"smudges" poems
You can't cry about it.
Not now, not ever.
Your tears will be black from mascara,
Eyeliner smudges smeared across your face.
Waterfall stains like a stream erodes the river bank.
You must 'man up'.
Well who said so?
It's painful, you know,
Standing on Lego.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
You are a blind
man, holding a
blunt pencil.
Thinking he is
writing words
when in fact
all that is wrote is smudges on paper..
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
I'm your mirror.
I reflect what you want to see.
But it's never really me.
I'm your mirror.
There are smudges and dirt.
Little imperfections you don't like, which hurts.
I'm your mirror.
See whatever you want to see.
But when I break, you're the one who bleeds.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...
A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back
The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life
The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt
The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not
The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand
The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print
The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains
The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-
I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive
I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp
Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness
These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse
But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"
In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant
I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?
It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.
...
Why?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i put my ear to your mouth
and i can hear
the rhythm of your breathing
like waves that roar
inside a seashell
it keeps me awake
when all else is quiet
and i forget
about all the loves
and unloves
all the smudges i tried
to unsmudge
all the things before you
and sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i imagine myself
to be so much more than i am
i imagine myself
inside a seashell
i imagine myself
as a wave
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
Lying there in someones bed
wondering who this person was next to me
long black hair, smudges of red lipstick
****** piercings and tattoos
who had I slept with?
Quietly and quickly looking for my things
as I reached for my phone
alarm bells rang
she awoke looking straight at me,
what to say, what to do.
We mutually agreed it was a one night thing
got dressed and went our separate ways.
2 weeks later, watching the clock count down
waiting to go home
I felt a gush of wind hit my face
a tingly feeling in my stomach
standing in the door, their she was
my next and final appointment
my one night stand from 2 weeks earlier.
We talked, laughed, joked
had drinks, ate, caught a cab
morning after lying there in someones bed
knowing exactly where I was and who was next to me.
While I reached for my phone, alarm bells rang
she awoke looking straight at me
we mutually agreed that we was going to give it a go
she my girlfriend
me her boyfriend
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Worm eats through to penetrate.
Trespasses, what ***** deeds?
What ichor is this to venerate?
How dare eat, how dare have needs?
Godly viral load unbeatable,
no t-cell left to count.
Wriggling in puddle inconceivable,
**** upon this crucified mount.
Lazarus, risen from the dead,
no dog now licks your wounds.
Lepers now banshees are instead
social workers which we swoon.
And the Roman laws and judges
continue blame, hand down sentence,
as degenerative generation smudges
out from existence, *** penance.
Dissected and pinned against wall,
this writhing experiment oozes.
Whilst priests and politicians naw,
compassion and AIDS funding loses.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Another morning in the life
Of a P.T.D, I slurped my
Juice back all 400 ml, then
Stretched up, fingers
Wiggling as mother picked
Me up.
Snuggles in the morning
Nothing better, to show I'm
Loved. But back to business,
As I turned my dummy to
The opposite side, the taste
Is better every time its turned
Soothing with each ****
It was nearly breakfast time
A belly is never wrong,
MMmmm...
Toast and jam, I smile
At mummy with my
Cheshire Jam smiled face.
"Silly little man"
As she wipes the smudges
From all over my face.
A case to solve, was my plan,
The missing statue of
SANDMAN BOB tm.
It was here before, but now
Gone, the prized possession
Of hairy dog, as I pat his head
And he licks my face
Yuckkkk....
Doggy that was yuck, he wags
His tail and then he is off.
What a morning so much done,
Time for a nap then detective
Work to be done. I wake to
Dads voice,
"Morning little man"
"How was your nap"
As i give my answer with a
Yawn and a smile, he gives
A cuddle then off to work for
Hours of fun and playing games.
The clues to be seen the trail
To be found, for I'm
***** Trained Detective"*
And no case is to far, as
Long as I can have a nap
And a cuddle, maybe a
Little sip and a gulp, here
On look out of what is to
Be found.
Hairy dog is sleeping in his
bed, I hear a noise I hear a
Sound??
What a strange noise,
"Snoring"
"NO"
"Bottom belches"
"No funny smells"
As I lift up his blanky
Softly so not to wake doggy's sleep,
And their he is safe and sound.
"SANDMAN BOB"
"Playing hide and go seek"
Under hairy dogs nose and bottom,
As he sleeps it does squeak, it
Does beep, I lift it up and under
His paw, to surprise him when
He awakens. A tail shall wiggle
And flop around, but the case was
Solved and a happy smile found.
***** Trained Detective* does it
Again, but for now it is nap time,
A new case, a new thing to be
Found. I will see you all again
Soon, But now its snuggles
Time with mummy in bed.
As I close my eyes night, night
I turn my dummy once more,
As sheep float quietly over my head.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
[Ive been smoking a lot
and im starting to doubt
if im breathing you in
or smoking you out]
most nights I miss you
but im no longer sure
if the pain that I feel
can ever be cured
its hard to explain what its like to be numb
but its poisoned my mind
like the smoke in my lungs
now my burdens are heavy
they're breaking my bones
its weighing me down
to know im alone
but this sadness is comfortable
and I know what to do
ill collapse into it
like I collapsed into you
Ill let it consume me
and the thoughts in my head
to try and forget
the words that you said
but no matter hard I try
to wash you away
I see smudges of you
on me everyday
[and now I lay like you once did in my bed-
I lie like you
Im lost in your head]
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
The beauty in a bow will only show
the rancid flavor it musters when it opens it's throat .
With bland intentions of subjects but loud quirks , its grey eyes will shower you with gloat.
Sheepish , arched lips will saunter you a hiss.
Your pupils get lighter and the lies get higher.
Fond of their beauty in substance of looks , only will you find the meaning in books.
Will you rattle a smile on a hook when your success won battle with your humble good looks.
The vain that slithers out of your mouth wont be a match for whats out and about.
Check again looks don't overcome meaning but meaning overcomes gleaming .
So give me a higher reason for not being to dreamy?
Self-centered, no i remember , it's not the center in my last November.
Last time i checked the cab looked its best on the exterior and on the inside lacked of a barrier.
Now look again at the vain heart , covered with smudges and a bland start.
Look in deeper all you talked was about you, i checked again and please don't lie and tell me it isn't true.
i'm insane and you are too , if one is narcissistic then baby its you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
The sky, black as the eyes that stare at it.
Star-studded and as seamless as new programming.
I look down, the streets molested by fluorescent splotches --
red ribbons of memory evaporate from the lights of motorcycles,
gurgling by.
A homeless, pregnant woman, in a bar, once told me,
"Forgiveness is letting a prisoner free, then finding out that you were the prisoner."
The sunset looks like an explosion of emotions
no one understands, yet.
The smudges on her lips
look like the bruises of an orphan apple.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
Let me tell you, I thought I knew love before you came around.
I mean, I’ve written a million love poems.
But the subjects, they’re more or less the same, black ink, red ink, graphite.
And the graphite smudges, and so the picture is never perfect.
I try to re-write it all without mistakes, but I don't have an eraser.
Which is to say that I have commitment issues, but no issue committing, I just commit all the time, to everything.
I've canoodled with paper, but there's never enough space on the page for all the love I have.
Sometimes, I’ll meet a crayon that brings some colour to my life, but they’re just too waxy and impressionable. Too immature, too naive.
Naive.
I’ve never actually been in love.
But you, you are so much different and way hotter.
You bring a spark into my life that I’ve never known.
Baby, you set my world on fire.
I tell myself, blue pen, don’t let this go up in smoke.
Let me tell you. I would do anything to know love.
You see, there isn’t much to me, but I’ve got this way with words and I’ll write you into every poem that’s ever birthed hope in the eyes of star-crossed lovers.
I’ll draw you a map of my heart so when you feel lonely after you’ve been put aside and forgotten in the back of a cupboard, I’ll be there.
I want you.
I want the good things and your sweet embrace of smoke smells really good right now.
I want the good things but I’ll take it all. I’ll take the bad things too.
Fill my lungs with your poison, show me what it’s like to love something so much it kills you.
Teach me how to give all of myself to someone just so they are satisfied, even if it leaves me crushed on the cement.
Let me become addicted to you.
My whole life is written in ink and I can’t escape the mistakes I’ve made so if you’ll have me, here I am.
I can’t guarantee that I’ll be right for you, who knows what you write with but I will be here.
Let me tell you, I will still love you after watching you kiss the lips of every person that craves your taste.
I will still love you after you steal the oxygen out of helpless gasps and sunken cheekbones.
I will still love you after your temper sets forests ablaze.
I will still love you when you suffocate me in your fumes, leaving me choking on everything I should have said to you.
I will still love you when you burn out and your ember softens against a pillow of ash, and your smell, your taste, your everything lingers in the air like a nostalgic dream that I never want to wake up from.
Let me tell you, I am forever.
I am infinite and I can create and write anything you want, even if it’s just prose on a piece of paper or a picture of the moon on nights when you’re the only good left in the world.
I can be anything you want, and if that is someone that will love you because they want to, and not because they have to, then I will be that.
I won’t quit you.
I can’t.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
i can feel spirits of tortured souls
they can crawl right up my spine
they won't let me let the horror go
their suffering is all mine
i can hear voices of murdered dreams
like a ringing in my ears
i ask god why i'm serving screams
i ask why i'm herding fears
i see fingerprints of ****** grips
crimson smudges paint my wall
i write down their troubled scripts
every time those spirits call
audio recording
https://soundcloud.com/gary-loftis/spirits-of-empathys-burden
if you like my poetry, like my page please
facebook.com/Garyspoetrypage
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
I tried telling myself the black smudges around my eyes were decorations only to attract a guy. That the dark purple veins that were reaching to grab a hold of my rough terrain were a symbol of strength and love. And I tried telling myself that telling the truth might actually save me from the fires of Hell.
the fire is raging, and so are my tall tales
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
I hope you know that I'll always hold you;
always catch you when you fall.
You're so strong, with your proud chin hoisted upwards.
No one would ever see the slouch in your shoulders,
unless you wanted them to.
The tiredness of your eyes;
deep purple smudges on your eyelids.
Your smile may settle in a delightful curve
but it doesn't set in your eyes like the sun.
I will catch you, I promise;
If you should choose to fall, do not be wary.
You won't hit the hard ground, the cold earth.
But you will hit my arms.
And you can just rest there.
Rest there, my dear.
And don't worry about anything.
You don't have to speak;
I will listen to the way your voice sounds,
sincere or not;
I will catch you, darling.
If you should ever fall.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
this morning i woke up
with mascara smudges
and a dry throat
and salty lips
i sat on a hard wooden kitchen chair
as i read an article about the life cycle of a star
i learned that the bigger and brighter the star
the shorter its life,
the brighter it burns
the less time it has before an explosion destroys it
from the inside out
crushing it into pieces
and propelling them into the universe
as i read
i found myself remembering the day you told me you loved me
so much
you could just explode
and i wonder if maybe this whole supernova explosion thing
applies to love
because our love was bright and consuming and fast
and ended in an explosion
that destroyed me from the inside out
crushed me into pieces
that were propelled into the universe
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
have you seen a drawing,
bold, that hits your heart,
licks and smudges
make the picture
of a man.
yet look sideways, it may
be you, or her, each day
there is something different
in the mirror.
each way, drawing you in.
it is framed. as are you now.
there is no photograph.
sbm.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Like many things in life,
Problems occur.
Problems which we are
Meant to learn from.
Like many things in life,
Difficulties arise.
Difficulties that we can
All overcome together.
For better or for worse
**the latter is more common,
for worse happens way too often,
the problems we face don't fade.
We live in this prison called life
difficulties arise as we slowly walk
to our demise,we fill our minds
that there are ways we can escape.**
The hardships of life
Are only a small part of the
Vivid painting that is life.
We are the complete image.
Though we may have tears,
Rips, piercings, and smudges,
We are still full of wonder and
Our minds are full of light.
**We embrace the order
we border on uniformity
awfully we are digging ourselves
in shelves of debt and depression.
Life is a vivid painting,
staining the realisation that death,
that the last breath taken
and the needless pain is imminent.**
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
1. I was outside shoveling horse **** considering the more **** I piled up, the less you'd deal with when you came home.
2. I woke up every night at 2, unfamiliar to having the bed all to myself, curled around a pillow like a buoy far from shore, sea sick in the choppy water, my vision reduced to abstract smudges. I focused on what must have been your silhouette as I gulped cups of salty water half a mile into the ocean, exhausted and drowning.
3. Medicinal marijuana alleviates anxiety. I won't swear on depression, I believe, there are four types of depression. Blue dreams are most desirable, every day for 8 months.
4. You've probably seen this desktop orb that captures electrical currents, so when you touch it with your fingers violet bolts ignite against your glass fingerprint. With this light, 2 a.m. I scoop the sandman's hash into my pipe so i can get some rest from my past who caught up to me a few days ago.
5. Dreamer. Heartbreaker. Deep thinker. No harm has come -- to--- you.
6. When it gets dark again, run baby run. Spin around with my eyes on his, reveal the wreck behind my lids, at the thought of losing him, not to another woman, but to Fate. Hold him tight. Make love like you mean it, not to **** but to tie two hearts together as they bleed. It's bloodstains on the white sheets, two people loved here like death sat by the dinner table, waiting on his appetizer.
7. The cruel morning illuminates his naked body as he slept. I cried because I didn't know if dreamed of pleasing me. Why did I let things I couldn't control worry me?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
It's OK not to be inspired.
You can look at a sunset
Without seeing the colours as smudges of chalk
On the divine, stretched-out canvas of sky.
And you don't have to write everything down,
Because not everything has to be permanent.
Some things only last for as long as you remember them,
And it doesn't make them any less special
Just because they weren't written down or spoken life into.
Existing is art, and creating something
That no-one ever gets to hear is still art.
You're a poet even when you're not rushing to your notebook
Before the words fall through your fingers, slippery with desperation,
Motivation, inspiration for the next poem.
So slow down, because if you forget your masterpiece
Because you were enjoying a careless moment of misplaced inspiration,
Who cares? Even if no-one saw it, you know you created an awesome poem.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
it feels like the blood inside my veins is moving like quick dry cement does ten hours after it's poured
simultaneously a storm brews in them
similar to how mom once brewed soup that tasted of distanced family and bile
bile which still resides in a clump at the back of my throat from the last time i said your name
you are he-who-shall-not-be-named since saying your name is as dangerous as saying Voldemort’s
monochromatic colour schemes make up my world, each day either tinted or shaded
usually shaded because I was told that dark colours are slimming and that thought never left my mind
rain smudges all of the pigments together and even my glasses can't correct my vision
i love rain but my rainbows are always brown-black
like those karate belts you had when you lived
or how she used to mix all of her playdoh together
i used to believe that she created the world that way
god i wish i was right.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
i.
morning sand chills my feet
damp grains cling between my toes
a predawn morning cold
mid-August summer day
ii.
down the beach
i watch hawks circling
hunting the tree line, they
work the shore grasses
a narrow strip of tall plants
between beach and wood
circling closer and closer
coming to me
iii.
they soar a steady breeze off the lake
hunting prey which i hear
scurrying frantically among the tall grasses
the hawks circle now directly above
white bodies with dark wing feathers
iv.
in the beach house
hang two paintings by a local artist
children playing on this very beach
chasing one another and crouching in the tide-pool
shown in fine detail
especially for water color
yet, i notice, the children
have no faces, merely brown smudges
featureless
v.
that night, sitting
around a beach bonfire
sparks jump from burning logs
about me forms glow red
i see these faces too appear as
smudges,
featureless
like an infant
at it's birth
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 8:07 AM UTC
Smudges in the sky
Swirling across my fingers
Gateways to heaven
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
Quietly I'll let you go,
Slowly I will allow you to get over me,
Gently I shall inform you I was not the one.
Do not muse over me,
I do not wish to be a bitter taste left on your tongue;
That is why its best that we drift away from this broken love,
And slowly forget.
You do not need to call me anymore,
Its no longer your concern to take care of me.
We were not functional,
And this dysfunctional Love only leaves us emotional;
Leaving us naked on the floor for each others to see one another faults.
Neither of us are peacemakers,
And never bring any justice to our cases of broken promises and hearts,
Leaving smudges of ***** lies polluting our skin.
These is our dysfunctional love and we need to know when to let it go,
So as we drift away, remember when I said "Its for the best,"
Because that is the most truth that spilled out of my mouth since the beginning.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC