"tangents" poems
Our parents are always telling us , you have to go to school, that you'll learn everything you need to know before you're ready for the big world, and that'll you need it to get into your dream job
But now a days our education isn't about learning, its about passing
Our education now isn't the same as it used to be
It teaches us that if you're not at a certain grade level, you will not succeed
That if you don't meet a certain criteria, maybe you're not for fit the course
This education system doesn't teach us whats really important for the big world
It doesn't teach us how to live, how to do taxes or how to survive
It never taught us the living expenses or how to buy a home
Never taught us what to expect once we leave for college or how to balance our schedules
No. It only taught us homework, about a plant cell, about tangents and circumferences
It taught us that homework is more important than family
That it's more important than being a kid and having a life
It taught us that if you spend time with loved once and didn't do your work, you're setting yourself up for failure
They pile us with work it feels like we cant breath
They never once thought of the other class assignments that must be due not even 24 hours later
They make us memorise things that will no longer be important when we apply for a job
We study for hours in hopes to pass that final test that we'll soon forget
But what are we suppose to say when someone asks us how we're feeling?
We were never taught that
We never memorised an equation to help us find the answer
We were only ever taught to keep our mouths shut and do our work
Its quite funny what we learn in school now
Things more than 80% of the students will never have to use let alone see again
School was suppose to prepare us for our future
For the job choice we pick
Instead we meet and learned quadratics and plant cells
We were taught homework is what your focus should always be on
We were never taught about the future and what to do
And most importantly
We were never taught how to love ourselves and the things we should be greatful for
They've turn us into sad, mindless robots that's are more concerned about grades and passing than whats going on with the family
We lock ourselves in our rooms doing homework for 6 hours than talking to our mothers or fathers who wonder about us
We were never taught the importance of family before it was too late
Every single highschool student wishes they can turn back the clocks, but it'll never work
We were taught the hard way that you don't really know what you have until its gone
Something we weren't prepared for
They never prepared us for the future
Instead, we prepare our self for the possible failing outcome
How are we suppose to make a living for ourselves when all we have learned was the stress over homework and family?
The depression over a failed test or assignment?
The lost feeling of the lost time?
How are we suppose to love ourselves when all we do is put yourself down because of school?
This education system never prepared us for anything
Instead, this education system officially has broken all of us.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead.
It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and **** and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again.
It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes.
It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit
too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here.
What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
You need to pay a sin tax
for the way you talk smack,
calling me your property
your syntax is making me
over. the. hill.
I’m heels over head with
you
making me crazy
the way that you speak
your diction’s too weak.
“you’re so nice”
how boring, I choose more
elegant words
to describe your glory
I could write
a five-page double-spaced
essay about you
and get accepted to your ivy league
I could wrap my
arms around you
like ivy on stone
hang you up to dry
on the
clothesline
til you answer the
telephone
I could cling to
you
like static
on your sweater
you better
not
flick.me.off.
Hell, my poetry ain’t free
it’s about as free as
slaves
I have confines, rules
bats in caves
It costs me thoughts
and time
and frustration
costs me more than just greenbacks
and a vacaction.
you need to pay up
talk isn’t cheap
your words cost you
attention
even if
my love don’t cost a thing
I train you like a golden
retriever
you retrieve my orders
like a wide receiver
my language is figurative
but your actions are derivative
you’re confusing me
like
trigonometry
love triangles are not my thing.
our
l θve i ∫ a sin(x)
cos we go off on
tangents and don’t know where to
begin
first we’re infatuated
then we’re done
next we’re inebriated
then we have some fun
happens so fast
then we come together at last
This rollercoaster of emotion
has me puking again
I’m trying to calculate this algorithm
in my head.
its so complicated
I’ll need something else instead.
in this kaleidoscope
I see
many sides
of you and me
I spin it round to try to understand
all I see is a blur of colors
even when I hold your hand.
I wish I could see
the thoughts you hide
from me
I want to understand
you’re radioactive
your face is glowing
even in pitch black
your smile is showing
but, I never get to see
your eyes
make me crazy
hazy
they trip me up
and pull me down
periodically, you’re in your element
and everything clicks
then we stick and the chemistry’s quick
but then you open your mouth
garbage spurts out
I think it’s about time
I take you out
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
I pulled back the thicket
Brambles and thorns
Bordering my mind
Inch by inch
To let you slip inside
Hi
I hope you don't mind
The pestilent storm of neuroses
The angry winds whipping around
Eroding my cognition
(They all say
I ought to stop overthinking
They don't know the half of it)
Pardon the mess
The litter of apprehensions
Flotsam and jetsam of rumination
Tangles of tangents
Smog of chimeric thoughts
Sticky rambles festering in the corner
Acidic drizzle
Of obstinate wayward tunes
Insecurity and fear
Eating into the pillars and foundations
If you don't mind terribly
The clatter of sleet
The noisome fumes
The skittering vermin
The sheer clutter
That would make packrats shake their heads
If you don't mind
At all
Would you stay?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!
Please be cautious when reading. If you feel you'll be triggered in any way, please don't read. Thank you.
I'm done.
Done with trying too hard
Done with sleepless nights
Done with disappointment
Done with being a disappointment
Done with hearing their voices in my head
Done with seeing visions of my abuse
Done with being around people
That just don't care
I know they care
But my brain tells me they can't be trusted
They're like everyone else
I avoid "everyone else"
I'm done with my anxiety
Done with my sexuality
Done with my gender
Done with my PTSD
Done trying to pretend I'm happy
When all I've wanted to do is cry
But crying would make others uncomfortable
And doing that in the past led to peer abuse
I'm done with my brain going on tangents
Done with having a constant smile on my face
Even though it's fake
And everyone knows it is
Done with heaving after a panic attack
Done with my abusive visions becoming reality
Done with feeling nothing
Done with being anything
Done with breathing
Done with living
Because at this point
What is there to live for?
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
Come the auroras and infinite landscapes –
Tangents wrought outright constants,
Parallels perched perpendicular outrights,
So to call your ellipse,
When the orbit’s outstretched
Landing meetings where we’d at least
Learn to alter tomorrow.
It’s stellar silly, and paths primordial,
Leaving my layovers for the trials
And abandoned, the moon’s to forever follow you;
So to composed and formulae proofed
Come the time you mother said,
"He’s just a coma
And dust best left forgotten."
Quit draggin’ me to space baby.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
at the corner I hit both crosswalk buttons
and wait, eyes closed, to see if I can follow
the walk sign chirps like the blind men
I choose the first street that whistles to me
and walk to the opposite corner
the way the lights rotate, you would walk circles
if you followed the signs
eventually you must choose some arbitrary avenue
and either wait for it to welcome you
or test your luck in traffic
I choose left
then look up, hoping
to invent some new constellation
but the big parking lot halogens
bleed like blue inked milk into the sky
and the stars are specks, painted over
maybe for the better, I know too well
that I would see those galaxies spiraling
and dig dig dig into big big big questions
hitting all the major points
time and space and self and purpose,
purpose
and the mental ************ would be
a million endless tangents like a million little bits of magnesium
flashing in a firework, brighter than those parking lot halogens
but like every independence day
they flash and fizzle and then the sky is just smoky
and I start to feel small
so I walk into Big Lots to calm down
rummaging through the shelves,
not a single pad of paper outside of monthly planners
not a single blank sheet, not a single open page
not a single ******* one
no one wants to buy anything unless they know it has a purpose first
otherwise, it’ll end up in their desk,
blank and staring every time the drawer gets cracked open
and no one will have an answer for it
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
I **** at writing poetry, but I do it anyway
Because life is an absurd struggle in
An impersonal universe, thus rendering
All efforts ultimately meaningless,
If that's the case, why shouldn't
I write bad poetry? If we are to, as
Camus says "imagine Sisyphus happy"
Then I'll keep rolling this metaphorical
Boulder of frustrated creativity up the
Mountain of artistic expression, in the
Misplaced hope that just maybe,
One of these times, instead of rolling
Back down and adding one more instance,
To that large pile of abject failures that
I've accumulated throughout my life,
It will stay at the top, rendering me
Successful, and making one of these
Jumbled word salad tangents into
Something that's actually worth reading.
...probably not gonna happen, though.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
I had a dream last night that I put you
in danger
that you were hurt because of
me
is that why you left?
please please
i need you
i need you 1 am fresh presto after
castro movies
i need you orange juice and dark ***
forget me nots and tangents
forget me not how can you forget me so
faster moving you must
i miss you reggae and sunshine
freckles and flakiness
i can't do this without you
acoustic guitar in laundromat
halloween princess
hiding away and scaring me for years
come back cooking
and
japanese tea garden explorer
and keep exploring with me
come back wanderer
you have made a home within my heart
you must not part.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
You unwrapped my blind fold
I could only see this mess of deconstructed bones
The smog filled my bleeding nostrils
I gasped to know the truth of a world rotating in circumvention
Tangents of humiliation
A crab crawls back into its used receptacle
It does not have to face the uneven shadows
Fairy wings brittle and break
The ashes of frightened unicorns
Paths off way far into the emasculated jungle
Hidden silences wielded in your depth
Machines and paper plates
The trees of battered car horns and biohazard bags
The stereotypical infantile jungle world
Without the echoes of the children you never should have had
Mary prostitutes herself on the corner
The Holy Ghost burns unnoticed
Please let us go back to a time
When we could sit still without retrograding voices
Telling us to progress and revolve
We can no longer feel awesomed in the presence of a structural anomaly
One that had never lived or breathed
Or failed
We were on the verge of a revolution
Before they took our fairytales away
The myths were replaced with shear and utter disgust
For the entire human community
Let us retreat to the forest of Incas and attack dogs
For we can not have a revolution of one.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
I found my old box of markers
I'm going to create some art
Not sure exactly what it is I have in mind
But I shouldn't put the horse before the cart
Mainly I just doodle, I'm whimsical and free
Sometimes, I draw straight from the heart
I enjoy using lots of different colors
While making others feel as though they are a part
Pictures of things in all shapes and sizes
I've got creativity just oozing out my pours
Could be a fierce dragon, or fluttering butterflies
But their beauty could never be ignored
I'm always opened to new suggestions
Ideas can be contagious in many ways
My mind does tend to go off on tangents
And a picture says what a thousand words can say
Some pieces can be pinned up on the freezer
Others, should be framed as works of art
You will never know until the work is finished
And you can't finish, until you start.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
tangents as i peel my tangerine
stranded when you leave the scene
running up the walls, painting the town green
artificial natural, warped reality
plethora of predators creep on me
sneak a peek, steal my peace
perception the weapon of my enemy
your glance is cold and it stings
my words are paper to a fire
to escape i needed to lose everything
Apr 12, 2023
Apr 12, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
Reality a vine
cut short as it grew
tangents of grapes
each fell a direction its own
revelations of faces
in alternate places
cross stretches of spaces
like speed of light races
time travel acquired
time line expired
time itself, tired
time, into minds, wired
like electrical current
like electrical impulse
like instinctual whims
like sensual sins
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
She derails me.
breathtaking, magnificent, tongue dumb
words fail and sense blurs
punch drunk love fear.
an unfamiliar juggernaut
on a collision course with sanity, confidence, self worth
unfamiliar, unwarranted doubt.
Paralyzed dumb,
I have no explanation.
Nothing taints a true childlike expression
I stray into unattainable delusion.
expectations, trailing tangents, delineation.
Peacocking: false representation of self.
Benevolent intention falls victim to accelerated dissonance
Nano lies upon nano lies build a plastic truth
Why am I doing this, and why can't I stop?
She would have loved the real me..
The tongue tied, school boy all awkward and sweet
Do I go for a kiss or just throw rocks?
Oh well, she's gone now.
The fake plastic boy scared her away.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
Do I make sense?
I’m speaking but
Can you hear me?
It seems like I’m speaking silence
I suppose I am since, wait--
Do I make sense?
My words are easily misinterpreted
Even now, you’re listening but
Can you hear me?
Tangled tangents taken
From the context of my mind
Do I make sense?
I don’t. Of course the sound waves are reaching you
Still, I have to ask again to be sure
Can you hear me?
L’appel du vide is all I hear
I want to know you’re not the same
Do I make sense?
Can you hear me?
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 10:44 PM UTC
Palace of my happy dreams
burning down to wakefulness,
the golden memory escapes me like cool air
in October bare and I forget what
imaginary Alice's imaginary kisses
felt like to my lips.
Our romance dies in eclipsing days
too often empty of rhapsody,
a nightmare instead built upon addicts impurities
and withdrawal shakes.
She's somewhere in my subconscious
shipwrecked lost in a sea of thoughts and disconnected tangents.
Her perfume makes me stupid silly and sad.
Where is she now but looking far to shore?
like you,
like me,
like this world of pattern and bore.
Never getting any closer.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?
I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?
How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,
or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?
Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.
Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.
Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.
Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.
Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.
Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,
Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.
Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,
And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
I’m…
Sitting in my flat,
To my couch I am thatched,
Kyle’s yelling,
He keeps telling,
Me to,
Get a job,
Like walk straight into one,
I get slightly indignant,
That it’s easier said than done,
He points it out,
So his main demographic
Don’t switch off en-masse,
Ending his quasi-infographic
Combination of hot air and bad gas
Mr. Kyle’s relatable,
He makes an effort
So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves,
He’s not hateable.
SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C,
The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me
The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery
Through way of a work programme
How he has decided that I need to experience real life life,
Through legislation and universal credit,
Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it
SO my rhyming thought full of tangents
Must now come to end
As the tangent I have accomplished
Is impossible to defend.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
I want to take 2am walks through towns so small,
that cops are sleeping instead of keeping watch,
and street lights glow only dimly because no
respectable person would need their guidance at this hour.
I want to tell teachers that their textbooks make me tired,
challenge them to teach me every subject with the trunk of a stately oak tree.
One that has seen more than we could ever craft into notes or test questions,
and breathes out a life source healthier for us than the toxic tangents
lingering in this academic air space.
I want to take my romantic notions of life
and press them into the pages of a non-fiction book,
so that when you tell me I'm naive,
I can present you with the research
that keeps your cubicle heart pumping.
I want to cleanse your body of its lead paint logic,
and use my lips to tattoo all the natural beauty
you've missed behind classroom doors.
I want to show you the beauty of broken glass in small town alley ways.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
The tangents on my clavichord
Were fashion'd from a ****** sword
That slew a man who music made
Which ought like him to be decay’d.
O.O
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
terrestrial siren call out
to me with your irresistible
song, ground me on the Earth
in the clouds, alone, I will go mad
alone without your melodies
to lure me back to a port
where I can furl my sails
and rest in your grounding solace
a song unlike the siren songs
Odysseus heard strapped to the mast
to resist temptation—he had only Penelope
while I have only you
you pull my ship back on course
away from the tangents I am prone
I want nothing more
than to bring
you aboard my ship
I know your telos
is rooted amidst the Earth
to heal and flourish
the ailing land
my telos to sail the sky
charting the heavens in search
of a key to turn the tumbler
of the lock to the universe
it tears my heart to be away
from your terrestrial song…
know: you will always be the port
where I return—for no reason other
than to hear your sweet song
one day, I will
roll my sails
un-step my mast
let the shrouds
hang loose
anchor my ship
permanently out
in the waters
of the celestial bodies
walk upon the Earth amongst trees, plants, and rock
rooting myself alongside you—ears open, listening,
solace in your song, in the port we built together
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
a flashing neon cocktail of colour
shines a peculiar light
like a fossil washed in my jeans
it allows me to speak to Panzas donkey
in a place where black winged angels wait
providing a backdrop to unconscious geography
that can never be reclaimed
movements are that of a stage contortionist
slow and deliberate
they recollect colliding tangents
that preclude all manner of inquiry
there is an articulated confrontation
that corresponds to a drawn curtain
an ash grey partition
painted with a particularised creation
projecting in a self generated universe
an estrangement to the world of aligning
past and present
A windmill tilts and magnifies
the sense of isolation generated
by my conversation with Panzas donkey
in a realisation of the unquantifiable location
of the non-geometric dimensions of Quixotic thought
yet allows for an initiation of sensory experience
as a world that exists independently of
physical space is explored
and I realise the expansion of consciousness
is the emitted light of relative thought
that flashes in colour before me
it is my dreams, they are violet
like the sky
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC