"somethng" poems - Hello Poetry

With your words that made me fly somehow. But hidden within ur innerself its always been your sweetest lie. Talking bout your dreams devouring me like ashes twisted and slowly disappearing. The truth acts like a spirited-away. Letting it fly back to its inside. There's this always inside of you. Something hidden and somethng blocked. Stopping you from outpouring what's inside. Mind and heart was in despair. They were always contrary but hearing all! With your honesty, i know there is all the droppin of everythng. All numb but eyes were all blown. I cant stop it. But all a could say. Everythng was fragile. Revenge has always been part of the human soul. not in its anatomy form or any interior or exterior aspects. But functioning with its own parts. Its the anger! Where it all starts. Jealousy and hurt were the main stream and always end to suffering. Thats all for love. We'd all be needing for us to feel even. Just a pinch of happiness just to get fair for someone that we love but did somethng wrong within us breaking us. Attacking every tiny vessels which in the end, Turning us into an evil creature. It was a buss - telling me it was that simple thing. Not to make it more bigger. But lets end this up. Still it hurts,... Still. Its another woman. Such senstivity arising.

0

Jun 18, 2013

Jun 18, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC

turt

Tirade; sensitivity

With your words that made me fly somehow. But hidden within ur innerself its always been your sweetest lie. Talking bout your dreams devouring me like ashes twisted and slowly disappearing. The truth acts like a spirited-away. Letting it fly back to its inside. There's this always inside of you. Something hidden and somethng blocked. Stopping you from outpouring what's inside. Mind and heart was in despair. They were always contrary but hearing all! With your honesty, i know there is all the droppin of everythng. All numb but eyes were all blown. I cant stop it. But all a could say. Everythng was fragile. Revenge has always been part of the human soul. not in its anatomy form or any interior or exterior aspects. But functioning with its own parts. Its the anger! Where it all starts. Jealousy and hurt were the main stream and always end to suffering. Thats all for love. We'd all be needing for us to feel even. Just a pinch of happiness just to get fair for someone that we love but did somethng wrong within us breaking us. Attacking every tiny vessels which in the end, Turning us into an evil creature. It was a buss - telling me it was that simple thing. Not to make it more bigger. But lets end this up. Still it hurts,... Still. Its another woman. Such senstivity arising.

14

Acceptance- It's somethng every soul craves Though most never see it Within our fragile days But the few who are so lucky Don't relize how great it is They dont live the lives- Lives as deadly as this

0

Jan 14, 2012

Jan 14, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC

poetry-is-life

Acceptance

Acceptance- It's somethng every soul craves Though most never see it Within our fragile days But the few who are so lucky Don't relize how great it is They dont live the lives- Lives as deadly as this

8

I was going to skul "yes" without fittng shoes,i have no extra books,i have no pencil either pen an one of all i have no health,i have a deases called hunger with a cure but not discovered yet,i live without proper food without nutrition but just know that i have malnutrition some say they will do somethng about my situation an oh maybe they will ...um tired oh poverty and always will be....i was polite,i was listening to people an have no say an do what i was told just for money coz i had no money for food,education an health i am young bt look old poverty is cruel it try to make me look like an old age,it just like an insects in my food an ofcorse that i dont have..it knocked at my door an i open thought it was someone it push an pull me down an make me kneel for it an i did ,it made me its slavery inside my house come on inside my own house? And i obey?well i had no choice, i slept at the floor without a blanket an without my teddy,then i had a dream and quite dream, i dreamed about money and i dreamed about the end of poverty,then i woke up and busy searching for my money "oh my dream money" searching my empty pocket with an angry face thinking that my money was stolen from me,then i realize it was just a dream, an again i realize that when i live with my unwanted friend is not because i want it.,,,,its because i want more....

0

May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC

beauty-busisiwe-mbata

Poverty

I was going to skul "yes" without fittng shoes,i have no extra books,i have no pencil either pen an one of all i have no health,i have a deases called hunger with a cure but not discovered yet,i live without proper food without nutrition but just know that i have malnutrition some say they will do somethng about my situation an oh maybe they will ...um tired oh poverty and always will be....i was polite,i was listening to people an have no say an do what i was told just for money coz i had no money for food,education an health i am young bt look old poverty is cruel it try to make me look like an old age,it just like an insects in my food an ofcorse that i dont have..it knocked at my door an i open thought it was someone it push an pull me down an make me kneel for it an i did ,it made me its slavery inside my house come on inside my own house? And i obey?well i had no choice, i slept at the floor without a blanket an without my teddy,then i had a dream and quite dream, i dreamed about money and i dreamed about the end of poverty,then i woke up and busy searching for my money "oh my dream money" searching my empty pocket with an angry face thinking that my money was stolen from me,then i realize it was just a dream, an again i realize that when i live with my unwanted friend is not because i want it.,,,,its because i want more....

1

I used to be a mover. I ran, and danced, and climbed trees. If I saw somethng I wanted, I reached for it, worked for it, or asked an adult to get it for me. I would fidget and squirm at the dinner table and in Mass. I did not question, I just did. I used to say things. I sang, rhymed and questioned with impunity. I behaved as though everyone was hanging on my every word. People were constantly telling me to be quiet. I made them listen. My voice connected me to the world, it proved I was real. I used to laugh more. Giggled, chortled and chuckled with glee. It was my first reaction to anything new and novel. It bubbled out of me, tickling my throat as it filled the room. I measured the worth of a day by how much I had laughed. I used to get lost in things. In the fields, in untying knots, in books, especially in books. I deliberately took wrong turnings just to see what was there, and hid under my bed with a book and a torch and spoke to no one. I felt so disheartened when I found my way again. I used to create. I crafted, sketched and wrote for hours at a time. It just poured from my fingertips. It was only completed when the smile came. A bright, beaming smile, bursting out of me. I would burn with furious pride over 8 lines of mispelled rhymes about a purple monster. I believed the only things you own, are the things you make. Now I am uncertain. Tentative, unsure, and above all; Silent. Now I only move with a destination in mind. I am economical and perfunctory with my movements. I don't know how to use words anymore, the language has changed. The pen feels uncomfortable in my hand, while I agonise over the exact right words. Being lost frightens me, and seems like a waste of time. Creating things (non-edible things) are just extra pieces of baggage you must carry around. Pointless and deflating, they chew their way into every part of your brain to fester and breed. And people know when you've got poems gnawing your thoughts, and they will instantly distrust you. But now. Right now, as I near the end of this train of thought. The Mover awakens within me. I smile and crave company. I have a sudden yearning to once again take a wrong turn. I will not sleep tonight.

0

Mar 3, 2012

Mar 3, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC

sarah-ellen-swinburne

I used to be a Mover

I used to be a mover. I ran, and danced, and climbed trees. If I saw somethng I wanted, I reached for it, worked for it, or asked an adult to get it for me. I would fidget and squirm at the dinner table and in Mass. I did not question, I just did. I used to say things. I sang, rhymed and questioned with impunity. I behaved as though everyone was hanging on my every word. People were constantly telling me to be quiet. I made them listen. My voice connected me to the world, it proved I was real. I used to laugh more. Giggled, chortled and chuckled with glee. It was my first reaction to anything new and novel. It bubbled out of me, tickling my throat as it filled the room. I measured the worth of a day by how much I had laughed. I used to get lost in things. In the fields, in untying knots, in books, especially in books. I deliberately took wrong turnings just to see what was there, and hid under my bed with a book and a torch and spoke to no one. I felt so disheartened when I found my way again. I used to create. I crafted, sketched and wrote for hours at a time. It just poured from my fingertips. It was only completed when the smile came. A bright, beaming smile, bursting out of me. I would burn with furious pride over 8 lines of mispelled rhymes about a purple monster. I believed the only things you own, are the things you make. Now I am uncertain. Tentative, unsure, and above all; Silent. Now I only move with a destination in mind. I am economical and perfunctory with my movements. I don't know how to use words anymore, the language has changed. The pen feels uncomfortable in my hand, while I agonise over the exact right words. Being lost frightens me, and seems like a waste of time. Creating things (non-edible things) are just extra pieces of baggage you must carry around. Pointless and deflating, they chew their way into every part of your brain to fester and breed. And people know when you've got poems gnawing your thoughts, and they will instantly distrust you. But now. Right now, as I near the end of this train of thought. The Mover awakens within me. I smile and crave company. I have a sudden yearning to once again take a wrong turn. I will not sleep tonight.

39

*She sweeps away the cobwebs with her fingertips The silken web of a spiders thread Do Spiders ever wonder I wonder About using somethng more lasting Does it depend apon the feast they have consumed As to the quality of the thread they weave After all to you and I A cobweb is merely that A nuisance A sign of dirt Unkept ceilings hanging with the tombs of yesterday's memories When the sun shines through the web It becomes a piece of art A piece to be fashioned in silver or gold And laid to rest upon the rich girls breast She sweeps the cobwebs from her fingers The silken web of a spiders thread Then pins to her breast A piece of art A reminder that beauty is often flawed To the eye That can not see in black and white*

0

Oct 22, 2011

Oct 22, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC

rai

A Spider's art

*She sweeps away the cobwebs with her fingertips The silken web of a spiders thread Do Spiders ever wonder I wonder About using somethng more lasting Does it depend apon the feast they have consumed As to the quality of the thread they weave After all to you and I A cobweb is merely that A nuisance A sign of dirt Unkept ceilings hanging with the tombs of yesterday's memories When the sun shines through the web It becomes a piece of art A piece to be fashioned in silver or gold And laid to rest upon the rich girls breast She sweeps the cobwebs from her fingers The silken web of a spiders thread Then pins to her breast A piece of art A reminder that beauty is often flawed To the eye That can not see in black and white*

22

You make it so hard to talk about serious issues I never meant to be a Reason tears hit tissues It's a tough situation we Now find ourselves in And I got no instruction Manual that tells me if My next move is right Chances are its wrong I want to believe our love Was way to strong To be beat by what's at our feet But maybe it's not I can only be what I am And im sorry for all I'm not My stomachs all in knots I wanna make the choices That stop or prevent our angered, raised voices But resentment poises And stands opposed But when I communicate U act like case is closed If I were to give u a rose It would be the wrong color I do one thing and it seems I should have done another Constantly criticizing me Telling me what's gotta change When I've changed enough Things and yet it's the same Nothing's ever good enough You always find a way To make me feel like I'm the Problem somethng new everyday And I just can't alter Everything that makes me, me I've never asked u to change who Your were or ur beliefs So why should I, and when Did u start to hate EVERYTHNG I am like I'm Gods biggest mistake I've only ever wanted the best For you and me but I have compromised things And tried to clean myself up And be better like u asked but Funny and hurtful thing is I never asked or demanded u To ever change **** Now I feel less loved and More judged as if I Am competing when I am Already the best guy To ever be in ur life or hey Maybe I'm wrong, my mistake So now I win the "biggest loser" Without a decline in my weight I won't top that line ... So that must mean its the end I'm sorry I did my best ill Always love u bye , best friend Soulmate lover, ull always Be on my over active mind Are we going seperate ways or Is someone getting left behind.....? it's like we're falling apart And maybe it's goodbye this time Are we going seperate ways Or is someone getting left behind?....

0

Jan 10, 2015

Jan 10, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC

knowledgegonzalez

Separate ways...or...left behind...?

You make it so hard to talk about serious issues I never meant to be a Reason tears hit tissues It's a tough situation we Now find ourselves in And I got no instruction Manual that tells me if My next move is right Chances are its wrong I want to believe our love Was way to strong To be beat by what's at our feet But maybe it's not I can only be what I am And im sorry for all I'm not My stomachs all in knots I wanna make the choices That stop or prevent our angered, raised voices But resentment poises And stands opposed But when I communicate U act like case is closed If I were to give u a rose It would be the wrong color I do one thing and it seems I should have done another Constantly criticizing me Telling me what's gotta change When I've changed enough Things and yet it's the same Nothing's ever good enough You always find a way To make me feel like I'm the Problem somethng new everyday And I just can't alter Everything that makes me, me I've never asked u to change who Your were or ur beliefs So why should I, and when Did u start to hate EVERYTHNG I am like I'm Gods biggest mistake I've only ever wanted the best For you and me but I have compromised things And tried to clean myself up And be better like u asked but Funny and hurtful thing is I never asked or demanded u To ever change **** Now I feel less loved and More judged as if I Am competing when I am Already the best guy To ever be in ur life or hey Maybe I'm wrong, my mistake So now I win the "biggest loser" Without a decline in my weight I won't top that line ... So that must mean its the end I'm sorry I did my best ill Always love u bye , best friend Soulmate lover, ull always Be on my over active mind Are we going seperate ways or Is someone getting left behind.....? it's like we're falling apart And maybe it's goodbye this time Are we going seperate ways Or is someone getting left behind?....

72

As hard as it may seem;to be inspired at times, There's always inspiration around us, Its not even somethng to wait for, Inspiration is actually something to find,to search for, Its all over,you just have to be receptive, And to view things with your mental eye.

0

Jul 11, 2015

Jul 11, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC

tapiwa

;;{};;

As hard as it may seem;to be inspired at times, There's always inspiration around us, Its not even somethng to wait for, Inspiration is actually something to find,to search for, Its all over,you just have to be receptive, And to view things with your mental eye.

6