"symmetrical" poems
The little mermaid
Is an incredible princess.
Her skin is immaculate,
Her hair is flowing perfection,
And she can sing-
I'm jealous.
Like the mermaid on the
Starbucks logo,
She's perfectly symmetrical.
And I know, I know,
She's not really a mermaid,
But a siren.
Much like Ariel
Who is a human on land
But a fish in the water.
I am jealous.
I'm a fish out of water.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Endless stains of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black earth
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,
The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease
To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred
Today
smells like burnt muddied skin
feels like gnawing on your own fingers for feast
sounds like tired, howling machines
spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek
Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
countless places
Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones
Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doorways
Today it rains curdled crimson
Tell me shooting star
If the child liked jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.
As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.
The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
puffs so alluring
three dimensional
but you're not
i want to touch your creamy exterior
but all i get is moisture
your shading is ravishing
symmetrical paint thing
wisps of stratus horse tail ice
dusty cumulus marsh of mallow
your nimbus is what i dream
charcoal colored opaque
mixed in with a little blue
you make it hard
not to stare
at you
so eager as light shines off
your behind
you'll soon be mine.
overcast clear
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
Music filled the air,
But the band was silent.
Her heart was soaring,
But her feet were on the floor.
His mind was racing,
But his hands stayed in place.
Head to head.
Face to face.
The two mirrored each other.
Like a puzzle piece falling into place,
He broke the symmetrical pattern
Stealing a kiss
Setting her world on fire.
Even though they stood
In the pouring rain.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
The Silent Stalker was part man
The Silent Stalker had eight hands
But only two were human hands
The others, no one could understand
The Silent Stalker had no face
The Silent Stalker stood in place
Yet moved at the speed of light
And didn't make a peep a night
The Silent Stalker stood and stared
The Silent Stalker had no hair
Just a tux, new and clean
Symmetrical in Geometry
The Silent Stalker has no eyes
And this answer will be a surprise
So if you ask, how does he see
He sees the fear of you and me
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
Graceful curve of the flower enriched with mystery
melting away any bubbling misery
walking towards the beauty.
(I'm looking to pull this special flower today.)
Wait shall I praise the wonderous bloom
with fragrant colors infused within me soon
something to admire on a daily
choosing between multiple types that look equally lovely.
(I just want to love you.)
The vanilla scent which never fades
you rose from a bed of vibrant shades
to hold and caress -
in your walk stems artistic introduction
keep me within your symmetrical seduction
And in your radiance glimmers across the horizon and seas
its in your nature to please while you tease -
but i cant lie, your approach continues with ease.
to compare your style with nature only makes sense.
how lucky can one be to build a connection that's so intense!
I pluck the fascinating petals of an orchid.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:46 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
I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
*with a discovery
of symmetrical
elegance..
beauty in pattern
fresh from asymmetry..
Astonishment of simplicity
Why had discovery
not leaped before..?
then in elation
discoverer declares
proof is irrelevant
Elegance is
all sufficient
imperative Truth...*
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Nothing ****** me off more
Than when people call me
Pretty
I get it, okay?
We live in a society that upholds beauty
As the most important quality
A girl can possess
So girls who aren't pretty
Feel like less
And guys, knowing this,
Call girls who were not gifted
With a symmetrical face
Proportional features
Or a "rockin'" body
Girls who rank on the lower end
Of that wretched scale
From one to ten
Pretty
Beautiful, attractive
**** exquisite
Gorgeous, lovely
Stunning, hot
And those girls
Those amazing, ugly girls
Infused with insecurities
Self-loathing
And sadness
Give in to those words
Give in to those guys
Believing, if only for a brief,
Tenderless moment
That those pretty words
Do apply
But I am not interested
In false accolades
If you don't find me pretty
Then don't say so
I have plenty of fine qualities
For you to compliment me on
Praise my wit, my charm
My intelligence, my confidence
Things I cultivate
Things I strive to be
Qualities
That complement me
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
What makes me feel beautiful is makeup and hair dye.
I love to paint my lips a bright pink, but I get upset
When that is all anyone sees.
I work on my physical appearance so much,
pasting my hair down perfectly, making sure my
eyeliner is symmetrical.
I get angry when no one sees what my personality can be
but truthfully, I don't work on that half as much as I work
on my outward appearance.
Maybe my insides aren't beautiful enough to compliment.
Maybe my hair is the best thing about me.
Maybe I'm not worth what I think I am.
Unless you count my "beauty."
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”
The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.
The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”
The mannequin faceless
SCREAMS,
“BUY!” Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.
The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Someone’s got it in for me
Cause I’m not symmetrical
Tried to tell them what I think
Cause what it is I’ll never know
Spotlight makes my skin crawl
Just like their flawless tactics
Never meant anyone harm, but
Chemicals unwrapped my lips of plastic
What a strange sensation
When the devil really makes you do it
What am I paying for
I swear, the devil made me do it
Someone’s got it in for me
Cause I’m not balanced
Tried to tell them what I think
Amid shredded calendars
Wish my heart had a radar
So maybe I could make them see
If faced with such evidence
What would you think if you were me
To top off the weird union
Was a glimpse of a picture
You bet your life he showed you off
As a conquered freak in the tincture
Spent years crawling under rocks
Paranoid and spastic
Then one horrid night
Chemicals unwrapped my lips of plastic
What a strange sensation
When the devil really makes you do it
What am I paying for
I swear, the devil made me do it
I went out of my body
Then I went out of my mind
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Untarnished snowflake
resting gently upon my knee
Symmetrical, unique
Floated gently there, as if
Aware of its transience.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
physically I have no symmetry
and it doesn’t even bother me
my physical state is electrical
and internally I am symmetrical
a love so big it's my counterpart
symmetrically matching my flesh parts
an existence created as a work of art
able to outsmart any black heart
understanding this duality
is the best of you loving the best of me
and I believe you will get there eventually
to your own symmetrical mentality
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 7:16 PM UTC
The lizard king came alive in the walls of prophets,
A shrine to help follow the subjects of the topic.
I lost my mind, but found it inside the tombs of those left behind.
I left a part of my soul on La Ciegna Boulevard.
The looking glass had the last laugh,
Some smiled.
The sun dials told the time accurately.
The shadows followed me from one side of the city to the other.
All the way to the coast of the continent.
It was here I found the confidence that was lost in the dominance of you.
We broke on through to the other side,
but it was too soon,
and the other side was the same like butterflies.
Cocooned in symmetrical thoughts of the stars in your eyes.
It’s no surprise we both knew it all at that moment.
Our toes exposed naked in the sand and lost in emotion.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
I came upon a parade of Zinnias
today..lined along the pave-way,
wild and wily. An infinite variety
of colorful heads popping up
and out, like eyes of
wary prairie dogs,
on the lookout for action.
Thought of you...the flower heads
you gave me, filled with seeds
aplenty to plant in the spring.
Knew just where they would go.
Imagined my hands in the
welcoming earth, sowing
them at just the right depth.
They would grow, reaching
with their long thin frames.
Vigorously tall and full of
summers brightness.
Symmetrical flowers
filled with attitude
towards the sun.
Flourishing in cracks along
sidewalks and driveways.
Finding comfort and feeling free
in the most limited of spaces.
Yet...I did not plant them.
Aware that I am not able,
just now, to make such a commitment.
To water and **** Ensuring that they
would reach their full potential.
A simple promise of one season.
To nourish a delicate, perfect Zinnia.
~Christi Michaels~July 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC
THORNED CROSS OF SCARLET TEARS,
OH HOW THY HAVE KNEELED TO THOU THROUGHOUT THE YEARS.
THOU SMOOTH BEADS THAT SWIRL AROUND THOU NECK OF THE HOLY SON,
OH HOW THY HAVE REPEATED “OUR FATHERS” AND “HAIL MARYS” FOR THOU PATRIARCHAL CREATOR ABOVE.
LOVING HANDS THAT SHALL SHOW THOU THE LADDER TO HEAVEN,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES WINGS WILL PREVAIL OVER THOU TAIL OF SATAN.
CIRCLES OF GOLD AND ASCENDED WINGS,
OH HOW THY AWAITS FOR THOU REDEMPTION THOU SHALL BRING.
FEMININE CANDLES TO AWAIT THOU FEMININE ACT OF BIRTH,
OH HOW THY LIFTS THE FOUR CANDLES FOR ALL THOU IS WORTH.
THE WINE THAT CAME FROM THOU WATER,
OH HOW THY SHALT TELL THOU MIRACLE TALE TO THOU DAUGHTER.
WHITE AND BLUE ROSES OUR LADY OF HELP REQUESTS AT HER FEET FOR HER BIRTHDAY,
OH HOW THY BUYS FLOWERS FOR THOU NEXT TIME THY AND THOU MEET.
HEART PROTECTED BY THE SHIELD OF THE HOLY SPIRIT’S GUIDANCE,
OH HOW THY NEVER BECOMES A VICTIM TO SUBSIDENCE.
WATER THAT SWIRLS INTO THE BLOOD OF CHRIST,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS HOW THE SON SAVED US IN SIGHT.
BREAD THAT ENTERS THE BODY AND THUS THE SON HIMSELF,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS TO REFLECT IN THYSELF.
EYES TOWARDS THE SKY IN HOPE OF MIRACLES,
HOW THE LIGHT IN THY VISION RETURNS SYMMETRICAL.
PAIN THAT DISAPPEARS LIKE THE AIR FROM THY LUNGS,
OH HOW THY REJOICES WITH THE WORDS THAT ROLL OF THY TONGUE.
PRAYING FOR THE HOPE THAT THOU SAVIOR PUSHES UNTO THY SOUL,
OH HOW THY GETS CLOSER TO THY GOAL.
REMEMBERING THE GRIM THAT THE CRUCIFIXION CAUSED THE SON WITH GRACE,
OH HOW THY IS STRUCKEN WITH TEARS DOWN THY FACE.
INVISIBLE MORTAL WINGS THAT SHALL ONE DAY BE SEEN AND RISE ABOVE,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES IN THE REDEMPTION BY THE DOVE.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
Life is not symmetrical.
An interesting ponderance
With unforseen,
Far-reaching consequence
And the green is in the profits
For the sages and prophets
Who drop it
Telling rhymes
To capsize time
And no one's around to stop it
Open to interpretation,
A cryptic message
Whose meaning gets lost in translation
When living in a basement
With one suitcase of baggage
And it amplifies
The black-tie strife
Of societal ties.
And you figure you figures
Add up to something bigger
While I'm a ghost just trying to capture
A bigger piece of the bigger picture
But got distracted by the frame
I look familiar
But you dont know my name
I look familiar...
Like looking in a mirror
Because we both look the same
But we're different
You see,
Im a dedicated runaway
Who ran away from home
Trying to escape
A world of computers
And cell phones
Pursuing a knowledge
I always have known
But the world's greatest minds
Never predicted this...
And my happy meal
Tastes like flies and ****
Yeah, ****
Because someone ****** in my vinegar
And if I ever see justice,
I've got something to give to her
My eyes.
And the power of sight.
To open up her mind
And redirect her fight.
But I fall back
With no one to catch me
Forced to rely upon
Linguistic ability
Because its the power of speech
Which tells you to look both ways
Before you proceed
To walk across the street
And I know its not easy
To live on adrenaline and caffiene
But I'll chainsmoke cigarettes
And drink gin from the tub
And try to destroy
Another piece of myself everyday..
Until all thats left is love...
Life is not symmetrical.
Sometimes it rains on only one side of the street.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:51 AM UTC
Folding on itself,
a childhood inkblot,
symmetrical map.
Neverland student.
Neverland syndrome.
Neverland client.
Neverland business.
Buying memories
with ageless coins in
fifty year-old hands.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 2:43 PM UTC
There is a Cheshire cat with a nefarious nose ring
Who lashes berating riddles, and vernacular that’ll make you cringe
He slithers through abandoned shadows
On dilapidated gravel, and bears a deathly sickle grin
Enticing as he may be, he only wishes to deceive
So be wary of his beguiles, they are hidden underneath his symmetrical smile
Nor give in to the plastic prophecies he preaches
Nothing he teaches will stitch meaning into your ambiguities
For he enslaves your sorrows and siphons your dreams
Leaving you asphyxiated in catatonic screams
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:26 PM UTC
Symmetrical lines of a twisted lie
held together by a cable tie
The green stain from the ring on your finger
shining brightly as you pull the trigger
At the blink of an eye you turn to zero
**** me now, my unsung hero.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
It’s been a long day
I’m sitting in the recovery room, waiting for a late evening case to start
The PACU nurses tend to two patients at opposing sides of the room
Familiar cacophony of sounds – monitors softly speaking, informing the staff about their charges
Heartbeat, pulse oximeter timbre, quiet respiratory alarm
It’s my 7th case, I’m starting to fade
The sounds are relaxing, soothing.
All is well
Suddenly I hear the disconjugate beeps of the two heart monitors
Draw together, until
For just a few precious seconds
These two total strangers
Completely unaware of one another
Share a pulse – their hearts beating in perfect sync – the two sounds indistinguishable
A beautifully symmetrical moment, almost lost
In the next second, as if it hadn’t happened, their hearts diverge - once more strangers
one to one another
unaware of an incredibly intimate moment shared
Sitting there, waiting for the case
I imagine
An instant in the course of history
Where, for one fleeting breath,
Humanity’s rhythm converged
Billions of hearts in time, a nerve impulse propagated across the planet
before scattering to the winds
A potent event, possibly one of many that even
In our modern world, still remains in the mystical
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC