"tantrum" poems
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Fabricated.
Fictitious.
A fake floating feeling
Falls short
Of my fleeting fantasy.
This insidious infirmity
Isn't what I intended.
I've been inflicted
With internal indisposition.
In need of an ideal identity.
Who am I without
This ****** to make me whole?
How do I heave my heart
Away from this hole?
Have you seen how hard this is?
But it's been short of a year,
Of believing I can simply be.
And before I break
Bleed me of my bane.
And for me, bear no malice.
Tightly take me
Away from my terible tempest.
Time tells me it's time to stop.
Too long I've tortured my tenemet.
Tame the tantrum tearing through me.
Sober seems strong,
But it's systematic survival.
Stopping the surrender
To something stimulating.
Learning to stand sedated.
No I'm no longer numb.
No longer neglecting my need
For new novcane.
Knowing I'll never need
This vaccine again.
You are all my ambition.
Dispelling my ailments
And afflictions.
I am hard to adore, I know.
You are my new addiction.
You have me dreaming,
Praying we are real.
Made me feel.
Don't decieve my brittle belief.
Keep me, don't leave.
I'm not the kind to fly.
For you i'd try to dive.
Unafraid I might die.
I don't hide from the night.
This is what I've been trying to find.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
5:05pm
the sky is confused
the clouds are a blend
of orange and red
yellow and violets
what a moody creation
8:17pm
the sky can no longer hold it, i guess
lightning strikes everywhere
and thunder trembles here and there
the sky is crying
12:38mn
the sky is calm
but it looks heavy
like the calm after a tantrum
and there are no stars
the sky is sad
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Always walking that line
Always tempting fate
All these temptations calling me
I attempt to numb pain
Got the temperature rising
Know I can be temperamental
My temper’s ‘bout to unleash
Doing something regretful
A temporary escape
From two to ten on the dial
The temper-tantrum and screams
Like a tempestuous child
Perhaps a temporal shift
Like Anty Em’ on the farm
The tempest carries away
Ship wrecked alone I am gone
My template shows me the way
Temptress I can not escape
Contemptuously I have temperance
Finding tempo ‘til break
A temple shrine I pay tribute
Silently contemplate
Lord please grant me forgiveness
For my wrongs and mistakes
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.
~ Umi
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
in the river of good company
***I dedicate this poem to
Mr. Harlon Rivers,
one of the best poets (here)
and from his good company,
i could drink all day and
never be quenched***
~
Preface
sometime, the heart wants it wants,
denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised
sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you
awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes
the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and
mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing
uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed!
do believe this condition can be found in the medical books
under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation
my heart wants to write a poem,
cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet
from the heavenly crime scene,
and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place,
when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^
~~~
in the river of good company
simple sentiment but good god
all I ever wanted and so oft lacked
such was my fate, one I made,
had plenty good words for boon companions,
the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves
cross my face, a love lapping slapping
of concentric pebble rings,
till like most good things
gone good goes bad,
it just happens to evaporate and
you think someday, maybe,
you will walk again in good company
the brain says quit right here
but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition,
for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under
palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so,
memories,
of when
you walked in good company
men women no different - it is that heated aura
tween bodies that confirms that you are once again
a human being, just a being, temporarily
enhanced, elevated, by good company
so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says -
one more for the road can't hurt ya,
write that poem -
and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman,
will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot,
do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured,
drinking from the river of good company,
mouthing not even dare whispering,
satisfied satiated, loving and loved
~
all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated!
4/2/17 9:24am
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
The voice I hear is ruminating in my head,
that treacherous depart was wounded instead of behead.
How I long for this pain to leave akin the December sky,
this imminent glory was only dreamed about in disguise.
How persuasive the universe was to the story,
it did not project the upcoming fury.
Of a devious bequeath that upheld the tantrum,
the sky soared with anger until its utter collapse.
When a drop of water fell from the engorging sky;
it dropped thousands of miles beneath,
until it splattered like a human who couldn’t breathe.
This anger spread like a wildfire, infecting all those longed desires.
The heart of which pumped no more blood,
Became equivalent to a plant breathing through a frozen sun.
Nature believed there were no further storms,
until the quarrel beneath was profoundly explored.
Through the bodies sensation one could not ignore,
made the heartache of this man’s soul.
Oh why are humans so weak.
Must the sun anger the kindness soul,
For I had only hoped for evermore.
Was I a victim who loved no more?
Or an open heart waiting to explore?
This journey could not be real,
however, it became nurturing to one’s appeal.
The ignorance disguised as love evidently appeared,
as the devil danced around as one had feared.
Ambiguous to the commonality of faith,
that created an ambivalence that aroused distaste.
The traitor became her experience and ego her age,
I was in love with a spiritual woman of a certain year of age.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
They say their souls are saved,
That they've been blessed 'cuz they give praise.
Oh!
Their dreams all seem so handsome,
But we're holding their God for ransom.
They will send negotiators,
Protesters and lippy haters.
Oh!
It will be so grand, son!
'Cuz we're holding their God for ransom.
We'll hold back their End of Days,
As long as they abhor the gays.
Yes, we'll deny eternal bliss,
If they can't ditch their prejudice.
To condemn then throw a tantrum?
THIS is why we hold God for ransom!
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
The bellowing clouds of smoke
The paralyzing threats of death
To the residents down below
Holding on to dear breath
Choking throats stinging eyes
By the languid sulphur laden air
White powdered ashes everywhere
There's nothing that they could do
Because nobody can say no
To a volcano
It can erupt at anytime if it wants to
They're uncertain what to do, follow
Their hearts to stay where they are
Or follow the orders to evacuate
The folks can see fire and smoke from afar
They've to move from there before it's too late
Because the volcano could boil over
It's brewing up in the creater
They've to leave their belongings
Behind them and say farewell
To the chicken the ducks and geese
The cows the dogs and the cats as well
Or take some of them if they please
Take along the important documents
And regrettably flee for fear from their homes
Before the fiery lava will leave
Their huts to remnants
They can't say no because
The Bali King the 'spokesperson'
For the Gods won't listen to their pleadings
And why it's throwing up it's tantrum
Because the Gods have spoken
The Gods are angry at them
And they've to sacrifice all
Their belongings to appease the Gods
Because they know the volcano
Knows they can't say no
To the volcano
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Author: Kristen Stevens
Current mood: frustrated
Anthony got a firetruck Lego set. The packaging says "ages 5-12". It also makes the claim "designed for easy building and instant play." Now I know he's only 4 but he's smart and not that far from 5 comparatively. I on the other hand am 28. Well outside the parameters age wise. Yet, this smallish box of tiny toys baffled me for over an hour. I have the directions, I've dug through the pieces, and am still mystified on occasion. As I'm searching for yet another microscopic piece of siren or whatever it was, I'm thinking..."5 years! I can't see any 5 yr-old sticking with this for this long without losing his mind. Then Mom would take it away because of the temper tantrum and never gets built. This is stupid! Where did that tiny loopy thing go?...etc" What part of an hour is "instant play" do they not own a dictionary? I could tell them.
Then once it's together, somehow Anthony keeps taking the windshield off. He's not actively disassemble it. He's just rolling back and forth on the floor going "whoo-whoo!" Lego's the most touchy toy on the planet. Maybe he'll get some more when he's 15.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 7:52 AM UTC
I have to throw up walls...
I have to refuse...
I wish I didn't have to,
But that's not possible;
At least not with you.
I love you and I've learned.
I can't give you everything.
Or you would just use me up.
The frustrating part?
You're unaware. Or your not listening.
It's the same either way.
It's for my own good
And yours too
Your reaction confirms I'm doing the right thing
Or you'd never respect my answer
(not that you really do now)
but I respect myself enough to say it.
I've been too lenient with you.
A realization that comes too late.
Like a mother and her child
Realizing her mistake during the tantrum.
The realization comes with the knowledge that you present understanding until met with opposition.
Contradictory texts and I now realize, painfully, you knew it was a big ask
....you just weren't expecting me to say no....
You don't respect my time. That much is clear. I just wish I realized it sooner.
Apr 3, 2024
Apr 3, 2024 at 9:40 PM UTC
ADP and ATP,
DNA calamity.
RNA provides ridicule and cruelty.
Death note delivery.
Blood laughs and screams as it pours from slit veins.
It doesn't care about the souls its owner has stained!
What have you feigned?
What selflessness remains?
None to be sure as parasitic reality you frame.
What are we then?
Surely not worth baiting.
An existential lion's den.
But does it matter if we're waiting?
The most important question is "When?"
We exist to cause our problems,
to eliminate the heretic race.
It's a race that know one wins when,
They always have their problems to chase.
So enlighten us with,
Your sacred soul's bliss,
Or grow up from this tantrum of toil and ****
Science of religion,
An oxymoron to say the least.
It is one thing to take the message.
Another to let your mind waste.
Savor what you have to the nucleus of your soul.
Know what makes you righteous.
Know it well and full.
Know what you live life for.
We're abiotic to assume that we "know" things we won't search for.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
I lay in bed at night and try to ignore the typewriter in my head tap tap tapping the same three letters, tapping your name, tapping that syllable that has been stuck in my head for weeks
You, gave me infinity within a numbered amount of days and taught me new tongues of love that I didn't get the chance to learn yet, you...were far too good for me
I've often asked myself how long is forever and discovered that sometimes it's just one second...and even now I find the need to walk down memory lane just because I know I'll meet you there because I don't want our forever to be over yet. I haven't learned how to look at somebody I love and tell myself it's time to walk away but forget me not; you are worth everything, you deserve everything and you meant everything to me but...I don't have a pinwheel heart, the kind that goes crazy at the lightest touch, that never fears the love it's given and deserves every bit of it.
I wish I needed you, that you weren't just a desire my heart thought it wanted. I wish you didn't already feel like a memory, that every time I said your name it didn't already sound like goodbye.
Scream - Shout - Cry - Kick
Throw your worst temper tantrum
Tell me, about every fairytale you've heard as a child, explain how the princess fell in love with prince charming and lived happily ever after. I, will tell you that maybe some day you will find a princess who will fall head over heels in love with you with that dizzy pin wheel heart, she, will have lips sewn with naivety where her only bad experience will be the monsters under her bed but, monsters aren't real to her yet, she will trust you to no end and believe every word that escapes your lips because she thinks lying does not exist, she, will be the complete opposite of me and will never realize that sometimes the one you want isn't always the one you need
I know you will remember me when I'm not there to love you, I know when you're pounding all your frustrations and insecurities into the girl underneath you you'll remember what passion felt like and how my skin isn't accessible to your fingertips anymore, I know that when you use Mary Jane as a substitute for my lips and blow out your problems and feel them start to fade away you will remember what being cared about felt like. I hope you regret it...I hope she helps you forget...I hope you fall in love with her and she makes your heart go pinwheel crazy
Run your fingers through my soul and feel exactly what I feel and just once, understand what I'm going through...understand that you're taking up too much room, not in my heart but in my brain, and that's a place that I never wanted you to end up
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
bonetender night, polaric.
windswept crown atones
weeping wanderer.
rigid matriarch condones
tantrum medication. vast
control shapes diminished conscience,
actuating frustration;
migrane pulse doctorate.
sad shell housing beaten wails,
a closed eye, ear to brains.
steady now, absorb sultry stance.
dim lamp set on autonomic fade.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:00 AM UTC
But I'm Not Bitter
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a dark and dreary day ( I know its Tripe but today it is true )
rain makes me sour and truly an old crone
My skin is too tight and my bones are not nimble but stiff and useless
Stairs are insurmountable and the phone seems too far away for the effort
I no longer try to be pleasant and am left alone
but for my furry mob who can care less my bad mood
my desk chair is surrounded now with hot water bottles
electrical pads and nuke em packs and of course pill bottles
the detritus of pain
It is now a companion old and well known to me
I am told ever "Its age my Dear, Just live with it
I am told "It's all in your mind there's no pain at all"
I am told :Push through it and endure don't acknowledge it ignore it"
When will it leave ? at death ? What a thought to have to drag it with me at the end.
I curse his name
His Family
His Heritage
His Intellect
His Temper
His one action one blow in fury his one tantrum ...
And the sentence is life ...for me
I wonder ..If I saw him could I strike back?
I know there is no forgiveness no saint like pity or absolution
Every time I hit the ground in a seizure he has hit me again
Everyday I cannot climb the stairs in my own home He has thrown me once again through the window and I fall the 6 floors again
Stop holding on to it you'll never get any better ... And I try ..I really do ...
Then the seizures come or I cannot do a simple household task
or I must once more tell a friend I cannot meet them for tea (a selfish luxury)
You know I bet he has not thought of me in years ..but his actions govern what I can do every day of my Life
But I am not Bitter
Solita -2006
Author's Location: Toronto, Ontario
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Physics:
It is in your children's behavior Example!
The way your child tantrum
Toys like Cars, Teddy bear, Barbie, Lego
blocks, ***** anything a child can hold
can by be thrown away in a perfect projectile
landing it to your favorite vase causing it to fall
with the strong impact the vase broke into a thousand pieces
And as much as you want to punish your child
but you love them so much you let it slide this time!
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC
being told that you're too big
for a playground destroys
the little kid inside you and
wow oh wow
that hurts because that little
kid always gets what she wants
and **** that's not okay and
she's having a tantrum but
you just look down at that rude
little kid who told you that
playgrounds are for little kids
makes you
so so so mad and
who told that kid that
they could be rude to you
but you know that
they don't think they're being rude
and all you want to do is
go down the slide but
you admit defeat and
stare down that kid and
whirl around and
walk down the steps but
inside you're stomping and that little
kid of yours is unhappy.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
No joy here
Without a care, I hang my head;
Something dormed inside from chaotic dread.
No joy here.
You watch and wait, why wait for hate?
no praying is your great mistake.
No joy here.
I too watch as I turn into the person I ran from; throwing a mighty tantrum, 'The Missing Heart' anthem!
You can't stand him.
No joy here
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
I’ve gone insane.
It's nothing new.
Been down this road a time or two.
But this time I've made a decision
About the health of my cognition:
I'm staying here!
No round trip!
For why would I when there is this?
A world exactly as I need it.
Everything just as I see it.
Reality made me contort
To rules and norms and other sorts.
I've bruised my limbs,
Threw out my back,
My everything is out of whack.
I'm done I tell you!
Through with it!
That box, that there, I cannot fit!
And in the past you have always
Coaxed me back to your mores.
And I would whine and ***** and moan.
Throw a tantrum. You would groan,
And you would say I must behave:
"Proper people don't act this way!"
I don't doubt this:
Your forced fed fodder,
But I have no interest in being "proper."
So I’ve gone insane.
And I’m staying!
Not because it's easy.
Not because I’m lazy.
But because, going back?
Well, that would just be crazy!
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
sleepy eyes open glimpse high ceiling red wood beams house built in 1920s glance out window tree tops blue skies mountains in distance flock of birds flying east chirping sounds passing car engine accelerates inhale deep breath through nose stretch legs plantar dorsal flex feet raise arms over head stiffness in shoulder feel strange sensitivity in right pectoral above ****** cautiously examine with hands feel coarse lump growing more like nub smell moss glare down at growth protruding from chest panicky by soreness rise from bed to mirror on closet door tree stem jutting out from chest inspect dark bark like calloused growth little leafs budding this cannot be race in nervous tantrum run to bathroom suffer painful weight pulling me down clutching carrying foliated limb with arms see myself in mirror horrified stagger back to bed lie on right side branch resting on mattress breathe anxious breaths reexamine pectoral area feel sinewy roots spreading under skin across chest up neck down over stomach waist legs forget how to get home disorientated nauseous exhausted what is this flora invading me ******* kafka metamorphosis post-modern hyper-real narration without accountability jorge luis borges metaphor without mindfulness fairytale run wild jean baudrillard simulacrum psychosis room now filling with plant undergrowth stinking of earth dirt gooey slugs worms shells bugs festering climbing towards windows voracious for light warmth moisture blocking out morning sun entire body trapped in tangled twisted leafy twigs excruciating pain fright lungs gasping suffocating encroaching darkness fatigue loss surrender wake up 4 AM from nightmare scared to fall back to sleep
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
Laughs and screams,
Smiles and tears
A newly found love,
And "the boy I was gonna marry heartbreak".
You yell at your parents,
Hit your little brother,
And for what?
Because your mad at some high school boy,
Who couldn't keep it in his pants?
You should be yelling at him...
But ohh no...
You could never do that.
"It was a mistake."
He says,
"I love you, and I promise I'll never,
Ever, ever, ever do it again."
And then tops it off with a dazzling smile,
And runs his fingers through your hair,
Kisses your cheek,
And says,
"I gotta run, love ya babe."
Yeah...
He's gotta run...
Run to your bestfriends house,
Because he's bangin' her tonight.
Liar.
Ooops...
He did it again.
It was an accident..
Again.
But you forgive him,
Because you love him,
And he "loves" you.
You throw your friend to the side and proclaim,
"Its all her fault!"
But then one night when yall are hanging out,
He goes to the bathroom,
And leaves his phone sitting on the bed.
BUUUZZZZ
New text message,
From some girl named Brittany?
"Who the hell is Brittany?"
Not thinking,
You open the text.
It says,
"We gotta talk, now."
"Why is this chick wanting to talk to MY man?",
You think to yourself.
"What's going on."
"It broke..."
"What broke?"
"The ****** you idiot."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm pregnant."
There it is.
He did it once again,
And ******* up big time.
Can you forgive him?
There's physical,
Living,
Evidence this time.
You do what any rational teenage girl would do...
You throw a tantrum,
Scream "I hate you.",
And run home to daddy.
You tell daddy...
Daddys mad.
He runs out of the house,
Gets in the truck,
And races down the road,
Without a word.
You go up to your room,
Because what else can you do?
You go to your desk,
And see your drawings,
A beautiful art,
Thats always been your outlet.
But hows it gonna work for you this time?
What are you gonna do?
Draw him on top of the name Brittany,
With his **** in the middle of the A?
You sling everything off your desk.
The pencil sharpener hits the wall,
And breaks,
Leaving the metal blades exposed.
You pick it up,
And begin to draw.
But this time,
There isnt any pencils,
And there isnt any paper,
Just metal and skin.
You hack away at your teenage soul,
Going through your "emo" phase,
Wanting to feel normal,
And trying to make a time machine,
With your blood as the key,
To get rid of all the hurt he had caused.
"How did you handle the pain of all that?"
People at school ask when the word gets around.
"Drawing is my outlet."
You say,
And then walk away,
Pulling down your sleeves,
So your broken teenage soul is encased in last years sweater.
A teenage soul.
At 13,
So alive,
So new.
By 18,
Its dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Have you ever stopped to think
how much of your own Anguish
you've brought upon yourself?
Externalizing the source in a narcissistic tantrum,
One tends to find a scapegoat for One's own Shadow
and in turn disrespects the external Realm
almost as much as the internal.
Humility, Self-Discipline and Patience
are necessary for One to realize the truest sources of One's problems,
for many of One's problems originate within Oneself
and One then proceeds to socially pressurize others just to blow off One's own steam.
I am not immune;
I am my closest reference:
I reflect upon patterns in myself
which in turn help me to see them in others.
Although I am but my own case study,
I find it only reasonable that similar patterns would arise elsewhere as well.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Grasping her every arm,
In unowned mittens and scarf.
Tattered, the eyes red as Mars.
Though all she can do—
Is gaze to peoples jewel afar,
And wonder in optimum.
The best possible way to omit;
A lifelong scar of tantrum.
An infinite tribulation mimics.
Mediocrity sneaks to pry.
Uncanny euphoric figments,
Biding the year-end tide.
To lay undone ashes of shame.
She mourns a winterscry.
Putting off the endless dolor,
Till death ends that butterfly.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC