"subpar" poems
The evolution of art never halts
Once we began dancing around fire
Our feet couldn't stop
A place in our lives
Where our subpar seeds
Could be seen as glowing trees
That's the way I feel about my poetry
It reminds me a lot of me
I reread it and rewrite it so often
By the end it seems unoriginal and plain
And all I can hope
Is the themes and ideas that were the inspirational genesis
Remain intact
Art walks a tightrope over the most unpredictable factor
The audience
They are the other half of art
Their power cannot be overstated
And as time progresses
Their power grows
And the importance of art always extends an equal distance
But the stronger art becomes
The more it asks of it's audience
In many cases
The audience is not ready to take the call
This is one of those times
Here at the current pinnacle of art
Surfing the web
A wonderful chance as
Art is a reflection of people and society
The Internet is people and society
But just as we listen to songs
To decide what concert to go to
Or watch trailers
To decide what movie to see
We like what we like
And put blinders on to find it
Like moths to fire
We could do amazing things
If we could harness the potential
Of our collective conscious
But the threat of losing our individuality
Is too great for us
Unable to accept
Our individuality is always in the context of our cosmic existence
We are part of something greater
And we can't escape that
Even in death
We feed what lies beneath
The memory of our lives
Shrinks to obscurity
The maggots that cover our corpses
Flourish to maturity
Everything this world creates is art
And we are it's most complex creation
Not necessarily the best
We just have the most parts
And the maggots that use our dead bodies for sustenance
Were once the monsters that roamed this Earth
They had no nationality
Or political affiliations
Or religion
And they're still here
Waiting to reclaim their throne
Once "smarter" species seek suicide
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
I hear a knock upon my door.
Or was it there inside my head, where only ever dread for the things in life I can't obtain remains; No matter how hard I may in one form or another train?
And so I'll sell a piece of my soul yet again; My price of admission to taste love's glory for but a momentary grin.
With you it was so much different.
My heart is still broke, but my real loss is more than conviction.
I lost my heart, my soul, my vision.
A future bleaker than a demonic prediction.
My mind is racing as I try to relax but thoughts of you come rushing back.
I try to close my eyes to snore but there's always a monster lurking behind memory's door.
And as I recalled I saw my cursed fate,
Always here to be here but never to stay.
I'm airport luggage thrown and lost,
Maybe sought another day.
But I'll still love you through any amount of pain.
I've loved before you but never loved in this way: So full of passion and love for who we both are and could be. I'd marry you now and yet I've never stopped you to say that you're such an invaluable friend, and I'm sorry I can't be okay.
I hate that I'm not only jealous but hurt when I shouldn't feel so deeply burnt by the girl that stole my heart; She's so far beyond my worth.
But she came at night and without a knife she took my heart off it's throne in life, and put it kneeling like she had the key. As if some Divine being that, before we had even met, had my heart beat.
Your love for him is clear even from afar,
And so my heart will beat forever subpar.
So confusing are you truly to me.
The one thing I know is you are the one to whom my soul and heart chose to leave me to be.
Maybe heartless and soul-less should go hand in hand? Ripped from the body by something far greater than man.
Something unknowingly more than human, yet divined by human hands.
Ill be content that while I'm still so broke, She can be healed and her love will help her float: And she can finally forgive herself for the wrongs He wrote.
She'll shoulder the pain and strife of life,
With love beside her every night.
I can be okay but never better,
So I write to myself and you all this letter.
I'm high as a kite,
And just as exposed,
I will never not hear the call of my soul.
Depart away so you can hate me,
And close the chapter of my life called meaning.
I want only for you to be whole.
Regardless of cost, repercussion or role.
My love for you will live until dawn rises untouched by Earth's rock.
Yet ever haunting as a ghost who only ever knocks.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Ever heard your voice take a trip mid sentence
And start scrambling eggs,
Ending sentences with verbs,
Mixing Soy sauce with Bacardi
And chasing the laughter down your throat with onions
Cuckolding in the middle of the afternoon
Where violet doesn’t recognize blue
As a hue worthy enough to frolic with the afternoon dew,
And then your brain smiles to your ******
And you choke on a giggle
And wiggle an index finger just a little
And remember black widows
Were once angels who bought into self fulfilling prophecies
Like wearing Armani suits barefoot
And breathing through your skin
Hoping life doesn’t die in your arms
And leave a beautiful corpse
With great stories suffocating inside
And make the subpar ambitions of an unborn child jealous.
Now ever heard a genius cry?
‘cause then you’ve heard an artist cry.
Ever ate pork fried rice on a Sunday afternoon?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard the words of Leviticus cry.
Ever read these written words?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard memories die
And pains scream in alphabets of pleasure—
The universal language of immaculate deception
That sweeps through every tongue in involuntary pneumonia
Like waltzing to the Amen’s of the devil
With oxygen choking your nostrils
And monoxide nodding your fingers to pull the trigger
Of death dancing on the tomb of your destiny
Like how a dose of metamorphosis
And a 1mg of juxtaposition
Is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon.
But ever heard a musical note?
Then you’ve heard the story of how joy lost the war of happiness to bitterness.
Ever heard the sound of silence?
Then you’ve heard the face of evil and the thoughts of serenity
Joined at the hip of rock of Gibraltar,
Nodding heads at the gospels of Gothic prophets
Spewing sermons of a perfecter way to word the meaning of love.
Ever heard a Mockingjay sing?
Then you’ve heard the lullabies of suicide,
Like falling from grace from the eyes of your one true love
And landing on the plastic bag made of her silence
Only to wake from the land of death and catch your voice breaking at mid sentence
And mend it with the lies of sunshine that you call your life.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
I'm a Kool g rockin' coogis poppin' coochies
Haters get murked like Colhese my rap lease
Debutin' numero uno the heavy weight sumo
Born on Jupiter raised on Earth my heart's colder than Pluto
Mic judo flows stickin' of ya corticals
Check me in the articles I be the broken particle
Of the universal ya need rehearsal **** goin' commerical
I lay raps like a hearse flow for rappers funeral
I a criminal none keep gats by the abdominal rhymin' phenomenal the mighty Apollo
Blazin' my cocoa flippin' crime like Bardellino
One luv to my nino got it locked like a Vegas casino
We checkin' ya dough at the front door so stop ya show
Fronting and stunting once my nines get the hunting
Bullets spikin' like kickers punting raw taunting
Game hungriest similiar to the lochness
Mon-star far from subpar rhymes ride bizzare
A pharcyde takin' ya into a spiritual homicide converged to the angelic hide
Still a crime shame all of 'em say the same
Thing flexin' diamonds on they pinky rings yet another sad soul that sings sub siblings
To the underworld debators contract initiator so you can create a
Pace between the stage and the audience face
**** that rather keep a gat tucked in the front or the back
With wisdom to rack
Imagine that fools breakin' for stats? see where my heart at?
Diggin' reachin' into the minds of the youth with the brutal truths
Chippin' my tooth
From killin' booths once I plot ya will ya loose
bringin' the ghetto blues and cruising *****
Still a sober jealous God am I call me Jehovah
Tactics of a Cobra one strike it's over
Venomous ridiculous hataz so conspicuous
Hatin' us only to anger my artillery surplus and who bust?
More rounds than Matt Dillion coatin' ya brains
With my lyrical penicillin stealin'
Back the spotlight
Catch the bright sunshine that stares into my mind
A Pharoah prophecy laid in the back of me
Head til I touch my final resting bed I'll embed
The realist **** ya ever heard shooting a bird
To all my enemies I blast at 'em with as the bullets herd
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
I have a few,
like burning a good future.
Losing love
loving lots
spiraling in confusion.
Blinding rage,
petty sayings
a quiet vocal range.
Lackadaisical,
completely forgettable,
earn below the average joe.
I write,
I draw,
both subpar
I can't drive a car.
I can hide in a smile
lie with my eyes
and never really cry.
Overweight,
out of shape,
hoodie shaped,
never took a family break.
Mnm wants me to,
but never said I'd go far.
Won't ever date.
Usually believes in fate,
not holy gates.
my skillset so far.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
Tedious
Half-Baked
Egotistical
Erreneous
Assinine
Ridiculius
Troll
Inarticulate
SUBPAR
Tasteless
Execrable
Laughable
Obnoxious
Grotesque
Hopeless
Amateurish
Incompetent
Narcissistic
Counterfeit
Abominable
Reprehensible
Vainglorious
Odious
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
He gave swerves to uncategorized happiness, with spins that ******* back into his despondencies. He was never given a chance to applaud himself for being a second-long happy or get back to the spotlight where he did belong to his whole **** life. He's properly beautiful when he dances, or when he's proud of his weakest points. Him singing, even the most heard songs will sound re-engaging as if he owns it. Our eyes pace head-on against our cars' contraries. Every scar I had given to my wrists soothe when we wrap our sinful hands in an ill-starred manner.
Love, for him, is altruistically pouring around like sudden downpours on a midsummer day; he had everything to offer yet nothing for himself. He invests a lot with what he wins back. He's the grandeur of a boring ensemble of actors yet still believes he's the subpar star when in reality, no such star existed like it. No one would ever dare to leave him with a river to bleed, or cherry wine bottles with teary send-offs.
Anyone who does that will rest assured have a slot in his own obscenities - oh, how I wish hell would be a lot better than that.
I wasn't briefed for safe keeping such recherchés, that I had to jilt. A handful will be curious, why my decision is a ****** or rather, why am I a **** up. But I would say people with better anything deserve his still-endearing dissonances. And all I have are lyrics while he gives song compositions. All he ever needs are happy mornings who hugs him back so right. Behind their curtains are joy-tinted windows with episodes of cuddles and husky 'Good morning's'. I am not that person, so I had left him in his most heightened situation yet - loving me. In a bed full of my inconsistencies, he was sleeping beside his hard-to-swallow Ecstasies.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
I'm sitting the passenger's seat
of a bright blood orange 1973 Ford Pinto.
Adam Levine is driving.
We talk about the weather,
and sing along to some Hall and Oates on the radio.
(By the way, he nails those high notes—
just like Adam Levine should.)
In the interim, we share a pint of
Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte ice cream—
a flavor which we both agree
is subpar and a total disappointment.
As he passes the pint back to me,
he admits that his abs in half the photos
you see in People magazine are Photoshopped,
and pats his little round belly in jest.
I confess that I can always identify
even the most flawless Photoshop jobs—
and honestly, I don't think
he is the sexiest man alive anyway.
We have a laugh after that one, Adam and me,
and devour the silence for a bit before
I lean in and ask him if he even knows
where he's taking us.
He leans in too and makes some brief,
but serious eye contact,
(his eyes are hazel, by the way),
and he says something to me
that I really need to hear.
“It doesn't matter
if I know where we're going, Bitsy.
You can always get there from here.”
I lean back in my seat
and smile as I watch the world streak by.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Dear Chaus,
Wishing upon that shooting star
For something more than what you are
Heartbreaking as you send your wish afar
But you'll never be more than simply subpar.
Calling out for a goal, an ambition
Reaching hard to make the distance
Running until you lose your vision
Then crashing when, again, you miss it.
Because all you are is a common entity
With not a single redeeming quality
All you are is a lackluster commodity
Thrown away once something better is seen.
Are you lonely yet, does the feeling invade your soul?
Are you lonely yet, now that you feel so old?
Are you lonely yet and has your optimism run cold?
Are you lonely yet, are you ready to go?
Does it crush you in that way that makes death seem sweet?
Does it rend you in the fashion that forces up what you eat?
Does it poison you like smoke that your lungs forever keep?
Does it drag you like nicotine, controlling your feet?
How do you do now, my dear, and those cuts on your arms?
How do you do now, my dear, with no father to bring you harm?
How do you fare, my dear, when all is at peace and warm?
How do you fare, my dear, with the paranoia, the alarm?
Is it too much or just enough, are you running to the end?
It is too good or too bad, will you shun those helping hands?
Is it too loud or too quiet, is love still in your plans?
Is it to nice or to cruel, now do you understand?
As all you'll ever be, you are ending in this moment
All you wish to see that you've smashed on the pavement.
All the time you had that your decisions use as payment.
All the people who've passed that you wished would have come with.
This is what is waiting for you in a year, a decade, a century
This is what is waiting and this is all you'll ever see
Disappointment by disappointment, never quite depression-free
This is what is waiting: anything but content or happy.
So next you feel the call of some obscure way to die
I bid you take the chance, let not another chance pass by
The next you feel fed up and you can only think to cry
Put down your tears and dance and kiss this cruel world goodbye.
Love,
Chaus
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
You probably have a name like Amber or Ashley.
You probably drive a car made in the 2000s
And like to play popular hip-hop songs on your top forty radio
You know, in that stereo he probably bought you for your birthday.
You work at a temporary job for eight bucks an hour
And during your lunch break you make plans for that night.
You are the basic suburban female
And you exist to be the bar that the rest of us judge ourselves on.
Or at least, I do.
You are prettier than most
Have more money than most
Have more friends than most
And you are the person
Who allows me to think that I can one day be at your level,
Even though it's far from true.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
I refrained from reading
Books of poetry
Due to a festering fear
Of confirmation
Of my subpar talent.
With hesitation,
I opened my first,
And what an interesting surmise
Our poems
Were all equally bland.
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 8:27 AM UTC
I can't stand to see
this subpar standard of sickness.
They shout get down out over the halls filled with lights
and I let go free of my highness.
Your sweat is candy cane
carcinogen cancer kissable sweet.
Its all the lines, and caps, and tabs and snaps we've done
they all go to get me on my feet.
Words waddle out wet
winding washed up wishes back to life.
My mind holds confused conference calls and buzzed board meetings
about what to do with my one night wife.
Hotel havens harken us and
hazardous inhaleables heighten habitions.
We lay down warm and panting after an exaggerated night of furious dancing
to practice on our yet unnamed positions.
I wake wicked wasted
wondering where the woman went.
Her clothes lay scattered, make up splattered, then I hear her in the bathroom chatter
that her night had been well spent.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
No home, no front door to unlock,
a life of roams, tires burning rock.
With powders, pills, and subpar poisons,
I remember your childish face,
the reddish furl of your hair;
your spine-tingling body strut cascading into French heels.
No luck, no fat genie or 7 on the die,
rainy bucks, broken umbrella with sigh.
Like songbirds, sirens, and symptoms
gracefully disappear without a note of gloom,
your smile, the original resurrection,
slides from tangible memory -- into mythos -- into misery.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 12:28 AM UTC
I'm too plugged in
it's beautiful though
can't see myself
so i trust in you bro
don't want to die
but want to be
can't give in to
hospitality
eventually
the clouds move in
because you thought
now sinking within
please don't explain
'Cus i don't even know
but please tell so
the parts that show
my life mistakes
have taken me far
unknown i see
here i lay subpar
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Eyes ajar, still can't gaze far
No one dies, still feel subpar
Time flies & the days say their goodbyes
& you won't know my struggles, there's no memoir
Don't like to parade my weakness
I lust for people to see the value of my uniqueness
So bye trust, I can't reclaim you
Heart's inflamed & my mind hurts too,
I blamed & despised myself, so curse you
Find it hard to love, because it brings pain too
Yet I still seek validation regardless
I'm aware of my low valuation,
But please take me irregardless
This desire to be held needs to be quelled
Numerous attempts have been withheld
Inner contretemps between fear & paranoia
Has been ruinous. Don't feel contempt; I'm in ruins
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC
Dress that can feed a village
For a hundred years.
Pompous talk, cocktail cheers.
You wish she’d choke
On her caviar.
Your very best, always subpar.
Palace to house a single soul,
When you’re scrounging for
Coins to live off the dole.
You cringe at the sight
Of other’s success,
Secretly yearning for their distress.
Why, oh why, should I settle for less?
Their life’s a luxury, and mine’s a mess,
Even with all my sins confessed!
Envy corrodes the purest mind.
Cataracts, leaves you blind
To the riches you yourself possess --
Family, love, and health in excess.
And all along you never knew
That those you envy, envy you.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Reading bad poetry,
writing bad poetry,
existing as a subpar slice of
unemotional prose.
I'm a singsong
last-ditch singalong;
ding-dong-ditch me,
***** me out.
Slice me up and
lay me out to dry.
I cut onions:
I don't cry.
You ignore me:
I don't mind.
Remember me
as a sad story and not a person.
It'll be gratifying,
albeit dehumanizing,
patronizing,
but at least you'll be sympathizing
as I'm unsurprisingly capsizing.
Right now I'm realizing
that I wanna be the hungry waves
and not the sinking ship;
the sharp harpoon and not
unfortunate Moby ****
I wanna be the brick
instead of the window pane;
I wanna be the ****** sword
and not the bleeding slain.
So the inferiority complex that's been harrowingly ingrained
inside of my needlessly idle brain
can **** off once again,
because I'm gonna be the poet now,
not the reader, page, nor pen.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Lies, compliant lies, that spell
Our names and wish us well;
But hidden in whose blood is war –
Subpar but harsh to understand.
Lies, such lies are possible;
All within the broke world’s trouble,
What is love without loveliness,
What are tears without sadness;
Lies, such lies do exist;
But be seen through happy mist,
The mildest one felt at heart,
Tearing at us, consumes our blood;
Lies, such lies are ever born;
Unblinking amongst God’s thorns,
That He dies in its shrine;
Frayed in the morning sunshine.
That yon life of ours is scratched;
Not even when truths are fetched,
Growing into the skies of autumn,
That look like those radiant poems;
That the grass shall not be green;
And the midnight is not seen,
Though lovelier than summers,
Washed with ****** thunders.
And poems lie not, they shan’t;
They are what the heart wants,
The words of despaired justice,
The divided bliss, soaked kiss.
And the poet is right – of warmth;
Only to be found in real charms,
And their dignity that all knew—
Lies are undignified, untrue.
What is it with violent hearts;
Those that make our souls cry,
And tear our feelings apart,
But tears are true to the sky.
What is it with untouched lies;
The lies that thread us but tore,
As though there was no more,
When truth finally dies.
What is it with unheard death;
As we deepen our last breath,
Will we find love, and comfort;
Unnamed tales that were cut short.
What is it with lovely riddles;
Dwindling our minds to tears,
Ridding our eyes of fears,
Peering through rough scraggle.
And the poet shall know better;
That honesty has died alone,
Not much of Desire is known,
No truth shall last forever.
And the poem shall read longer;
That grass is blue, and green rain
Are what is to happen ever,
Pain is normal at all, again;
And the poet shall have left;
To be just but to be unjust,
Moments are never to last,
Love is not what hearts have.
And the poem shall have caved;
In to the pain ‘tis meant to be,
That no more bears meanings to see,
No more love shall be saved.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
She was just an old woman.
Just like any other I'd ever seen.
But for the first time in my life
I saw a beauty and the details
of what surrounded me.
I can't tell you what voice told me to reach out but I helped this woman.
Something to small and so benign.
"I wish there more out there like you"
She said
Ma'am if only you knew.
If you knew the reason I'm in this bookstore
If you knew the reason I'm in this town, this place at all.
If only you could see past your clearance shelf books and see what monster stands beside you.
God bless you she says.
Her words made me choke, both choke in and choke up.
I wish I could say this is all made up.
You see the reason I'm here
Is because I'm fighting the urge not to die
I'm fighting these feelings of wanting to get high.
Ma'am if you knew that I'm hear seeking the only friend I have left,
that I'm so desperate for acceptance right now because my life and my plans and my dreams are upside down.
So here I am.
At the end of me.
Ma'am if only you knew.
But the reason I was here
Was to buy 2 books costing as much as the 6 you took.
Ma'am I wish YOU knew how your words shook.
And if I never see you again I hope you got home safe.
I hope you sleep well and dream
I hope my deed and my "god bless you miss" was more than it seemed.
Because I didn't stay to talk,
I didn't tell you you're beautiful.
I didn't tell you anything.
But did my Lord?
Of this I am sure.
I should've told you that you're loved
I should've helped you to your car.
Just Something meaningful
Not so subpar.
Ma'am if only you knew
What I've done to get here.
But I walked away from that store
And I softly and most surely knew
I was at that bookstore, for you.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
My tongue ties in the presence of an angel like you
I can't say what I want to say, so writing will have to make due
Your hazel eyes, and porcelain skin
So much to say with nowhere to begin
The most elegant woman I've seen by far
Compared to you, they all appear subpar
But attractive appearance does not lie inside
This is why in you I confide
You're funny, sweet, and at times a bit strange
But if I could fix you there isn't a thing I would change
You define perfection, I want you to know
In this dimly lit world, I see your light glow
And when your wings send you flying away
My darling angel, I beg you to stay
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
It wasn't what you imagined; blessings did not flood,
when you gave me a shell of bones and blood...
You have an unfathomable mix of bravado and audacity;
wearing rose-tinted parenthood glasses out of stupidity...
As a child, did you actually believe in fairy tales?
Believing in white dresses and veils,
believing in propagating your subpar genes
are your happy-ever-after means...
Seeking for happy-ever-after as if a princess in a fable
when you grew up with bare minimum food on the table?
Tying the knot early before advancing your career;
being brainwashed into spinsterhood fear...
Schooled you were, but never interested in knowledge you are.
Concerns of my social abilities are far from your care.
You love to demand respect by brandishing parental authority
while you were meeting only the bare parental necessity.
Yes, the world doesn't owe me anything
but you owe me everything
for giving me a meaningless shell of bones and blood.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:17 AM UTC
lately i've been scared
worried the darkness will last
but i hope i'm wrong
i feel powerless
so backed into a corner
but i hope i'm wrong
i feel judging eyes
like i'm not just projecting
but i hope i'm wrong
i think i see it
they wince when my mouth opens
but i hope i'm wrong
i feel unwanted
it's unlucky to know me
but i hope i'm wrong
unhelpful and shamed
no one is glad i'm here, right?
i just hope i'm wrong
only by working—
my body, my only strength
my hands hold children
but my mind is too broken
prove to me i'm wrong
Inefficient love
Subpar communication
Almost good enough
Almost worth listening to
If you say nothing
You confirm it with silence
But if you argue
Please bring some more evidence
I'm trying to hope
That this self-talk's distorted
I'm sorry my pain
Is underreported
If nobody cared
Then surely I'd be alone
And not surrounded
By those who want to love me—
But I don't know how
To feel the love that they show.
I shrink back, I hide,
Because it hurts me sometimes.
These are all my thoughts
They feel so true in my mind.
But I really hope I'm wrong.
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 5:49 PM UTC