"steadiest" poems
Tuesdays are my
good days
safe days
happy days
they are the most routine,
the most reliable,
the steadiest
when I wake up and know that
I will go to school
and will have my lightest workload
of the week
and therefore the least stress
and then after school
I will go to piano lessons
run some errands
then go to the library
to pick up a few books to read that week
and later, go to youth group
but both this week and last,
as I stepped into my favorite part of routine,
I was met by your cold black eyes
looking at me from between the bookshelves
and the awful sensation that lingers afterward for so many hours
I'm beginning to think Tuesdays aren't so safe anymore.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
I try to navigate
take the longer path
hope the roads confuse me
hope they create an illusion,
not even the steadiest eyes could endure
I try to memorize what I need to explain
hope a beast surrounds me and takes my breath away
hope it leaves me with no chance to speak again
I try to persuade myself it's all going to be okay
but really
i wish it wasn't me
who had to carry the bags
explain the mess
eventually I run out of roads to take,
fake illusions to make, and their are no more beasts that could possibly harm me
so i tell them the truth
'the pain hurts every single day, and I'm afraid, his memory is never going away'
and if a tear or two falls down my cheeks
I turn my back and accept - i've done my best.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
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I love you.
And not just for the overflowing amounts of positive awareness;
not just for the thrilling outer casing of a body, a body I view as now sacred, more than just art.
You are a temple of admiration, and your soul is lucky to make a home within you.
Most would envy you; with your seemingly endless success and compassion, we are one in the same.
We are so much more than our outward appearances, so much more than the tainted and blurred vision of those who are almost permanently scarred, overrun with a jealous mind, and a jealous heart.
Their souls are blinded, caged, and every spot of energy within themselves blocked up with false beliefs.
But we; we are so much more than this. We are obsessed with the love we partake in.
Your touch, I crave. It's as if the energy is literally seeping from the pads of your crafted fingertips into my being.
What drives you is passion. We are so full of it, which is why we are the almost sickeningly perfect match.
My head, my energy, is in the constant state of refusal to reality.
Some may say, my head is stuck in the clouds. But that is an entirely false statement.
My head is caught in the exosphere, facing the Universe with the steadiest of a gaze.
You take me back to the harsh reality, but together we craft it, in seemingly flawless harmony.
My soul faces this lifetime with courage, without a minuscule strand of doubt.
Together, our souls now proclaim a unity, an indistinguishable frequency. Never perfect, but passionate in our vision.
I bid you all the credit, all my love. For you will be my first and only love until the final hour fate justifies otherwise.
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Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 11:46 AM UTC
It was suddenly twenty-eight minutes
after three in the morning,
and I found myself in your bedroom.
Your sheets were cheap and creased,
your quilt was older than you,
and your pillow cases didn't match.
There were three pillows, and you had all of them.
I didn't mind.
Your breathing was the steadiest thing in your life right now,
and your back rose and fell
as regularly as your hopes did in the daytime.
There was nothing on your back -
whatever was there
an indefinite number of hours previously
had joined the convention of disorganized stress on the floor
that slept a mere seven and a half inches from us.
The mattress was as warm as we were,
and the whole of it held tightly to the scratched hardwood floor
that was probably still owned by those that lived here before you.
There was an appalling lack
of glow-in-the-dark stars
on your dull, cracked ceiling.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
I dropped your favourite mug today.
I have the steadiest of hands,
but I thought of her name
and all the times you sighed it
into my pillow.
And face-down in a pillow
flooded with tears
is not heartbroken.
Heartbroken is seven drinks laced with ***
and I can't breathe in
without seeing your face
and the room is spinning so much
and I forget which way is up,
and I dropped your favourite coffee mug
and I realized as it shattered into pieces,
I'm too tired to pick it up.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
I can’t find you in songs or poetry
or in dreams or fantasies
I’ve lost count of the hair that falls on your face
and how you looked at me with the steadiest gaze
See with you i could’ve been anything
like the prettiest flower or boldest painting
But all you wanted was a steady hand to hold
and I’m sorry my hands shook whenever you got close
It’s ******** - time doesn’t heal all wounds
Hell, time didn’t exist with you and now without you I don’t.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
You say I'm unreliable;
But I'm the steadiest thing
You've got.
Yet, tomorrow you'll forget me,
Without a single thought.
(m.a.)
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
the hummings you hear
is the tune at work
at binding my heart
to this one true love.
the pedal point that holds our song
courses through my every node
bringing me life
like how your words
give breath to my smile.
this love is true
my heart beats for you
with the steadiest of rhythms
alongside quaver notes
deep in song
as I have found myself
deep in your promising love.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Jeremy was an artist, the best of his day
He started as a boy, he liked to draw rather than play
He was famous back then, known all through the land
As the little boy from Norfolk, with the steadiest hand
Peculiar he was, for he never spoke a word
His parents told the public, "through his work he liked to be heard"
Those who watched him recall, his face was clear and gleaned
But his eyes shone dark with pain, suffering so it seemed
His art may shine bright, bring light to dark times
But it's not his true passion, rather his crux to draw lines
He has to do it anyway, from his family it keeps dread
Or rather because his parents, hold a gun against his head
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
The glistening palm trees cast a Cimmerian shade, stretching far across. Odd was how the dark wavering imprint was perceivable in the tenebrosity of the night. The moon, smothered by the viscous clouds, was unable to fulfill its illuminating role. The wind sang for the nightingales perched on the trees an entrancing sorrowful hymn, a disconsolate requiem, meant solely to succor. All in vain. Such are the innerworkings of a soul tainted by grief and vehement rage. He would ask for forgiveness, but only if he knew how, and even if he did, who would he ask. Once the soul has been blotted, it hardly ever finds its way back to its purity. The same wretched purity that inculcated the need for self-imposed harm. 'Tis true men will desire oblivion rather than not desire at all. He knew all this since the earliest drop of ichor was divulged on his account. Then it streamed, like a river with the steadiest of currents. His hands were, for the first time, sanctified as they soaked the blood. If only he knew how to foster the fire, leaving the trees incinerated, while forsaking the land of all shadow except that of the nightingales fleeing.
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 1:22 PM UTC
A prize you thought you'd gazed upon,
But no, my dear you’ve never been more wrong.
I look divine from where you stand,
But open my depths with the steadiest hand.
You're chasing treasures, wishes, more-
Yet my teeth grow sharper behind each door.
You never asked why I stood alone,
Just waltzed right in, hoping to find a home.
But you led me nowhere, and I pulled you down.
You fell for a mimic-
And you did so quite ******* loud.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 11:58 PM UTC
I never want to remember, yet it hurts to forget.
Tears flow like my regrets.
A water fountain.
A shock wave.
Of feelings.
Why can't I just let you go?
Why can't your presence just escape my heart?
I wish for nothing more than to not be torn the **** apart.
They say time heals all wounds,
But the wounds I feel aren't surface scars.
They cut deep within.
I'm not whole.
I'm not a melody without you.
My harmony.
My solid ground.
My love.
You were my riptide.
Yet you were the steadiest motion in my ocean.
Joy and hope
Joy and hope.
You kept my life afloat.
It hurts the most
To know we just can not be.
I wish we knew ourselves
Individually.
The love I have will live inside me until I die.
Never fading.
No replacing.
Nothing will ever compare.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC