"susurrate" poems - Hello Poetry

Waking up next to you is scary. And before your vehement self-loathing causes you to interpret this as an insult; I'll explain what I mean as best as I can. I'm scared because I always wake up before you; and I know that all I'll want to do is watch you. That's dangerous because it only makes me love you more. The way you heavily breathe through your mouth as a result of a congested nose, the way the relaxing and contracting of your intercostal muscles cause your small body to bounce up and down in a perfectly rythmatic manner. The way your heartbeat fills the entire room. So much so that I have to susurrate the bed sheets to mask the sound so my unforgetting heart doesn't fall any deeper into the enigma that is you. Then you wake up. You look at me with disoriented green eyes and matted brown hair and smile. You smile at me exactly the same way I've been smiling at you for the past ten minutes. It's scary Because by that point the clamorous sound of your heart beat is quickly replaced by mine. Sometimes I'm scared that you'll hear it. And you'll know.

0

Sep 21, 2013

Sep 21, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC

abysmal

As best as I could put it

Waking up next to you is scary. And before your vehement self-loathing causes you to interpret this as an insult; I'll explain what I mean as best as I can. I'm scared because I always wake up before you; and I know that all I'll want to do is watch you. That's dangerous because it only makes me love you more. The way you heavily breathe through your mouth as a result of a congested nose, the way the relaxing and contracting of your intercostal muscles cause your small body to bounce up and down in a perfectly rythmatic manner. The way your heartbeat fills the entire room. So much so that I have to susurrate the bed sheets to mask the sound so my unforgetting heart doesn't fall any deeper into the enigma that is you. Then you wake up. You look at me with disoriented green eyes and matted brown hair and smile. You smile at me exactly the same way I've been smiling at you for the past ten minutes. It's scary Because by that point the clamorous sound of your heart beat is quickly replaced by mine. Sometimes I'm scared that you'll hear it. And you'll know.

9

I feel like I don't belong here. I can't place it-- Maybe too pure, Maybe too evil, Maybe too ill. Its hard to say When every word flung Wildly around is a Contradiction. Too sensitive, Too changeable. The balance causes so Much cognitive dissonance, And the more I approach my heart, The more it alludes me on the horizon. Colorless, These words ignite a Flame Stronger than any pigment. I am worthless. I am a treasure. I am worthy. I am pitiful. I am beautiful. I am a fool. I am genius. I am every word they say to me, Yet I feel like I am none. Their icy words spoken with Frozen hearts Set my teeth chattering. Nothing can protect me from this Impeding cold. The energy is inexhaustible. Their ranks are numberless. The fight goes on, Teaching me the person I am Is ought not to be. Destroy the anguish Mistaken as beauty. They take my heart from me-- Brutally beating the bruises, Formulaically tearing the Gashes open with silver knives, A gray harder than the Silver of the moon-- Harder than the silver of my heart. I am bruised, Broken, Wanting to be gone. And they laugh at my pain. They don't believe me when I say I have nothing to live for. All I need to do is to Live up to the low bar they set, But that's never good enough. The words bleed out of me, Yet they remain unsaid. They would taunt more If they knew their wickedness. Sleep saves me from this endless cycle of Torture. Engulfed by Vivid of imaginations of who I am, I forget for a time What they told me. Meet me in this innocent state of existence, Escaped from the pain. I wish I knew how to Avoid their toxic remedies And the poisonous reminders That they own me, And will decide who I am. But poets tend to exaggerate: Tell me how it really is.

0

May 26, 2014

May 26, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC

aeyajj

Susurrate

I feel like I don't belong here. I can't place it-- Maybe too pure, Maybe too evil, Maybe too ill. Its hard to say When every word flung Wildly around is a Contradiction. Too sensitive, Too changeable. The balance causes so Much cognitive dissonance, And the more I approach my heart, The more it alludes me on the horizon. Colorless, These words ignite a Flame Stronger than any pigment. I am worthless. I am a treasure. I am worthy. I am pitiful. I am beautiful. I am a fool. I am genius. I am every word they say to me, Yet I feel like I am none. Their icy words spoken with Frozen hearts Set my teeth chattering. Nothing can protect me from this Impeding cold. The energy is inexhaustible. Their ranks are numberless. The fight goes on, Teaching me the person I am Is ought not to be. Destroy the anguish Mistaken as beauty. They take my heart from me-- Brutally beating the bruises, Formulaically tearing the Gashes open with silver knives, A gray harder than the Silver of the moon-- Harder than the silver of my heart. I am bruised, Broken, Wanting to be gone. And they laugh at my pain. They don't believe me when I say I have nothing to live for. All I need to do is to Live up to the low bar they set, But that's never good enough. The words bleed out of me, Yet they remain unsaid. They would taunt more If they knew their wickedness. Sleep saves me from this endless cycle of Torture. Engulfed by Vivid of imaginations of who I am, I forget for a time What they told me. Meet me in this innocent state of existence, Escaped from the pain. I wish I knew how to Avoid their toxic remedies And the poisonous reminders That they own me, And will decide who I am. But poets tend to exaggerate: Tell me how it really is.

76

This world hums at your presence, For like things resonate in soft, susurrate sounds while all else fades. This world is damaged and beautiful Beaten by the men on its surface and haunted by those long since gone With scars and with secrets and subtleties buried With an aching aloneness hid deeper yet, still But so gracious and warm and eager to help. To save. To support. While whole stretches of void hold it away from its kin. These voids are safety. Protection. It knows what it needs, doesn’t it? Separate and safe, blooming only for those held so close as to not lose them But never close enough to reach its core. Blooming with color, with life, with song In moments, nothing but a collection of seconds, of minutes, A bundle of time and feeling. Regret. Fear. Sorrow. Trust and hope. Pirouetting around the sun. Listen to the humming. Listen.

0

May 13, 2016

May 13, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC

rachel-cloud

Celestial

This world hums at your presence, For like things resonate in soft, susurrate sounds while all else fades. This world is damaged and beautiful Beaten by the men on its surface and haunted by those long since gone With scars and with secrets and subtleties buried With an aching aloneness hid deeper yet, still But so gracious and warm and eager to help. To save. To support. While whole stretches of void hold it away from its kin. These voids are safety. Protection. It knows what it needs, doesn’t it? Separate and safe, blooming only for those held so close as to not lose them But never close enough to reach its core. Blooming with color, with life, with song In moments, nothing but a collection of seconds, of minutes, A bundle of time and feeling. Regret. Fear. Sorrow. Trust and hope. Pirouetting around the sun. Listen to the humming. Listen.

23

She stutters on the threshold: a sun fixed on the horizon. Bodies susurrate as she wades through them. A daily routine – but what are days? The cavern underneath the world admits no light from sun or moon, Sight granted by the fragile luminosity of the pale, pale once-alive. She walks through the dead: has always walked through the dead will always walk through the dead Or – her mother was life, is life, above – She stutters on the threshold. Clarity. She no more meanders, but strides. The sun creaks and groans, and rises. Breaths short and sharp, she runs: A tree, an illogical tree in an illogical garden, In this illogical cavern. (but this was before logic) Hunger pangs do not slow her, She is hungry for change, for resolution; For conclusion to dim the gnaw of uncertainty. A globe gripped in a quivering hand. She peels back the membrane (like the skin of the earth as it opened to swallow her) Scoops a glistening fistful of rubies And gulps them down, Blood of the fruit painting her chin like a child at the close of October, Play-acting, false horror, for the sake of cloying sugars; Her eyes are not that of a child. She kisses the mouth of He that stole her. They ascend, hand in terrible hand; He sits, gestures, to Her new place beside him. With a smile of crimson certainty, The Queen of the Underworld takes Her throne.

0

Sep 20, 2019

Sep 20, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC

emlynlua

She Who Destroys

She stutters on the threshold: a sun fixed on the horizon. Bodies susurrate as she wades through them. A daily routine – but what are days? The cavern underneath the world admits no light from sun or moon, Sight granted by the fragile luminosity of the pale, pale once-alive. She walks through the dead: has always walked through the dead will always walk through the dead Or – her mother was life, is life, above – She stutters on the threshold. Clarity. She no more meanders, but strides. The sun creaks and groans, and rises. Breaths short and sharp, she runs: A tree, an illogical tree in an illogical garden, In this illogical cavern. (but this was before logic) Hunger pangs do not slow her, She is hungry for change, for resolution; For conclusion to dim the gnaw of uncertainty. A globe gripped in a quivering hand. She peels back the membrane (like the skin of the earth as it opened to swallow her) Scoops a glistening fistful of rubies And gulps them down, Blood of the fruit painting her chin like a child at the close of October, Play-acting, false horror, for the sake of cloying sugars; Her eyes are not that of a child. She kisses the mouth of He that stole her. They ascend, hand in terrible hand; He sits, gestures, to Her new place beside him. With a smile of crimson certainty, The Queen of the Underworld takes Her throne.

34

My hands go over her body Like soap with the suds Daddy's coming home baby Be ready, fed, dressed, and good. Do I want to, will we? Should? All the shoulds in the world Undressed my baby girl, on a Melodic string I hold her heart As she susurrates more of the good Stuff baby.

0

Oct 3, 2015

Oct 3, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC

tommy-jackson

susurrate her love

My hands go over her body Like soap with the suds Daddy's coming home baby Be ready, fed, dressed, and good. Do I want to, will we? Should? All the shoulds in the world Undressed my baby girl, on a Melodic string I hold her heart As she susurrates more of the good Stuff baby.

10

From little seeds of evergreens a whole story can be learned. Ovule's dances in Gia’s soil bonding with dirts cool blanket. Pips move in a weaving stream of germination as Gia sings and sun calls. From little seeds of evergreen a song of love pulsates with grace. Echoing as it's filled with blessings Whispering softly as it rises to hum with Gia’s heartbeat. *“I can. I can grow tall,” is earths lullaby. “I must. I must grow with prosperity of leaves.” rings out tickling seedlings dreams.* Kernel susurrate’s slowly underfoot assured to break ground. Expanding in every moment, as bugs in dark landscape step aside as insect kingdom recites earths secrets encouraging growth to speaks of oneness. From little seeds of evergreens plenty a tales are implanted. Spun so it gathers power to break ground. And as it grows taller to meet sky, tree begins to share to birds its journey from earths soil. Tree starts to vibrate with yarns to sun and clouds Its narrative of confidence makes it reach heights divine. Tree stands welcoming all to hear it’s testimony to life’s gifted from Gia’s love.

0

Feb 4, 2018

Feb 4, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC

star-bg

Little Seeds

From little seeds of evergreens a whole story can be learned. Ovule's dances in Gia’s soil bonding with dirts cool blanket. Pips move in a weaving stream of germination as Gia sings and sun calls. From little seeds of evergreen a song of love pulsates with grace. Echoing as it's filled with blessings Whispering softly as it rises to hum with Gia’s heartbeat. *“I can. I can grow tall,” is earths lullaby. “I must. I must grow with prosperity of leaves.” rings out tickling seedlings dreams.* Kernel susurrate’s slowly underfoot assured to break ground. Expanding in every moment, as bugs in dark landscape step aside as insect kingdom recites earths secrets encouraging growth to speaks of oneness. From little seeds of evergreens plenty a tales are implanted. Spun so it gathers power to break ground. And as it grows taller to meet sky, tree begins to share to birds its journey from earths soil. Tree starts to vibrate with yarns to sun and clouds Its narrative of confidence makes it reach heights divine. Tree stands welcoming all to hear it’s testimony to life’s gifted from Gia’s love.

33