"squiggle" poems
I squiggle and squirm
Trying to find a place
Inside this suit of skin I wear
Try to display my feelings on my face
But no matter how I shift and slide
There is no room for me here
In this skin in which I hide
Where I live with my fear
I wonder constantly
How does everyone seem so comfortable?
So happy and free?
In their very own skin
How are they different from me?
I see them walking
Confident
Hips swaying
Moving with no consequence
How can I love myself
If I don't even feel comfortable with myself?
In other words,
How do I love a stranger?
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
*see me fly close to the sun
watch my feathers trail and hopes plummet
all round the air
falling through the sky*
evening pond..
cranes' beaks probe
last of daylight melts in rosemary-blue
lunar-moult occurs once
fins have fill of lacrymal-oceans
pedestal left behind when raiment-sown
into the slow-weave tapestry of awakening
sweeping over this landscape with seminal-flow
changing forever its inside-face
hear the unsignalled-whispers of the moon-child
it all lies in that feathered-hope
squiggle.. squiggle.. this message portent
on the palm of your sentry-pod
rustic purple on wheat-coloured earth
green-eyes smite the clouds its freedom
moving.. ever-moving.. then dissipate
into brilliant air
temporarily changing the sky's face
as the sun's eyelashes slowly meet
crawling onward
on the surface
of never
edging slowly to the sides now..veering
wait to fall..
can't ignore the ever-giving spores
lithe stems in a trance-like dance
yes, there is beauty in this non-stop dispersing
of that which asks
nothing in return
*somewhere
there must still be
a massive glitch
in the time-score*
st - 9 oct
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
meaningless thoughts and empty words.
bright cutting light that hurts.
who's a goldfish gasping for air?
me with the bees knotted in her hair.
a zombie with a caffeinated twitch
skin a battlefield, a nervous itch.
I am a frustrated squiggle.
with a rusty heart forcing mad giggles.
who's pushing their opinions on me?
because, i can barely see.
why does anyone even care?
When i'm just a bag of dead air?
i just really need some rest.
maybe then, i can be my best.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I think my conversations with You
pick up
when I put down the pen.
Other times,
I think You only communicate
through spitballs and passed notes.
I squiggle tick boxes
on college ruled lines to check
“yes” or “no,”
but You always end up eating the answer
when the Teacher is in ear shot because
sound carries faster than my sideway glances.
You say Your notes
are too loud for me to copy off of,
but I still can’t hear Your message
when we’re playing telephone at recess.
You avoided me on
the playground in grade school,
the hallways in junior high and
the cafeteria in high school,
so You can imagine my shock
when You asked to move into a one bedroom
with me in a concrete jungle gym
several miles away after graduation.
I have a four-year lease for this new place of mine
and You used to have a tendency to not stick around
when I needed You there the most,
but here You are now,
waiting patiently on the couch
holding two cups of coffee every morning
and two cups of wine every night.
You have left me with questions
that my tuition can’t cover and
that rent can’t afford,
so please understand that when I kick You out,
it’s not because You ate my groceries
or didn’t clean the bathroom;
it’s because the mess You made
for my parents to clean up
was too big to incorporate
in the chore list I left behind
when I used to live in blanket forts.
This is all hindsight,
but my vision gets checked annually
and optometrists say I’m going to be blind by thirty
if I keep wearing my contacts
during Marco Polo.
I keep telling them it’s impossible
to match where the sound
of Your voice is coming from,
so I keep my eyes shut
and my arms stretched out wide before me
to feel for Your presence.
They say that
keeping my eyes closed for too long isn’t safe
and that I should invest in glasses,
but my insurance doesn’t cover
another lens between Us
and I can’t afford to be separated
from You any longer.
Maybe someday,
You will gargle up all those
chewed up love notes
and questions
and I’ll find them below my tax returns.
Maybe someday,
You will pay me back
with more
than just a book fine.
Maybe someday,
I won’t need your change
to feel like
I’m worth something.
But, for now, I wait patiently,
writing with a pen
that ran out of ink
since the day You gave me hope
with a hushed
“maybe.”
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
Oh the fun we will have
Now that you're lying here
Paralyzed by my tea
You have nothing to fear.
Please, give me your wrist.
Now thats a good boy,
I'll tie you up nice and tight
So that you I'll enjoy.
Don't cry tears my dear
I promise you I won't leave,
Just need to get the duct tape
I don't want to hear you scream.
Oh dear this simply won't do
I need to take off your clothes
Now don't you squiggle too much
Or I might just bite off your nose
My darling you needn't be shy!
Your body's a beautiful thing,
I promise my hand will be kind to you
Since you were so kind to me.
Darling your pose is perfect!
Now is most definitely the time.
For what you most likely wonder,
To stuff you and make you mine.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
i type my middle name cautiously
s
e
o
y
o
u
n
g
and watch resignedly as the red squiggle appears underneath
but with smug satisfaction
i right click
and hit
'add to dictionary'
hah, take that
i am now part of the lexicon
and you can't stop me
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
and
I'm
gone
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.
DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
These are my thoughts for you,
In my arms every night, you will perish.
Yes, you will squirm and squiggle,
When my tongue inside you, I shall swivel.
Yes, you will lose yourself in my embrace,
When I shall touch you, you will live again.
Yes, when moonlight will glitter your face,
Then I shall kiss you back till forever.
Yes, you will love me more and more,
Intensely and insanely, in sweet pain.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC
Every pen turned to crayons in my hand
Every letter undecipherable
Just a squiggle
No one knew what I was trying to say
But I drew beautiful pictures
Mom hung colors on the
Refrigerator
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
last night you were my dream again
hair pinched up in a messy bun
you know who you are so
****** don't act like you don't to
tag you in this would be silly
& embarrassing because you
never text me back &
even if you did i wouldn't
know what
to
say
you know the one, i'm staring up at you
my head is on a goodwill pillow in your lap
you're not wearing a bra under a cut-up willie nelson tshirt
you're ignoring me holding back tears
watching one of your shows
i'm feeding you sunflower seeds & you're
spitting them back onto my sweaty chest
one hand has absentmindedly wandered to
trace my belly-button &
when a commercial starts i whisper
"hey"
"hey, down here,"
"i love you"
& your nose shrivels up & you giggle
simultaneously plucking two finger-fulls of hair from
my belly making me squiggle & bite your wrist
& you flick my nose hard
but you never
say it
back.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
Green crash,
suddenly center signal
on strange, distant announcement squiggle.
Scenery dashingly
simple, single.
Wave shape,
hungering scented cower.
On top, beady dispassioned shower,
shaving or scraping a
wooden tower.
Stale grid,
static or sounding static.
Appear, pointedly under attic,
wailing forbidden, not
automatic.
Big screen
messaging: starlight scatter.
The end. Something but antimatter.
Trigger between, in the
ribbing: flatter.
Soft board,
terribly outer terror
perceives singular, stringent error.
Coughing accordingly
code propeller.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Now, now, now, now, now, now, now!
Terrible!
You can do better
You can always do better
Yet always can't never
Suckin' on a sliver in the tool-shed-deluxe, AND I've GROWN depressed again
Sept' NOT cause' I tend to tenderize dem' words! Badly written, this mind un-fittin' for deez words I'm sittin'! Red marks, red marks n' squiggle 'neath my stupid words a lot like me and my arms n' body! I am incorrectly myself far too often to see truly true pieces beyond the sky's fragility be she man nor woman yet the classically pronounced hermaphrodit-E! I stink and smell like rotting hell except worse due to too many twos or were they duos throwing in the towel... foul.
I am
I
Am
The walking stench of literal intention and the walking stench of the hands of death (clench).
Broken staff is my forgotten word thus I AM ZERO-MARK
Not the nor a or an, but and is to I am as a universe as a point of hallucination
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
TEACHERS ARE MENTORS AND ROLE
MODELS IN OUR SOCIETY TODAY
PASSING ON WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE
IN THE MOST CARING WAY
IN THIS TURBULENT WORLD THAT
OUR YOUNG KIDS FACE TODAY
THEY NEED MENTORS OF STRENGTH
SO IT IS HARDER FOR THEM TOO STRAY
FOR THERE ARE PEER GROUPS
THE INTERNET SNAP CHAT AS WELL
THERE IS THE INFORMATION OVER LOAD
AND FUN STORIES TO TELL
GONE ARE THE DAYS OF ROMPER ROOM
MR SQUIGGLE AND THE FLOWER *** MEN
NOW OUR CHILDREN AT SCHOOL
HAVE TO LEARN AND DEFEND
BUT SOME LUCKY STUDENTS HAVE
COMPASSIONATE TEACHERS THAT ARE NEW
WITH SKILLS AND WISDOM
THAT THEY SHARE WITH YOU
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
I am not a number
I am not a cypher.
I am a real live person
Not a hypothetical one.
I am part of a portion
Of the total population
Not an ignorable thing
Only fit for eliminating
If it suits a demographic,
Budgeted body politic;
Something looked upon
As something better gone.
By some venal banker,
Number crunching ******
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
I am not a figure, a jot.
A squiggle on a page, not
Some negotiable loss
Decided upon by a boss
Who wants a higher bonus
Jettisoning an onus
Foisted on him by liberals.
My problems are not literal,
They are real and due
To be looked through
For a way to be humane
In matters mundane,
And not as profitable.
Don’t be despicable.
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
Talk to your accountants
And see what the amount is
To do things for fiscal gain
Without causing people pain.
There has to be a way
We can all have our day;
Our place in the sun
Things good for one
That are also good for all
And don’t cause a fall
In the economy and health
For those without wealth.
If the rich lose big gains
They will still eat again,
But the poor just may not
With what little they’ve got.
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
squiggle
wiggle
etch
sketch
shake shake shake.
make a box
long lines
paint some
"i'm fine"s
shake shake shake.
if i could define
the rhyme
and meter
of my life
there'd be a knife
in there
somewhere
shake shake shake.
break
broken
breaker
empty
lake
shake shake shake.
rattle the sand
inside of me
mix it up
try to hide me
shake shake shake.
kick the wall
say **** it"
cry in the hall
of your school
get laughed at by some tool
in skinny jeans
quake
shake shake shake.
retake
try to erase
that last mistake
(who's to blame?)
remake
everything
but it's not the same
shake
shake
s a e
h k
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
beep bop beep
...
beep bop beep
...
BEEP BEEP BEEP
squiggle
died!
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
She crawled into a little door, her hot tears cast an ocean
Pinnafore and teacakes red as blood and torn
She's alone inside her head, in little orange bottles with gin
And he's the squiggle of lines clambering for attention
A bright cacophony of dreams and warped fixation
Sometimes chained and desolate, sometimes rambling with a grin
It's always him, and he can be quite charming
One's own mind can be a nightmare,
Madness always makes a precious friend
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
the light is so tenderly intense after the storm,
it fills the dark shapes in between my thoughts &
I feel like playing the squiggle game with your name:
one day you might be Isidor who feels the skin of the air
some days you are Yuriy the great with skyscrapper dreams
what about Luis with soft hands tomorrow?
or Tiago, the tamer of the beast of thought?
I have to mention Maksim too, for maximum of delight in your sight
oh, Alfeu for the images of the unseen passing through you quietly in your sleep, like cosmic rays
Liberio I'll call you for the day of the freedom of speech,
once you've discovered the layers of nothingness
or Noah, the new born into a fresh laughter
Jul 14, 2023
Jul 14, 2023 at 7:21 AM UTC
Some people think it's easy.
That if you just tell me to smile I will and that I will genuinely mean it, too.
And I try to mean it- believe me, I try.
I try to find a hint of happiness inside of me and force it out.
I tried.
I tried to do the things that normal and happy people do
Because maybe if I tried I could convince myself that I, too, was a happy and normal person.
So I tried.
I took myself out to dinner.
I tried yoga.
I went to parties, and even though I can't dance, I danced anyways and made a beautiful fool of myself.
I finally bought myself a lava lamp because I've always thought they were cool.
I organized the clothes in my closet by color.
I spent twenty minutes picking out the ripest tomatoes in the grocery store.
I took up crocheting,
I learned a little French,
And I forgot all about this mess of a life I'm in by making a mess in my kitchen.
I sang in the shower so loud and proud that I lost my voice.
I went cheese tasting,
And I drank A LOT of wine.
I made faces at every person I drove by on the highway.
I started going on walks.
I started going on runs.
I ran to the balcony
And stepped on the ledge
And threw my arms out beside me
And screamed YES!
I'm free! And I'm so happy about it!
I'm happy.
I promise you I'm happy.
These tears, they are just because I'm so happy and my sadness is crying because it's gone.
I'm not sad anymore.
I'm normal. I'm happy.
I'm just like everyone else when they go to art galleries.
I'm actually looking at the art really hard and trying to find the meaning behind a red squiggle rather than just really trying to avoid people from seeing the pain.
I'm actually just a normal person that's perfectly content when they go wash their hands instead of a person that dreads walking up to a faucet and catching a glimpse of their reflection.
I'm actually a normal person that stepped onto a ledge to feel nothing but freedom rather than feeling a desire to take another step.
I'm actually ok and I'm so happy.
It's what I whispered to myself at night
Because I thought that maybe if I told myself it enough times I would eventually wake up one morning and find it to be true.
That I'm ok. I'm happy.
That's what I want to convince you because maybe if you're convinced...
I'll be convinced too.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
I want to write in a silent night
Holding my pen in a white sheet
I looked so uptight-dripping black ink.
Just can't think.
A dark clouds dispersing my mind
A big storm is coming
There must be an exit,
just can't find.
It washed everything away
Thoughts clambering on a trench
It's in the tip of the tounge,
just can't say.
The feelings were trapped
In an empty room so cold and dark
A shudder from horror,
just can't pray.
Squiggle! Squiggle!
Crumpled papers on the floor,
I badly want to find a door
Ugh, just can't write!
-A
8/14/14
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
In my past works you have seen my struggle,
My constant battle with love, evil emotions and humanity,
But now this is all about to end,
Fore as soon as I shatter this old mural and repaint over it,
Then my new beginning begins,
A Life nor governed by fear of the unknown,
Surrounded by music that makes you dance,
Art that make no sense to most but only does to some,
A dash oh blue, and a pinch of green,
Triangles, Squares, Rhombuses, and Stars,
A brush stroke here, and a squiggle there,
The Demons are gone, and happiness is here to stay,
Its the Coming of a new Age,
Where people don't need to cry lightning,
This is it, the new life,
Keep on fighting and let happiness in,
My dear friends, it is a glorious world past this dark tunnel,
I've left the gate open for all of you to come through,
May my works from now on be full of awesome new things and ideas,
This is it.. the last brush stroke,
Now it is finished the old mural has been painted over with raident colours so bright,
Like shining stars and galaxy's throughout the night,
When in doubt pick up you're brush or pencil and make art,
Don't you care about what others say, that piece of art is yours and a reflection of you,
This is art, that is art, we are art,
Just keep breathing a little longer, and follow it all through,
Keep on fighting, fore that is what me must do.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC