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"speechlessness" poems
termites crawl in my stomach; you are my disarray, o soft and golden - take the curves of my feet, the freckle on my lip, and hang me on your wall, you compel my speechlessness. i'll keep guessing, guessing and unguessing. i am up all night over this.
0
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
crush
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, this is who I am. This is my story. It is only coincidence that I sing it to you, but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was me. My unconsciousness begging me for nourishment, silently loudly attacking my awareness with questions: it asked why I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, is this, too, why your body vibrates when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too have recognized feeling as thought? That that faculty of wonder you hush about as if a ***** secret of forgotten childhood memory is something that is as real as the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch, but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words creaking like old wood in a library filled with students who read so much ******** to get into college but never venture forth for such skin in the skin of those unconscious voices in the shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe. The ideas wriggle in your veins like a worm. They block your blood yet move your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you, pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek. So I suspect of myself. I do not understand how else I could have been born without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see why else. I cannot. You cannot. There is light over there in that darkness. A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver has shocked you into your paleness. Into my blackness. It is the same difference. A different same. Line break: A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes. My brownness ***** me into journeys with tunnels so deep that we call them pupils. In the distance that I gaze into I find myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching: this is the soul you said does not exist. It is not there. It is. In Indiana. Where's that? asks my blood. In Indiana. Over there? my finger points out the window. No. It is. It is. Not. Suddenly I smell something and it is myself. It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin. I ask you where it is. Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself. It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black. You ask me where I think it is. What the **** do we know?
0
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
A Walk to the Science Classrooms on a Post-Rainy Autumn Day.
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, this is who I am. This is my story. It is only coincidence that I sing it to you, but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was me. My unconsciousness begging me for nourishment, silently loudly attacking my awareness with questions: it asked why I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, is this, too, why your body vibrates when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too have recognized feeling as thought? That that faculty of wonder you hush about as if a ***** secret of forgotten childhood memory is something that is as real as the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch, but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words creaking like old wood in a library filled with students who read so much ******** to get into college but never venture forth for such skin in the skin of those unconscious voices in the shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe. The ideas wriggle in your veins like a worm. They block your blood yet move your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you, pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek. So I suspect of myself. I do not understand how else I could have been born without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see why else. I cannot. You cannot. There is light over there in that darkness. A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver has shocked you into your paleness. Into my blackness. It is the same difference. A different same. Line break: A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes. My brownness ***** me into journeys with tunnels so deep that we call them pupils. In the distance that I gaze into I find myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching: this is the soul you said does not exist. It is not there. It is. In Indiana. Where's that? asks my blood. In Indiana. Over there? my finger points out the window. No. It is. It is. Not. Suddenly I smell something and it is myself. It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin. I ask you where it is. Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself. It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black. You ask me where I think it is. What the **** do we know?
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72
Can't you see how it's a long way down from the haunt of the stars stop shining when you shut your eyes. I sometimes break my lines blur between happiness and being awake I can barely feel anything when you speak. It's not quietude, nor speechlessness it's the way my mind grows into a cancer of memories- how one potentially harmful dies everyday like clock- work can't make time stop the way you do. I break between my lines some- time pours into your eyes. We can speak in fine tongues and drink wine older than our hours but when it comes to you I let my tongue tie itself in a knot. I tend to break into my lines which is why you could never know that after I said I love you never came.
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Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I sometimes break my lines
Beyond the butterfly feelings In the whirlwind of our intimacy A full option sensual desire Distance distancing distance All at once till we hit the ****** The zenith of pleasures and feels Like the breakthrough of Miracles Sounds of Soughs, ex and in hales Hot Moments of breathlessness Scratches of speechlessness Mouth agape, dead-in-moments long squeezes, short grips, sweats Body vibrating, breath whispering Emotions revealing, turn ons Passions imploding, hard ons Intense kinetic motions of kardias Slippery shining fleshy mammalians Till the moment of implosion: ****** That sweet ecstasy moment when all that exists is what you feel
0
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
"Sounds of Sough"
Sometimes I wish I lost my ability to speak So I could stop saying anything Without the stress of filling silence and trying to impress, to entertain. I fantasize about this everyday Miss Social Butterfly flying away. The talkative girl without a thing to say. No more judgment. No more tears. I could just smile and nod to whatever you say. No opinions. No arguments. No longer worrying about filling the awkward pauses others leave, ridding the quiet of the late evening. Being me, instead of pretending. Instead of always talking without saying anything. I talk and talk and don't mean a thing I say at all. I work to be the person everyone wants me to be. Outspoken and Independent all the while wishing someone would stick up for me (speak for me) instead of working to stand up for everybody. Peaceful Muteness. Still and Stopped. If I only didn't have a voice to take for granted and abuse by speaking things without thought or meaning then maybe, I would be happy in speechlessness just blending into the backward and disappearing going against my nature and vanishing into the background shaking of heads and becoming only a ****** expression. in the distance.
0
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
Please speak for me (Journal entry #2)
I still do not have words for you and my silence in the restaurant was not due to speechlessness or too many thoughts trying to force their way out I have just run out of ways to rephrase the sentences I say to you every time we do this It doesn't hurt any less and I still haven't lost my will to fight for you but I have learned when to save my breath with you because I know there will be another time when you will take it away
0
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
Break Up, Part 3
My friend got to see you Just not too long ago. Told me Your not as handsome And amazing As I said. I stared at her A million reasons Why you where all those things And more Shot through my brain. But all I could say is. "I love him" How can I tell her That I see the stars in your eyes And they keep me in place when I feel as though I may fall? How can I possibly explain The feeling of delight I feel hearing your voice The pull on my heart I feel Seeing your face. How can I say "He's my best friend" When you're so much more. If I said "he's my reason for breathing, For getting up in the morning For not giving up. He's my everything." It'd be the truth But very little of it. There's so much I wanna say. Many are just fragments I can't fit together just yet. But I like the feeling of speechlessness You've given me. Till then just know. My friend thinks you're ugly But to me your everything but.
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Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC
My friend thinks your ugly
For someone who loves to unnecessarily just talk & talk Regardless of all the silent responses she often got This speechlessness feeling is quite a shock Suffocating with endless feelings, feeling less she is NOT I know it sounds preposterous & absurd Since cold & heartless she tended to display Because the fire in her had no longer burned She had broken pieces with an ash covered soul & the darkness faded her away
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Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
Fading
Courage is something I will never have. Like Christmas presents, I will never get what I asked for. Content is something I never understood. Like history and math, I never really bothered learning. Truth is something I can never believe. Like magicians, They put you at awe with a pinch of misdirection. Passion is something I can never maintain. Like Swiss watches, Too much effort, too much time, too much risk. Games are things I will never play. Like Scrabble, I have too little vocabulary for too many variables. Greed is a part I can never avoid. Like speed, The faster I go, the faster I go. You are something I will never get. Like poker, I must never cash in more than I can afford. I guess you are something I truly regret. Like soap opera, I cried for something unreal, tear for nothing surreal. I guess you are something dismay. Like rainy nights, Sad songs drummed the rain drops. I guess you are you, ultimately. We disconnect like two unfit jigsaws, We reconnect like two fit strangers. We reflect, deflect and subject to many a change, But at the end, We conclude in silence. As the curtain drop to a close, Stillness filled our hearts. Emptiness filled our dreams. While speechlessness filled our mouths, We forget every nip of attraction lost. Lost to, not mine, but your utmost desire.
0
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Stellar
chew your thoughts with your mouth open i want to see all of you teeth, tongue, throat, synapse, neuron stammers and spasms and flashes of crippling vulnerability streams of lucid genius speechlessness' met with one single look that utters sunsets giddy ****** kid i want it glitch and all
0
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
please
The man sings like a plague crawling on the ground, its attachments are not the first thing you’ll notice, but when his verses and the tone of his voice slowly takes over the machinery of your Monday morning misanthropy you’ll begin to wonder how you could ever forget that loving takes more from you than you could ever give, and how you do it anyway. The toxin now in your lungs, and your body’s immune system is hostage to his rhythms; chasms of his songwriting has metastasised into your liver: I love you’s taste like anxiety induced speechlessness, and bile, and how many times will you run this over in your mind like a hallucination. His song like a plague, has wiped out this population of sorrows, and what now of you who has only ever claimed that sadness was your art, your clothes, your home, your sanity. What now?
0
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
As sickness makes you my lover, I die
Not many blunts can be found In the pockets of my friends Good thing though I'm sick of that **** Always lived by the code puff puff pass Well I'm laughing laughing smiling Because I found the girl for me Gorgeous as can be I think insanity is required In this almost perfect scenario I'm getting high off my *** On the scent of her perfume From a six maybe seven hour distance I love the way she talks to me Never a dull moment She makes me feel like the animal I am But the angel able to hold her At a seconds notice I'm not asking for fire place dinner Late night walks on the beach Or making love under the stars I'm asking for a chance at her heart Maybe a chance to steal her breath away Let her suffocate on my speechlessness No joke she's ******* amazing Any man would **** just to look at her I'm dying to stare in her eyes I'm falling **** am I falling Told you I wasn't going anywhere Give it a week my *** I'm giving it a week till you realize Baby I'm hitting rock bottom pretty **** hard
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Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
Getting High Off My ***
A moment in your eyes could stay sketched in mind timelessly The power your piercing gaze holds makes my mind crumble translating to stutters of expressionless wonders Intensity keeps a smile from forming Feelings spike to shock and speechlessness As layer by layer I begin unfolding until naked and completely unraveled A surrender that kept me motionless I want to run I want to hide But I'm left clinging to your sleeve heaving As I morn the loss of the self I once fit into comfortably I almost unwillingly dispelled the anchor that held me down and drifted until my tired body felt the sand of safe grounds It was your island It was your stability It was all recognized when you took my hand with great agility I sat in tears letting the gold fall through my hands Watching it glisten as my foot prints trailed along I took time to kiss the new land I stand upon Then looked up ambitiously with anew strength ready to explore
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Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
My Island
It's hard to admit at times, how deep I've sunk. When it all began I thought I was manipulative smart; the way I could "pretend" not to care so I could escape the shipwrecks I  inspired. At the time I was so preoccupied with my fears to notice just how much I'd disappear It seems so inexplicable to care all too much and suddenly swiftly so terrifyingly numb. And sometimes it's everything in every wake of blood coursing through my veins the fear the numbness the pain draining to vacuity, to ruin, And in the waves bring immeasurable unease disrupting an ocean of deafening speechlessness. Some days are easier, calmer, some days are ******* impossible*. And always it seems much easier to rest, to sleep, to collapse into the foamy rapids, then to swim against the riptide; And despite the efforts I've drawn in sand the allure of the sea floor is present at all times. But it always gets better, though admittingly this bubble is hard to remember. *In constant flow the sea is me, chaotic, dark, free, and so devistatingly beautiful, a never ending cycle of birth and death and continuity.*
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Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
The Sea, An Analysis
I am left with scraped knees, fingertips that spent their days counting the ones they would be able to meet yours. Raw, bruised, red lips from all those unspoken wishes that lulls those tired eyelids to sleep. A heart full of love to kiss, dance, tickle you with. Eyelashes with tears edging the corners. Swallow that inexplicable sense of speechlessness. Save those for undeniable sweet things on sunshine-kissed days. I'll be okay. Will be okay. I love you & that is ok-ay.
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Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
Ok-ay? Ok-ay.
I felt the edge of my nightmare, grasping to the subconscious worries that were clinging like venomous fangs delving inwards. Dreams were a potato peeler on the different skins that were pealed from my normality to what turned metaphorical hairs white, I screamed in high definition of speechlessness. Have you ever woken to find that the reflection of what was coherent within your diluted dreams had clung to your eyelids? Escaping the dreamscape of illusion and collecting into the tear ducts of deliberations connecting eclipses of reality that was a mirage of what I conceived in both verses.   I had awoken in momentary seclusion, short lived like a verse of a haiku that versed much but bleed more than it had versed. I was a paradox of complexity, my tribulations were collecting in lagoons of reality about to burst. I was immersed in a mirage of impulses and needed to visualize. I felt the edge of my nightmare, and it penetrated like satin fissures on my delicately woven reflections. Those that stared back upon me, expressing their intentions. We are a motion of luminosity and twilight and our dreams weave a thin line that lingers in our dreams..
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Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
"I Felt The Edge Of My Nightmare......."
I'm at a loss of words, And this time It's not for the usual reasoning That you astonish me To a point of speechlessness. This time it's because I miss you And I'm struggling to speak to you Without those three words Tumbling out of my mouth.
0
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
Speechless
i bathe myself with the music that i alone, hear. i heed the flinch of my heart's centrifuge - gyrates purely without a hand holding it, in a lonesome, contrapuntal waltz. i lie naked yet untouched, this aloneness. even my words prosper in the tumescence of speechlessness. hurrying back to dimming light is my body ready to feed the wick of this dark. traipsing the bareness of this pantheon is my soul, and no one else's. solemnity scales the stars and transforms them into margins to fence my own universe:   i am the only celestial here,    spinning in a thousand days      of restlessness.
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Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
To Dance In The Thread Of This Universe, Alone
It is better to bark at the moon than let speechlessness seep  through the void. Until the premise of the voyage is replete can we know the cosmos sayeth the wise on a chagrin of a day. Clod and ash will be our bane and only the heralded will remain, two feet standing rather than crawling, tantamount to recidivism.
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Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Orient room
faintly I hear the pitter patter of water dripping from a leaky faucet the unpredictable pattern that grabs my attention each time much like the minute remnants of you left in my chest. blindly I fumble in and out of infatuations that have nothing and everything to do with you. your words seem etched into my skin, burning from a simple touch cowardly as you are, your impact haunts my hollow heart. speechlessness devours me as I reflect on how something as dastardly as you can be missed.
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Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Devoured
I love the way your eyes sparkle whenever you catch a glimpse of her. You in your utter speechlessness. Watching you watching her. I live a lonely life.
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Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
same old, same old
It's kind of funny How the person who gave you your first breath Is one that makes you want to have your last. Laughter once meant to express joy Now used to cover up void and anxiety Of speechlessness and neediness. Being the one who begged to move And now begging to move again For what used to be Camelot Is now the worst place. It's funny how humans talk about love As though love is tangible. The way lives intertwine   Oftentime becomes untwined; Parallel. That's what it's supposed to be at the end isn't it? Straight lines on man-made machines? It's kind of funny How what man made while living Becomes the thing that tells of their leaving.
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Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
It's kind of a funny story
Density. Quick... Not fast enough. Speechlessness. Was it refreshing? Please enlighten. Unfold the guarded. Embracement of it all... Journeys ahead. That twelve year old boy giggles. Tell me. Dialed in for a connection. Here. Let me compliment. Build. Trust. Desire. No offense intended. Upcoming... Grateful; yet uncertain. What will be heard?
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Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
IV.
They dragged him to the gallows He did not kick nor scream They dragged him to the gallows To watch the father hang As with ages sang from sandy storms Historic distortion in the scorn of woe Fate was chosen of a frozen foe Calculated to the sum of that which cannot be known As he roamed the tides of time To find a home to shine Until dim But it found him and blotted out the vices of victory in victimless villainy upon the vanity of his venom, beautifully belittling the betterment of his ******* benevolence in malevolent speechlessness from his grinning sieges of silence, knifing through the violence with the ballistic alignment of a consignment contract to contact the creatures of the black. What once was lost ... Is back
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Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
Metamor