"synonymously" poems
sometimes I wish I had cancer
then people would send me flowers, and get well soon cards.
but I am bipolar
so when I am sick
I suffer alone, ashamed
because too many times
people synonymously use my illness for crazy.
-please stop
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.
He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.
It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.
However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.
For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly in two.
He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.
I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.
In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ****** or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).
These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
A criticaster disaster, personified.
Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.
•
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
My definition of truth is: An action synonymously described as it happened, within this barrier of admission, an image portrays a substance, occurance, or incident. This social term can and will be deviated for manipulation, self interest, and out of blatant ignorance. In society truth is hardly colloquial in politics, media, and law; recognizing that it is used to manipulate and persuade for power, control, or materiallity. There are cases in which deception is the best choice in the longevity of a subject larger than ones self, a substance of this will and shall never occur in a mindful, intellectual, and adept utopia. Sadly, in the global aura we see as today; we lack faith, trust, and ubiquity in fault of karma, the perpetual domino effect of deception, and the ignorant facade of physical dominance. From this computer screen, the pants you are wearing, and the mind you hone are all subject to the absent, mistreated, and altered reality of honesty versus deception.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 1:40 PM UTC
I get fleeting glimpse of the skies whenever I glance at her eyes
I see the stars entwine,twinkling,dancing to the rhythm of your heart.
breathing new air into my lungs
Which certainly rejuvenates me back to life.
Cover my scars with words that spell out "you'll be fine" synonymously as a tattoo would promising me eternal shine.
I could've been sceptical and believe my eyes have seen a mirage due to the paths in the past whereby a candle went out in the long run and introduced me to the dark.
Comforted me with a smile that ignited your aura.
Smoothened my tongue with that honey that sourced of your thoughts that are floral.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
Reminisce of her pretty face that descend unrealistic utopias to my world. As I crackle a little giggle synonymously to that of a bonfire in the dark. Sudden thoughts evaporate the smile like the sparks do.
Her halo disappears,so does she. Elusive it is to decipher the meaning behind this. Perhaps I'm in denial of the truth. She misled me into darkness with promises of eternal shine. Instead I'm now trapped in the dark only to realise now it was a lie. The illumination she provided was only temporarily lit.
Pretty images of us hand-in-hand on the sandy lands with serenity in the air brought by the ocean hisses. We were about to rewind those kisses. Till I realised I'm dreaming. I woke up,next to me in my bed..she wasn't there.
See you in my next fantasy.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
It was the year of my 14th birthday, when I first found that the word “go” had an entirely new meaning.
When I was young, “go” meant to run
go meant to run through the fields until your legs brought you to your own knees
go meant to strive for what you loved, and whatever you loved.
when I was fourteen, go remained as to run,
but to run away.
go meant to leave, with no living desire to
return.
go was synonymously my father’s clenched fists against the kitchen work surface
whilst my mother stood in her flesh and blood.
when i was 7,
i made love potions in my garden with flowers and water.
love was to fanatically involved with something.
love was to feed fuel to the fire,
that would light the way
love was life,
and life was love.
when I turned sixteen,
I went back out into that garden, and made my very own love potion
sticks and stones, which depicted the naivety of the words which supposedly would never hurt but made me feel more than even a
hurricane could.
Mud to represent the lost flowers from the light you took from within.
Love meant nothing more than the heartbreak that snuck up to stab you before Cupid could even hit you.
Love became the tears that my pillow felt on nights when I couldn’t hold in the flood.
Love represented the scrapes and grazes that my own hands gave me.
Unfamiliar words, like “sad, weak, loss and collateral" became friends, the friends that I hoped I would never make.
On my fourteenth birthday, I learnt of a new meaning for hold.
To hold, meant for me
only safety
and the earth to stop turning for just a moment, to give you
the chance to stand back up.
But on my fourteenth birthday,
to hold meant to hold captive,
as you grasped me in your vice
until my words couldn't be spoken,
and my heart screamed so ******* loudly
yet so quietly that the deaf could hear.
I'm approaching my seventeenth birthday,
and i'm scared to discover
what's next.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Lately, I have been transitioning words
Like Palate cleansers, Bayonne,
Sangria instead of writing
A daily poem, sometimes we just have to take a step
Back, and think, I came across this wonderful comedy show
The Neighbors’, which was pilot since 2012,
This show had last for two years: great lines
With some wonderful actors and actresses,
I can related, after feeling so alienated myself
being in this foreign country: Since 1983
I once lived in a small town in New Jersey,
Hiller circle, Red bank another part of New Jersey
(Me) an Island girl felt, like a real out of space Alien
Living amounts those upper class snobby folks:
I only last two years in that small town
my poor pride wouldn’t allowed it…
My pride was stronger than my feelings:
I had grown fond of Sally and Brad,
But, I knew
“**Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice**
I could have been a wonderful poet,
if only I had only taken on this craft seriously,
I love my quiet times on my keyboard,
I never pay much attention to rhyming,
My words are diary entries, to cleanse my palette
De stressing without taking a walk outside into
The Funky low grade city air in New York City:
Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the world...would do this, it would change the earth
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC
death is my neighborhood friend
she has followed me all my life
no matter the outcome of situations
death always prevailed
speaking lightly on such a subject would inflict a mere slit on the tip of the tongue
she is genuine at all times
though some may find it hard to believe I have never caught her in a lie
to be frightened is to be frail
for tears shed, hearts break, last words are spoken
actions are derailed into a different outcome
yet through all the demise, she remains vigorous
death has no boundaries
I have learned that the strenuous way
there is no difference in those related to my own blood and water
death stops at no personal obligations nor obstacles
adolescent days dare to compare to my maturity of today
death broke apart relationships of all kind
sometimes spiritually she drained me of love I could no longer bear witness to the outside world
she drained me of my close ones,
'family,' if you will
left me to anguish and mourn like a deserted soul
isolated from society, the world, love, or any such interactions were just extreme to divulge in
building up a tolerance to agony was just a challenge to her for the near future
other times she lacked me of mental termination
friendships of such were burned and buried beneath the ground
someplace called hell
for they would never return and if they sought out to intervene in my life once again death would appear and rip the soulless creatures right out of their existence with me.
I could barely bear witness on either or, nor did I want to comply but I, myself, had no say in the fate of life.
my mind, body, and soul were alternated
never will I be a carbon copy of my old self
death is my friend
she remains synonymously unpredictable
if I, myself, were to die, I would, in turn, welcome my friend.
, eulogy
"Hello my dear, for I have not missed you for an abundance of time it seems you have missed me. whereas I contemplate over no comprehension other than the certainty of you needing my very presence. all of the atrocious things I have done is diseased along with the misery of atoning to every thought and situation dealt with my life on this earth. let alone the well being that I also obtained in a timely matter has now released me into a never-ending dimension"
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
Not all artists are broken.
They paint with colours
drawn from their memories to
empty canvases.
They sculpt figurines
out of their flesh and bones.
They bleed out words
into beautiful prose and poetry.
They create symphonies
with the gentle swish of their wands.
Their steps beat synonymously
with their heart.
Not all artists are broken.
They take all their pain and
turn it to something beautiful.
It’s magic.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 5:51 AM UTC
downhill despair
of real concern
depression looms
help, save me soon
I know it's bad
lost ambition
to write, to breathe
synonymously
solitude strikes
words leave, as do you
goodbyes too soon
make me feel safe
hold me longer
I'm looking for
something,
someone,
anyone...
gone.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Have you ever noticed how when two professionally involved individuals shake hands,
their respective hands remain congruent,
synonymously shook,
right meeting right....
meanwhile, when couples hold hands,
their respective hands remain mirrored,
fingers reflectively intertwined and interlocked,
right meeting left?
Is this a testament to “opposites attract”?
Is this what they mean?
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC