"sugarcoated" poems
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.
All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
02/09/2010
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
Love isn't a word
I throw around foolishly
Simply because I've been denied the opportunity
Of being held , filled with the possibilities
That one touch can carry
A simple caress
That serves as if to say
You're perfect
I wouldn't want you any other way
No such touches have came in my direction
Causing me to pick apart my reflection
Imperfections, one after the other
Become apparent
Because of one thing that was said
Even if I wasn't supposed to hear it - I did
and those words?
they haunt me
I'm sorry I don't believe it when you say you love me
My head pounds and my knees start to tremble
As a precaution I ignore whatever
It is I'm feeling, burying it so deep
It'll need a shovel
and a rope to emerge
You think it's unbelievable the extent I go to so I won't be hurt
I think it's unbelievable that you claim to know my worth
When I'm not sure myself
Fearing you're just one more of many
Attempting
To take advantage
Of the self image I posses that's in shambles
I'm sorry I can't believe your compliments
Those sweet words you say with honesty
sincerity, unquestionable truth
A rarity in itself, especially coming from you
Inside me there's a girl smiling
Next to the one crying,
bruised from years of being used
poisoned with sugarcoated I love you's
And promises made
With fingers crossed
I'm sorry I don't believe I'm enough
I look in the mirror and I hate what I see
Automatically I think of other girls and the joy they may bring to your life
While I sit happily alone
And I know
I can't possibly love you if I don't love myself
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
because in the end
they all want sugarcoated lies
over the bitter truth
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
I chase these ideals...
These versions of my life that don't exist,
They just become tormenting fantasies,
Sometimes, destroying everything I love in the process...
I begin to analyze the concept of what's "deserved,"
Deserved by whom?
Who's the authority?
The sky's the limit?
Not when you're shackled to the ground, shackled by the wake of your past,
You can't escape your shadows,
Lost in mistake after mistake,
Like a stone of scar tissue,
There's nothing left to wound,
Which exit did I miss?
Maybe I should have gotten off this road a long time ago,
What went wrong?
What went right?
Love, family, life, dreams...
This game full of tricks, fools, dogs, and thieves,
Blessed or cursed,
It's all this relative facade,
Romanticizations and fairytales,
You've got yours and I've got mine,
A nonsensical masquerade,
Wrapped in oblivion,
By dawn, the masks come off,
No one's dancing,
And we're left standing naked with our truths, our choices, and our pain,
Daily reminders all around,
Everything is dulled,
A shimmering lackluster,
Sensations numbed,
Spare me sensationalization,
Please don't offer me prescriptions,
Don't offer me subscriptions,
They don't disguise the lies,
They don't smooth out the wrinkles of the sweet, euphemistically, sugarcoated descriptions of what is and what will never be...
Clandestine connections,
Undeniable, as we spiral through this network of intimate caves...
Slipped into a hole years ago,
Never seemed to crawl out..
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
self destruction like burning bridges you know full well you'll drown without
being reckless with your rafts and your lifesavers
and feeling the heat of the fire prickle your forehead,
beads of sweat teasing your skin
and making it impossible to ignore the deep water already lapping at your feet,
clearly prepared to completely engulf you in liquid darkness.
self destruction like inhaling the fumes of a hundred toxic promises,
made to you by old would-be lovers;
sugarcoated words and lies roughly covered in white,
feeling the poison seizing up your struggling lungs,
fingertips flicking through dictionaries with cracked spines:
desperate to find a word that isn't even there.
self destruction like breaking hearts that aren't yours for once,
just to hold the power of corruption and allow it to make you bloodthirsty,
much like slaughtering ants beneath magnifying glasses,
watching them struggle and turn to unrecognisable ashes,
whimpering half hearted apologies whilst trying to convince yourself
that you are not a bad person, but simply a broken soul.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
That's not a God, that's a sense of entitlement
A sugarcoated dishevelment in disguise
You don't have dreams, just infatuations
Turning hope into self-indulgent lies
I turned away from New York just to know you
Silver showered soldiers singing serene
I turned away from myself just to love you
But I don't think you know what love means
You're not alone, just afraid of isolation
Afraid no one will be better than me
I'm not that great, I say without hesitation
Someone will love you more, just wait and see
My opinion of you changes like the skyline
A star among the cascading dark
Baby, don't let yourself flame out
Before the rest of your fire starts
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Words that could bring fruits
And words that could bring poison
What kind of poison have I brought to you
They were sugarcoated poisons that sought to be fruits
Kept feeding you on this
However clueless can you be
You've grown fat with all this sugar
You took surprise and anger when you found out
I laughed at how long it took
Now you're dying from the poison
And the fruits lay near rotting
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
took a step into a crowd
felt a wave through the ground
as she lost her friends
with the beat and the sound
then the mad man pulled her by her hand
into another land
spoke the words of youth
gave her an option to choose
leave the confusion and the blues
he said with his eyes fire waiting to set loose
burn her alive with the madness
that's what she choose
the fast cars and the clothes
she told him light my way
take the wheel
cause I've been driving for so long
and my vision is unclear
take my hand indulge my innocence
so he drove her over the clouds
wrapped her in metals of distance
twisted her existence
swirled her in a galaxy of imagination
her own heaven in creation
till one day his heart changed
as he pushed her down the stairs of heaven
and broke her every bone
the ground was cold hard stone
she was left twisted broken and all alone
reaching for a phone but there's no connection
in the black hole of confusion
time passed as she painted every perception expected
hoping to find a solution
that's when she realized it was all an illusion
the words the thrill the charm
she was about to burst but she just stayed calm
as she reached out but there was no arm
so she got herself up and walked into the hazy clouds
she had strength in herself but she also had doubts
then she heard a voice so sweet and tender
he said lead your own way and never surrender
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Diamond beads roll off my skin
Sweaty hands and age old gin
Sunshine pupils in candy eyes,
Crying gumdrops and sugarcoated lies.
Raindrops on my fingertips
Poison blood on broken lips
Black and blue painted thick
Cheeks flushed red; a simple trick
**** yourself but stay alive
On your rotting soul they'll thrive.
The shadows of forgotten thoughts,
Who rap themselves around your heart
And suffocate the breath you wished was gone
Turned my sunshine into war
I don't feel better anymore.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
There once lived a girl
Barely even three
Who wore childish, innocent smiles
And ran around freely.
She spent summer with her sister
Picking lilac flowers,
Rolling down grassy hills
Endless fun for hours.
There once lived a girl
Finally thirteen
Who wore gloss on her lips
And said things she didn’t mean.
She spent summer all alone
Never picking any flowers
Claiming she had better things to do
With her endless summer hours.
There once lived a girl
Sixteen, impossibly thin
Who painted scarlet on her wrists
Because she could never ever win.
She spent summer locked away
Bawling in her room for hours
And there was nothing in the world she wanted
More than lilac flowers.
There once was a girl
Who tried so hard in life
But she couldn’t bear to live
With her sugarcoated strife
And one day she just vanished
So her sister cried for hours
And upon her solemn grave
She laid withering lilac flowers.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Some say she’s a maverick. She refuses to play by the rule, she’d rather create her own rule. Not that much of a rebel, just a bit free-spirited by heart.
Some say she’s a square peg in a round hole. A black dress amidst a wedding party. Ripped jeans among trousers. A pair of sneakers among pairs of high heels. A cup of tequila between white wines. But really, she’s only a misfit. She has always been one. An unorthodox individual living in a world where people must be the same in order to be freed of scrutiny. She isn’t afraid to cross the line of conformity. Even ever since she was little, she has always frowned upon the game of pretentious act that people around her have been playing. She often finds herself in question, for she is non-adhering to the idea of being a sheep flocking to the herd.
Some say she’s the epitome of late night shots taken by the distressed. Not as the last, desperate resort, but as the first aid.
Some say she’s the embodiment of the bitter aftertaste when you sip a cup of coffee that you got from a store stood on the roadside during your impromptu midnight road trip. She shows up by chance, looking plain as ever. But really, she’s a mild surprise once she gets her way into you. One that you might not expect.
Some say she’s a thorn wire disguised in vineyard. It isn’t quite easy to strip away of her self-defense. But once she’s provoked, she’s provoked.
Some say she’s a train wreck. And boy, weren’t they right. Her life might be a mess, but it is one hell of a beautiful mess she’s proudly living. If anything, she has mastered the art of living in perpetual, concomitant tragedies.
Some say she’s more of a goodbye than a hello. A bittersweet memory than a sugarcoated present. She’s never one of a dreamer, but she puts her hopes in the beauty of imperfections – of the feeling of loss. Experience has taught her not to make people her happiness, for they are but a fleeting moment of enchantment.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
I wrote a poem for you
The day before I met you
When I didn’t yet know a soul can be shipwrecked
Or that the sun can have secrets
When I hadn’t yet learned to look for symptoms
Or dreamed you could become my weakness
You entered me like a sickness
From your first ‘hello’
You whispered my world red
And smiled it yellow
You came to me; a sonnet
A decorated soldier
Dressed in sentences and statements
With which to catch a schoolgirl
In succulent surprise
Your eyes kissed me
Long before your lips did
And under the spectrum of your splendor
My heart bloomed a blushing orchid
I was a slave to my sweet-tooth
You, a dulcit daydream
That knew just how to turn me
From still life into story
And in so doing, you cast me -
A shapeless statue -
Into your private purgatory
You created a planet
With just us living on it
And a snakepit, a sinkhole
With which to swallow me whole
I wrote this poem for you
The day after I met you
I thought it worth to mention
Why I started to regret you
So please pay close attention
(As I’m trying to forget you):
My innocence
Though far from inner sense
Was no less common
Than the unoriginality
Of your sugarcoated sin
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 9:25 PM UTC
My therapist recently asked me "have you ever tried mindfulness?"
I laughed a bit, remembering of the week-long mindfulness camp (sugarcoated for in-patient psychiatric care) I attended for troubled teens. I went to this twice.
This peaceful brain training was designed to give us a retreat when the world is too loud. During group therapy, most teens shared their experiences with domestic violence, yelling, S.A., running away, abuse. Endless. We were all numb, but there was so much comfort in being locked away with others who needed the respite as much as I did.
We would eat skittles and describe their flavor and textures. We would focus on our breaths. Make beaded art. Tell collaborative stories. Follow guided meditations laying on unfamiliar gym floors, giggling a bit as we "soared through clouds".
I jumped back into the talk session, remembering my dedication to mindfulness years ago. My anxiety followed me into adulthood. I think mindfulness can be out of reach, stupid.
And yet, I looked out of her dusty, sun filled window decorated with three vases of dry arrangements. My mind started to posture into how warm and antique this image felt. I felt hot, quiet tears building up from feeling that peace again.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
I’ve left the oven on
for years.
Somewhere between metaphor and meaning,
something’s always been burning.
But no one’s eaten in a while.
They called it voice.
I called it
a slow confession wrapped in rhyme.
A sugarcoated breakdown.
Something easy to swallow
if you didn’t read too carefully.
They wanted brevity.
I brought blood.
They wanted truth.
I brought formatting errors
and a whisper shaped like static.
Do you remember the one
with the anti-light?
No?
Of course not.
You don’t remember the one who screamed last.
You remember the one who rhymed "heart" with "start"
and got 200 likes for it.
Now my name is on the box
but it’s spelled wrong
and the font is smiling too hard.
The cookies still crumble
but no one eats the edges.
That’s where the poison is.
That’s where I lived.
So I’ve folded the apron.
Swallowed the last word
before it could become a quote.
Let the gods of good taste keep their ovens.
Let the algorithm rot.
I’ve got shoeboxes full of unsent stanzas
and no more hunger
for applause shaped like echo.
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 5:37 AM UTC
I’m falling. But not in love.
I’m falling
And you are too. We’re falling to a bitter end
Yet again.
And this time, the end does not seem to be
as sugarcoated as it once was.
Or seemed to be.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 3:29 PM UTC
I’ve exhausted to excess
the language
of the social construction
of whiteness
which is simulataneously
sugarcoating
the goodness of blackness
with the evil of pure white
the missionary of evil
*** death triangle reruns
on West Indies news
origin of criminality
putrid impunity
dissociative disorder
and the villain
to a great great hero
called the blackness
of humanity
which is inexhaustible
strength
laughter
and kindness
oceans
mercy
severity
beauty
love
***
origins
stability
shores
and sustainability
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
Peace of mind,
Let it grind,
Huffing through my sentiments,
No words left behind
You said you're fathomless,
A riddle and meaningful,
High objections, genuine rejections
How come you make me stutter like a fool?
I want my poems to bit,
Vigorous and keen to have teeth,
So the venom in each letter shall sink in---
To your skin, may heap
You said you're logic
Then where's your common sense?
Clearly, you're imperceptive,
Because I know how you're tensed
Attempting to toss me a bullet of pressure,
Locating the verge of anxiety
You're none of the amenable people,
Who would understand and know its variety
Sugarcoated scars and deep comprehension
Thin head's blurry, that's why you have complications
No offense though---
Keep your mouth on line, you half presented amateur
Go ahead and be conceited like an apathetic's chimes
But honestly, at all, you don't even have a
Peace of mind
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
this is a love letter not a goodbye.....
it has been a year since our argument
and so much has changed.
maybe it's because we are on different sides of the revolving earth
or maybe it's because you just don't care any longer.
but i thought i'd take the time and write you this;
i still love you.
and i’m sorry my last letter made you feel nothing
and i’m sorry that i had to leave and i never tried again.
this past year i’ve been thinking about us, you;
where we went wrong
and where we didn’t.
and i guess i still don’t have anwser; all i know is that you gave up on me quicker than i gave up on you.
i hope next summer when i visit we can finally close the wound
because to me it doesn’t feel like it’s been bandaged, only sugarcoated…
but i guess that’s what we do for love.
when i picture my life, still at home,
i picture you and i;
and what we would have done together.
everyone says we would have gotten together; they couldn’t guess for how long; but they knew.
and mum says i would have taken you to my dance and we would have laughed, kissed and made terrible jokes and pulled pranks on people we didn’t even know.
i heard you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people;
i always knew that would happen.
and it pains and disgusts me that you’re throwing away your life;
i want to fix it so badly
but i don’t think i can from my dim lit desk halfway around the world.
when we’ve talked breifly;
i try to make your life a living hell
so you know what it feels like.
but then i remember that you just don’t care.
and when i asked if you remember what happened that cold july night;
you respond
‘no, i just don’t care.’
and why would i want to be with someone like that anyway?
my last letter was confusing,
i admit.
i was angry and upset and i just wanted you to love me.
but i’ve learned now that you can’t make people love you.
and i’ve learned that if you really want to say something…
...say it…
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Tis the season to be dying
Not too jolly are the lines I'm writing
The hymns mimic my weeping soul
A tune strung with a broken bow
Frail lullabies drenched in sorrow
Wilting with the fading greens
We inhale clouds of dusty air
Cold and fragile as my spine
Tingling numbness in my heart
Like frost bites from within
The finale of an orchestra
An epilogue of sorts
Wintry hails in my disturbed mind
Raining like misfired bullets
From a shoddy gun
Burning letters into my hands
The poetry I craft not pretty
Lacking tales of sugarcoated reality
Mostly **** and somewhat edgy
Infused with truth and too much realitys
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
*"It's not you, it's me.
If I could, you know I'd stay.
We're young,
I'm dumb.
You deserve so much more"*
And then you walked out the door.
*"Let's give each other space
And then maybe be friends"*
But we both already know
how that's going to end.
*"Promise you'll be okay,
I know that you will,
It just doesn't seem it today"*
You fed me every cliche that you thought I deserved,
But "I don't love you anymore" was all that I heard.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
The image of you is vague
Everything you says
Everything you claim
I doubt them
You are not a real person
You are just a vision
You are an idea in my thought
Perhaps my illusion...
Fell for your charms
Sugarcoated words
Unrealistic expectations...
You are not even human
You are...
What you are ...
Is only virtual....
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
She swallowed love like it was poison, fully aware of what she was doing but then spit it out the moment it reached her throat. She felt its presence like a hardened clump on the back of her mouth, fighting it back with her tongue wrapped with barbed wires but she felt herself bleed long before she could even scratch its surface. Tears started spilling out her eyes as she looked at your brown ones and no matter how hard she tried to explain, she can't put into words how such a muddy color can be so bright -- it could outshine the stars.
The moment her hand enveloped yours she didn't understand how this ******* electric current could be interpreted as romantic. She never liked cliches but she forgot that when you took your clothes off and she ran her hands through your hair and finally thought that maybe, maybe this was something real. She didn't know life outside this box -- she didn't know there was a box until she felt herself becoming so small, shrinking in your presence every single time. It used to be about both of you but now its only about you and she was never one to complain about exploring every inch of your skin with her mouth but this time it was different. The fire in your eyes looked too warm to be comfortable in anymore and the spark you both used to have turned into an inferno that began to burn its way into her veins and that your words cut deeper through her than sharpened knives and your promises were nothing but sugarcoated threats and curses and she knew it would **** her and that this thing everyone fussed about was nothing but poison but ******* it, she'd swallow it if it tasted like you.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Look me in the eyes
Speak of sugarcoated lies
It will be then when I realize
That you and I were meant to die
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC