"syncs" poems
The rush
The energy
The spark
It's flowing through me
Making me shiver
Feeling like I should turn around
But instead
I press my lips harder to hers
My hand
Behind her head
I strike through her hair
As only the stars as our witness
That for one moment
Our heart beat
Syncs
And we are one
I opened my eyes
I could feel the rush going through my body
The energy made me feel burned
Burned by love
Everything was here
Except her
All I could find that was left
Was one white feather
I returned to my bed
As I layed my head down
To hide my tears
Alone I cry
With one feather
Close to my heart
I'm waiting
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
He cries, tells her it's the last time.
Cherry lips and violet eyes,
She lies because she's so broken
She can't remember how it felt to be whole.
A boy too small to fight,
Though that doesn't stop him from trying;
A little girl who will never know that love doesn't include bruises and broken bones.
She could leave,
But she knows he'd find her as he has so many times,
Wandering the highway somewhere between the 5th and 9th time
She ponders whether it hurts worse to live or die.
Her baby in her arms and one trailing behind,
A shotgun aimed between her eyes,
She'll climb inside his old blue pickup truck,
Which is somehow colder than the October night.
She hears the whispers—
Illegal. Dependent. Brainless.
Can they not see their own reflection in her tired eyes
And realize that if the stars aligned differently,
They could have been the one wearing sweaters in the summer
And sunglasses in the grocery store?
As she pushes the shopping cart home,
She says a silent prayer that he'll be gone,
But he never is.
When her nose bleeds on the tile
She no longer cries,
Just syncs the pounding in her head with her heartbeat, screaming,
It's over. It's over. It's over. It's—
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
I promised myself that was the last poem about you.
But,
I've always been one of those people who
plays the same song on repeat
until it syncs with my heartbeat
and rattles my bones to dust.
or who
re-reads the same books until
the lines become my holy scripture,
the plot become my genesis and
my body becomes a canvas for a script I know by heart.
My head is filled with drafts for poems I've never written,
and hands I've never held.
I should blame it on courage but I blame it on you instead.
Maybe I'm just one of those people who
gives everything to one boy, forever.
Maybe he's just my routine,
like in the military.
Bright and early awake then straight to the battle field.
My body is adorned with marbled bruises
and crimson gunshot wounds
and when I rest for the night,
I'm shackled to a mattress of stone,
stained in the thick wine that pulses through my veins,
until the next morning,
when I must do it again.
The sunrise is my enemy.
She tugs at my eyelids
with raw fingernails each new day,
and I still fall asleep with
you as the only thing on my mind.
They say that you can't quit the army.
The cowards way out of a few wounds.
"Stay and it'll be a lifetime of glory".
And that's what he promises me.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
I know why it is called
"the small death".
When you lay spent
In my arms
After your heart
Has ceased its wondrous beat
And syncs with my own.
In these moments
While you are purely mine
I would scarcely believe
You were alive
If not for our heartbeats
Entwined.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
no longer careens
along the fringes of life
this gypsy soul ‘s
rampant
nomadic urges
long since quelled
I've roamed
so many hills and dales
crossed oceans and
floral seas
yet
here I remain
serenely sunlit
by your dancing
sky blue eyes
as
our love syncs
deeper into
the loving folds of time
only the bitter promise of death
will part
our paths
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
#My heart syncs with the ticking clock
You stepped through, our eyes locked
Eyebrows raised, a signal gave and
all time stopped.
Help!
Call an ambulance!
Thank you for saving my life
For if you haven't called
9-1-1
I would of died.
For I eat too much
processed food!#
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
with smoke tainted breath i sit and watch the night pass by
a silent guardian to watch my waking thoughts
the blinking traffic light tick tock ticks my life into pieces
a second hand reminder of the passing time flies
i reminisce on thoughts once alive and
create a late night fantasy in my mind
of life once lived to the fullest extent
only available in dreams brought on by death
the air is chill a cool reminder of the progressing season
where even the earth finds itself locked in throes of ecstasy
at the mere idea of change
the sky, towering sentinels that keep their eyes to the heavens
for any sign that this chaotic life will sink in calm waters
it smells like rain and the smell is sweet
caress my heart with a sense of longing as i create
this poem of cliche meaning
i live to love and love to live with lover in hand and
a night beneath the stars
only spoke about in hushed voices for song would break the spell
if this city wakes
i find myself asking the empty air for answers to these
dilema questions only meant for rhetorical ears
a writers lament
the cry of the mocking bird
syncs with the pass of a car
sweetly soft in a partners sigh
repetitive to most
these lips taste like honey and
my soul is free to wander to home
where you lay sleeping
safe and sound in the sea of mist
that separates the lost from the jealous eyes of unforgiving rest
a movement without meaning draws inspiration
for zen meditation
my coffee is getting cold
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
A muse plays my harp
strings made of veins and thread,
cobblestones line over my body
having bric-a-bracs in the evening,
Rain splashes over shelves
and ego vapourizes like helium,
pyres burn my effigy tonight
stardust shines the bubble
tearing ashes like paper,
Warheads crack my halo from within
setting me up like the haze,
my lip syncs with the beats
dancing my limbs as it heeds away,
Clouds shower blessings upon my head
the chakra opens as if unbolted by wind,
clear conscience reigns inside me
and photos set us apart like fences .
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
*My mingling dreams
Hang nonchalantly
In
My
Heart
Dangling in full view of my
Desires with
The
One
Love in my
Life
Hearts of red colour
Rise from
My chest
And cling to
Him
My loving eyes seek the moon
And stars
In his
Heart
My soul grasps his entire being
My breathe syncs
With
His
My love has awakened and will never
Die until death
Do
Us
Part
He holds the key to my heart
Only he can make it
Beat
The garden is planted with love
And
Care
The flowers bloom for
Us
And only
Us
The rest of our lives we have
To enjoy
The fruits of
Our
Love*
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
She takes my breath away.
Don’t know if I can
Find the words to say:
My universe syncs up
Perfectly in her presence.
Interwoven, entwined.
Shared conception.
The atavistic mystics have
Prognosticated our destiny
Long before our
Past lives together.
Our kismet is written
On the stones of
Ancient cave walls.
Splashed across the flowing
Fields of desire.
In the depths of the ocean
Where only our love can survive.
Do not portend without knowledge
Of histories past.
A clear understanding
Beckoning my soul to revive.
As my universe begins to slow
And time comes to a whispering stop.
I notice your hand grasping mine,
Fingers interlocked.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
On the other side
of my over
thinking
I’ve come to realize I still have
more questions
than answers
The future feels just the same as
it did ten years ago when my now
was my future
then
Friends are more often
thought about
than visited
when later today turns into tomorrow
and tomorrow turns
into this weekend
and then next weekend
once a month
whenever you can
because time pushes us all into
this strange thing
called Life
and it’s full of all kinds of ********
designed to rob you of
your money
your sanity
your time
but don’t let this discourage you
from greeting tomorrow
with open arms
and a head full of more questions
than answers
The magic doesn’t seem
to happen as often,
but on the days it does
You have a good day at work,
you pay all the monthly bills on time,
your schedule syncs with an old
college friend and you meet for
coffee, or street tacos from a
local food trailer, or you shoot
pool and whiskey at a dive bar
early Saturday evening
and it feels like the old times again,
and you learn the things you did
were your first stumblings into
adulthood and even though they
sometimes change the way you walk
forever, it’s those times you discover
again when you start your third game
and the songs you queued on the jukebox
start playing and now that you can enjoy
the taste of good whiskey more than the
quantity of well, and all the loose fragments
of the memories we carry every day, left open
on the table in a journal with more strikeout
lines than unmolested phrases all become
complete with each corner pocket called
shot, each memory recalled and retold with
language alluding Greek Epics and Shakespearean
Tragedies,
It all starts to make more sense in ways
and stops making sense in others,
and the future is the same as it always was
some things
you can change,
some people
you can keep
some days
turn into weeks,
months, and years
trying to make sense
of what’s coming,
of what’s gone,
of just what, exactly,
we have now.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
God has an iPod
that syncs prayers.
It's a miracle he ever gets to
listen to any.
But he does,
and over eternity
he has become a little more
deaf.
He even issued a new commandment:
Thou shalt pray louder.
Did you not get the memo?
Well, he can't turn up the volume anymore
so pray louder.
There's the memo.
But praying louder now
probably won't do much good.
He's deaf
and his headphones are busted
and- last time I checked-
he didn't leave any guidelines
for submitting prayers in writing.
Welp, I guess we're *******
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 6:35 PM UTC
She changes the weather.
A day when parasols turn into umbrellas,
And when umbrellas turn into parasols.
Undulating thoughts on an undulating day,
When the weather syncs with the mood lulls.
Howling wind hurls at the cracks in the house,
Shrieking at the effort to keep standing strong.
Walls bowed, timbers shattered, beaten, out.
The shell remains, a home that doesn't belong.
Lashing rain on the pane of the pain.
Flooding the banks of the river eyes.
Only relenting to an apathetic dawn.
Left marooned on an island of lies.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:21 AM UTC
she swore by her five inch heels
that the city lights ran through her veins.
her mother complained about
how she strutted through the doors smelling
like my neck.
i told my father about the way
she smiles when i call her “my little darling” in
cold hours of 2am when she rolls onto my shoulder.
i told my mother about how she rubs my spine with her paint-brush
fingers, hoping to turn my back into a starry night by
van gogh; she’s my shooting star.
her diaphragm syncs to the bass kick of “wanderlust”
and i think i fell in love with her adventure; it’s
not even the weekend yet.
she asked me about my past and the only thing i could tell her
was that the devil is paying me double to see you smile.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
That moment where you stop feeling Everything,
Songs are just words,
Music is just sound,
you just listen without feeling it,
and it no more syncs with your heartbeats.
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 10:21 AM UTC
I used to sing a lot, used to lace pearls on flower petals
and the sea would sing to me. I have heard that my female body syncs
with the moon
that I am a tide, my mood is high my mood is low
I am a force of nature Mother Earth can hold.
The idea hits me. My heart is set on fire by it:
I am the reason some rocks are heart-shaped, my fluids
can create layers on ammolite.
Even my ***** could purify a pond,
I am earth I am water I am wind I am fire I am juice squeezed from
apples and orange peels
only the sun can gather my pulp.
I watch a father star cradle its firstborn
and we exhale on the same sky, I cannot believe it. We eat and drink
from the clouds - my clouds, our light.
The opal loves her body (she shines) the wind loves her body (swaying)
birds with fat bellies sing to me and
every one wiggles her ****
because she loves her body - why shouldn't I.
(There could be pieces of me in everything beautiful).
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
My fingers vibrato, cello’s curve of your hip—
Her sighs answer, honest— a long slow bow.
Tuned flush swells— thumb dips,
Our love’s raw truth, adagio.
Ocean’s scent— bodies press,
breath syncs, a deep tremolo.
Our love’s pulsing truth confessed,
two strings rupturing— pianissimo.
Jun 16, 2025
Jun 16, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC
By now, you’re probably aware that I’m fully capable of making you so happy, it would seem as if your past relationships were just morbid friendships filled with a lot of empty ‘I love you’ phrases.
By now, you’re aware that love is more emotional, than physical. It’s more spiritual, than it is ******
By now, you’re pretty familiar with love being a language only you and I speak. A dictionary filled with words we’ve created. Shakespeare is a fraction of this love.
By now, you’re pretty aware that I’m no Romeo. I would never **** myself because of this love ‘cause I’m already dying to be with you. I die daily at the sight of your beau-fection. Beauty and perfection. One of the words we’ve created.
By now, time gets lost in us because it disappears whenever we’re together. Better yet, it disappears even when we’re not together because any time spent away from you, is time I will never get back.
Dear Future Wife - Another One
By now, you’re well acquainted with perfect love. You’re acquainted with intricacy. You’re acquainted with my eyes paying attention to every detail, past your beautiful smile. You’re familiar with me seeing what others won’t.
By now, I’m probably used to your nagging. I know you’re going to be running your mouth all hours of the day, and oddly so... I can’t wait...
By now, the sound of your voice has become the air in my lungs, and the blink of your eyes, has become the beat to my heart. When you’re asleep, my heart syncs with yours and even then, we’re still deeply connected.
By now, you’ve experienced a love so profound, it makes your heart smile. You day dream about forever, more than me. You’re content with the ever growing love I give you, effortlessly so.
By now, you’re moments away from seeing the same forever I see in your eyes. You’re inches away from starting this journey with me.
Dear Future Wife - Another One
By now, DJ Khaled’s featured in this poem three times already. I just want you to know that, We The Best. We’re going to have our first kid, and then Another One. You’re the only record I don’t want DJ Khaled shouting his name on. There isn’t any feature to this duet, cause this love is composed by two hearts that will never know what it’s like to be apart.
Dear Future Wife - Another thing is, I’m waiting for you to... like... see me
You’re in the distance in person, but you’re so close to my heart, I could swear you’re a blood vessel. Like, whenever you’re ready, boo...
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC
It's 3 in the morning
My mind is racing
All I crave is someone's touch
Someone's skin against mine
The comfort of another's warmth and rhythmic breathes
To lay my head on their chest and listen to their heart beat
Until my breathing syncs with their every inhale
Every exhale
Simply at ease with my thoughts
And every worry subsided
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
The tip-less needle, dragging across my skin, blunt, like the madness of absinthe;
Relentless, jabbing at my brain, the voices echoing, telling me things of wonder;
Hallucinations of dullness, caring only of wonder, luminous, re-dead of pulse;
Walls melt, bold, engraved, proud, yet fruitless of sin, constant grin, the joy of absinthe;
Priest I have sinned, yet I enjoy it so much, that marvelous taste that somehow transforms;
Health, life, family, don’t matter anymore, I nod in joy, is addiction a bad thing?
The green liquid somehow turns to nothing, the smell, perfume-like;
Trickle down my throat, cold yet pleasant, I lay letting it reform my mind,
At the very least, I could say I don’t care about life, but I would be lying;
Absinthe is my only real friend, all those lifeless things out there, are they my friends?
Laying looking into the dull yet seemingly intricate blank wall of glass;
I look into the dead eyes of the green fairy, she lip-syncs what seems to be ‘Do it.’
Terror illuminates throughout my body, I lick my perfumed lips, wondering;
Darkness changes to white, the white changes to darkness;
My life is deep like the waters of deception in a toilet of misery and hate, spiraling downward into the septic tank of destruction;
Colours stand out, seem to glow like fireflies, my world seems to spin;
Voices seem to laugh and giggle, I join in, hoping they are laughing with me;
I am feeling the effects of the green fairy again, heavenly greatness descending upon my numb body;
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
It's setting in.
Slowly and steadily,
Like how it does
everyday. It doesn't have
a specific time.
It feels like walking on a road which leads to nowhere. It's feels as barbaric as getting stabbed in your back a gazillion times. It's like everything inside of you has collapsed, all the organs have detached and you're trapped in your mind. Your mind is just a gloomy room badly lit by oil lamps. Holding one of those lamps you make your way through the intimidating place just to find a cupboard and hear rattling noises. You know what's in it and you're scared to unleash it. The sound just starts to get louder and you take a step back dropping your lamp down spilling all the oil on the floor. There is absolutely no escape but to endure agony. It's that inexpressible pain which is inevitable for a deep heart. A heart that feels too much. A heart that can feel other's pain by a small touch. The sound gets heavier and syncs with your heart beat. It just breaks through the door and walks towards you with the gusts of wind. So cold and horrendous. Red boiling eyes and deafening screams. The ruler of the dark. You know how much damage it's going to cause. All the positivity you managed to gather gets shattered in no time as you hear it speak. It ***** the life out of you. It makes you feel useless. It makes you feel unwanted. It makes you drown in your own pain. A monster who lives in your mind and feeds off your happiness. Kills the rush of dopamine. It's growing and it's not going to budge. It's motto is to annihilate you completely and in the end it just sets your mind on fire burning it down completely. You scream your lungs out but there's nobody to rescue you. Your legs tremble and you just fall on your knees with death in your heart. //
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
I am spiraling with the surrounding Love.
Circling the Universe, and filling the atmosphere..
with infinite... Rays... of Reality.
Penetrating into me!
Like iridescence light beams,
of emanating, vibrating, union celebrating,
I see no separation between all that is.
We are all just, future kisses.
For I have already listened to your lips,
For I already tasted your language of love,
Written in these books from ancient times,
carved and painted into myself from the fingertips that glide upon my cells.
I am just reading my skin,
whilst rewriting the story as it all syncs in.
Our hearts beating. ReMeeting.
For you are within me, not a part,
It’s all revealed through the mystery of our art.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
He's Behind Me.
I can feel his still face as he shows no expression.
His dark eyes focused to the back of my head.
His slow breathing as he syncs it with mine.
His cautious movement as he aligns it with mine.
He has no shame in what he does.
If I'm to turn he won't be there,
There will be no shape in all this darkness.
Silent horrors of loneliness or terrifying company.
He sees me when I can't see,
'See he knows me more than me.
He's Behind Me.
Although I Focus Not In His Presence,
Moments presented show me his existence.
He's not an object of illusion visualized only by my perception.
I think I know his purpose, it frightens the child in me nevertheless.
The brooding madness of my unstable state is clearly the blood he needs to drink.
He is not a shadow, that would belittle him,
He is more than that.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
The painter in Me
By Otuogbodor, Okeibunor
I paint not with brush strokes
On weary canvas
Nor with mesh colors
Darkening my concepts.
I paint using no tattered Coates
Expressing my pains
Nor with mute abstracting mixtures
Contradicting my designs.
I paint with words straighten in lines
Juxtaposing my world in humournic gospel.
I paint with lyrics n rhymes
Soothing the souls of my clime
Positing joy n laughter.
I paint with literally candor
Subjecting pains n sorrows
Mirroring my world in truth
My rhythms of love n peace
The only colors I know.
My language is succinct
Rendering sounds of blue n bliss
Greasing humanity crave to live.
I plaint not with staled oil Coates
Staining the muse of creation.
I orchestrate my colours in word vibes
Thrusting my Visual syncs to heal
For I cream my onions with ease
Printing my ego on black n white.
--------------------------------------------
Oh God bless this painter in me!
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC