogies, a concluding statement things like the feeling of falling apart when you just can't close your eyes at night or the impetuous carvings of your name into my heart when there was no more room for you in my head. I search on the internet a synonym for angry I get cross, vexed, indignant, irked, galled; when there are things I cannot put into words like when I feel this ditch, cavity, trench big enough to fit in all my sorrow at the bottom, extremity, underpinning, base of my stomach which flips with every bus ride home. Home. Property. Abode. Domicile. A place I never really had or knew how to get to because I always got distant— Location. I close, shut, get rid off the tab on my computer and I close, shut, the laptop screen. There are no words to describe this feeling. The feeling of messy closets and not sleeping for three nights and finding meaning out of a life that had no value to me. So I wonder if things will ever change. If my hair will get shinier, if my worries fade away and I still ask myself if I will ever stop asking myself to do things I can't do. Do. Execute. Achieve, I have achieved nothing but let parts of myself descend deeper and deeper into a Tiffany and Co.'s box filled with dust that never catch the light and a Marc Jacob's bag of dimes that just weigh it down. A glass hammer, an inflatable dartboard. A helicopter eject seat, always throwing myself into situations— I can't fix with the same bare hands I've used to beat myself up. And still I try to make sense of the nothingness I am typing. Yet, I still take the train to school. I take showers. I listen to music on long walks. I try. Everyday, I try.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
Everything is empty.
The room in my mansion of a mind where I used to keep you, and everything you were to me is empty. It's a cold dark void that echoes the memories whenever I open the door. The smell; no, stench; no, fragrance of you is burned into the floor. Maybe if I lay on my stomach and scratch at the wood I can smell it once more.
The walls are a light brown, the color of your eyes. When I open the curtains and the light shines in, the walls magically turn green, and blue, and yellow and all sorts of browns. But wait, no there is no more curtains blocking out the sun. I shouldn't think of these things. I'm conjuring up the dusty curtains that are rotting in the basement. They are replaced by the wood panels that I nailed into wall, so angery that my fist bled. Because I was not using a hammer, no you took that when you left. I had to compromise and use the hands that you held onto, oh, god no, more happy horrible memories.
I remember you were not holding onto my hands you were letting me tangle mine in yours so that i couldnt get out. All you had to do was slip your hand away to leave. But in order for you to do that, you would have to bend and break my fingers, loosening the vise they made. And thats exactly what you did that night when you were not thinking of me.
When you were thinking of her. When you were building a room in her mansion that was much brighter, bigger, and shinier than mine. Those nights when we laid in your room, you were slowly packing your things and I didn't notice until the furniture disappeared. I begged you to stay. I begged you to not think of her the way you thought of me. You told me you never in a million years would. You told me you loved me. But you said that to her as well.
I suppose the room is not empty at all. Physically, it shows me nothing but the remains of our relationship, cold and bordered up; gone. But the memories echo and bounce around the walls and seep from the floors. The room is empty but the memories fill it up.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
You are here so close to me
Sitting next, but No I can't see
I thought about us a lot
We were in the same boat
Lots of promises and expectations
Now only lessons and self evaluations
But no regrets yet
Such wonderful time we had
Present is not the right time for us
You are far shinier and way brighter
I am rusted and need an understanding
Re-polish myself and fix my wings
And one-day, God, maybe one-day
Could you give me one more chance to look at you and say
Within you there is something very very true
God, the most beautiful person I know is you.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
You've put me in your doll house.
Plastic furniture
cardboard walls
Surround me. Smother me.
There are other dolls here, too.
waiting.
like me.
To be picked.
I see your hand come towards me
Finally. You pick me.
Your rough fingers curl around my waist
lifting me to what seems like an endless sky
My hair bouncing in the wind
my eyes looking at you
always looking at you.
We do what we always do.
Sit out by the water
you making jokes, me singing songs.
You caress my cheek
You kiss me.
You never kiss me..
Maybe this means something.
Maybe I wont have to go back
I see him stand
oh no
he folds up the blanket we've been laying on
please don't make me go back
I feel his rough fingers curl around my waist
let me stay
I couldn't look at him
the whole way back.
What did I do?
Was I a bad kisser?
Did he regret picking me this time?
He places me back into the doll house.
I look into his eyes, pleading, begging
for him to give me answers.
Instead
He curls his rough fingers around the waist
of the doll next to me.
Lifts her up, and kisses her cheek.
He's never done that with me.
I watch as they both disappear into the distance.
Every time I see him leave with a different doll,
I can feel my skin harden
my skin becoming shinier
He's transforming me into something I'm not
Plastic.
Maybe thats what he wants. Plastic dolls.
Dolls waiting for his attention.
Dolls at his disposal.
I don't want that.
I want to be free.
But, I want him to love me.
All I can do now, is wait.
Wait for him to pick me again.
To play with me again.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
it's 3 o'clock and
i smell bad
do you still love me?
even when i look in the mirror
and pick at all my pores
and gouge out my eyes
and moan about
"i wish i was skinnier
and ate less
and took up less space
and my hair was shinier
and my mouth was larger
and i spoke less
and i wish i was better
for you."
do you still love me?
am i still beautiful?
am i beautiful?
Nov 4, 2021
Nov 4, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC