"tantrums" poems
My baby girl
My baby girl,
She doesnt speak to me
But i know what she says
I know what her gibberish means
I know why her tantrums are
My baby girl
Beautiful as anything ive ever seen
Maybe more
Innocent pure unique
My baby girl is special
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
let it not be confused
let no one else's name
ring throughout these sentences
let this be a hatchet
let me put this to rest
this is not a test
i don't want to think
about shipwrecks anymore
i am tired of folding apologies
into origami birds
and placing them
at the headstones to your tantrums
this is not is not geology class
these are promises
written on razorblades
*& if you are getting choked up
then maybe you should be*
maybe we should be buried
with our telescopes face down
my mouth is full of sorry
all for being honest
we are falling out of orbit
we are burning bystanders
so cast away your callous condolences
because no one is clapping
in this waist deep water
this is not a baptism
so do not tell strangers
that this was a chance to drown
any differently
i am not a catalogue
of constellations you cannot name
this is not mythology
so stop believing your horoscope
i am not a wishing well
i am just a wall for you
to paint post nuclear fallout & antonyms for catharsis on
we destroy the things
that are not ours-
the wanton ways
we embody wrecking *****
and then cry over the rubble
this is not a heap or a mosaic
this is leaping
off a thousand story building
with no one to catch you
at the bottom & maybe
that's why some quiet moments
are so fragile, maybe that's why butterflies have mimicry
your words are black powder
and poetry is your musketry
i guess that makes me your blindfold
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Under the sheets of emotional armor,
A shy little girl masquerades as a martyr.
She’s the Queen of Deceit with her lies getting smarter,
While every tale told draws her self even farther
From finding out why she’s emotionally bothered
By all of the men in her life: like her father
Who only was trying the best for his daughter
And striving to be something more than a pauper
But coming up short. Who knows how much harder
He’d try if she wasn’t an argument starter?
The guilt and the shame from the family slaughter
Has made her insane and continues to bar her
From finding out just what the world has to offer.
Luckily she won’t have to be here much longer;
In fairy-tale land, there's nothing can harm her.
She suddenly finds herself all alone
With nobody’s thoughts to address but her own.
This is the time when she’d pick up the phone,
Demanding a savior to hear her bemoan
About all the problems that she’s ever known,
But what she doesn’t know is a friend can’t atone
For the lack of a man with his patience to loan
To a lost little girl whose bad temper is known.
All she needs is a strong one that doesn’t condone
All the treacherous lies and the hatred she’s shown.
It’s hard to deny all the reaping she’s sewn.
She’ll have to tread soft lest her cover is blown
And everyone finds out she still hasn’t grown
Through the hundreds of tempers and tantrums she’s thrown.
Hopefully soon she can bury the bone
And calm herself into a nostalgic zone
Where smiles and candles were filling her home
And love and affection were all that was loaned.
Enlightenment comes when you realize you’re prone
To the wrath of the heartache that comes with the throne.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
*The wait is an eternity like a mailed message.
The excitement of opening you up and reading every little text.
Your darkened ink hair dripping on my hands and I love the way you leave a flowered scent on them.
I play my favorite songs and I think of you.
The similarities we share lets me know the world is not vacant of awakened people.
I keep you in mind.
I keep you in mind when I scroll past one of your social media quotes and Like it.
You deserve my love, my unconditional love, my wild and passionate love, my fighting love.
I'm a clumsy mess, a reckless greasy rocker, a psychedelic wanderer but I'd gladly give you my best.
Dance with me on top of rooftops, in drunken heavenly ecstasy.
Playing music and looking into your eyes, you would read my soul and I would read yours and you would never ever feel alone again.
Breath me in, inhale deep, get high of me, smile, laugh, your my source of beauty.
Truth be told I don't want perfection, it's boring, I want you.
I want you with me when the apocalypse strikes.
I want you in the morning and in the night.
I want your angry tantrums because I know Life
And I want to heal you when you have them.
Athena, Otherworldly Goddess, Femenista, Mujer Guerillera, Gaia of Earth, I am your poet and you this poem.*
** - your secret admirer**
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Breathe here, stare there
Gorgeous people everywhere
Mind chases, heart races
Breath-taking men with briefcases
Black suits and coloured ties
Witty minds with pretty eyes
Pulled up socks, polished shoes
Ink pens, all blues
Strong souls, real men
Captive in a cemented den
Pick one or pick seven
All good as heaven
Hard working, on time
Romantic talks with wine
One sings the other cooks
Charming words, ***** looks
Unexpected, unsure
My boss makes me lure
His Lamborghini, his yacht
Finest of the lot
His dimples, his hair
His tantrums I can bear
Surprise gifts from his side
Strong feelings, stronger vibe
Look here, look there
Gorgeous men everywhere
Single girls form a line
Take them all, boss is mine.
-Zainab Attari
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
to me,
love was always a mystery to me. i never truly understood what it was.
though, i like to think that i did and sadly, i thought everyone else knew what it was too but just like me, it was a mystery.
as someone who grew up without knowing what it truly meant,
i always thought it was something you can look for again after it's gone, something that will make you feel better on your bad days, something that will complete you.
i have loved so many times, or so i think i have.
but honestly, aren't we just a bunch of people throwing around the word love thinking that we know what it means? unintentionally making someone else feel special, not knowing what the consequences of using the word love really are?
now that i am older,
i think i finally understand.
that love is something no one can ever talk about without mentioning how much it actually hurts. loving someone meant truly wanting them in every way possible. most of us cannot handle how imperfect a person may be, and we will try our best to change them because "we only want the best for them." love is not finding perfection in someone's imperfection, but instead it is accepting the imperfections in someone and learning to love it as well.
i know i still can't tell you what love really means but i have found someone who helped me understand what love might be.
i loved every bit and piece of him, i loved everything about him. all his flaws, his appearance, his heart, his personality, his tantrums, the way he talks over me when he gets excited, how he tries to see eye to eye with me even when we have completely different point of views, **** i loved everything. everything that i never thought i'd like, i did anyway. i didn't only want him, i needed him. he did not complete me, but we go so well together. i never wanted to change anything about him even though i wanted to see them do better. i was willing to go through it all with him, good or bad.
is this what love really is? the fact that you know someone's bad side and you still love them anyways?
you see, no matter who i meet in my life and maybe, just maybe i might love them but i will still be able to pinpoint their flaws and maybe those are the things i won't like about them or the things i wish to change about them no matter how much i love them because i am selfish.
but with him, it's different because i loved it all. i still do. i never wish to change anything about him because that wouldn't be the person i love anymore and that's just something i can never do with anyone else, i can't love someone else like this.
he taught me how to be patient, kind and accepting.
but most importantly, he taught me how to love.
sadly, this love is only meant for him and no one else because love is not meant to be thrown around like how we did to others before we have met each other.
i guess your last lesson was teaching me that love also means wanting to see someone obtain the bigger and better things even if it means doing so without you.
i can finally say this to someone and mean it,
i will always love you, no matter what you do, where you go and who you meet in life.
thank you, my love.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
Sticky fingers,
***** toes,
Smelly *****
Beads up their nose,
PRECIOUS
Snot stained blouse,
Sick stained shoulders,
Work gets harder,
As they get older,
WONDERFUL
Midnight screaming,
*** in your bed,
Barbie in your coffe ***
Poor goldfish overfed,
GOOD TIMES
Money problems,
Teenage tantrums,
Nose rings, blue hair,
Football anthems,
PARENTHOOD ROCKS!!!!
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 3:15 AM UTC
can you explain
what it means
to despise someone?
to frame hate
and hang it on your wall
to count the number of days
lost sleep in your coffee mug
with the aforementioned's
name expensively embroidered on it
an old feud, laid in skin
and memories
so long you no longer remember
what the original sin was
only the feeling endures
an anticlimax
that you could go on
and on for hours about
without rest
so much pathos
teeming under the surface
that you could erupt
in volcanic tantrums
at the sound of a name
the way you clench your fists
until your fingers bite blood
from your palms
over street signs that bring up
old memories
the way you dream
of burning chairs
you heard they sat in
you find solace in the fact
that you are conscious
of this pervasive madness
that you are not tired of
and never will be
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
I call my father's father Ye-Ye
because he is a traditionalist
and the word grandfather reminds him of England.
My mother calls him a selfish *******
because he never approved of her wallet's emptiness
and walked out of her wedding.
My father calls him an immature *****
because he throws temper tantrums at eighty-seven
and still doesn't respect anyone.
When I was five,
I stayed over alone for the first time.
I accused him of trying to poison me
because I found a dead fly in my soup.
When I was ten,
I found a coupon at the market
And got him a free box of Cheerios.
When I was thirteen,
I was sitting with him outside.
I got stung by a bee
and didn't say a word.
I have not seen my grandfather in seven years.
He has since almost died four times.
My aunt calls him a racist snob
because he refused to put my biracial cousin's picture on the mantle
and boasts of his friend's grandchildren instead.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Habits
Gluttony
Greed
Bribery
Lustfulness
Passed down
Generation
After generation
After generation
After generation
Okay, I get it, it get it
You get it, you get it.
Let's get personal
Born set up for failure
My statistics not looking bright
First baby born of color born into
A family of strictly whites
Grandmother beat my mother
When she discovered
The life forming inside of her
Was half black -
Don't cry mother, or I'll whither
Inside of you.
I grew and grew
Taught lies upon lies
About myself
The other half of me.
The only love I knew was of my mother.
There was no other -
Until she started to take it out on me
Habits
Passed
From generation upon generation.
She was sick and tired of being
Sick and tired
Stomped to the ground due to her
Kindness
Abused emotionally due to her
Selfless-ness
Mistreated physically due to her
Weakness
She took it out on me.
Cornered me to a wall
Choked me up
Laughing - she couldn't get enough
Of the amusement of my pain
All done in vain
Because she couldn't stop the strain
Put on her brain.
Scarring my face
Pulling my hair
Public places
Not a care -
Kicking
Scratching
Pulling
Biting
The agony
The hate
The battle wounds
The hurt
The scars -
On my heart.
Habits
Passed from generation
To generation
To generation
I was sick on the inside
My heart - suffering -
never ending bleeding
My brain
Psychologically ill
Flashbacks
I locked myself up in my room
Head in pillow
Screaming louder than your annoying baby sister who throws her unnecessary temper tantrums
In the middle of the night.
I tied myself up mentally
Stuck
Self-hate
Self-abuse
Self-hurt
In the sixth grade I to myself -
I wanted going to ****
And my victim was myself.
Filled with the poison - I was ill
Injected with self-hate
Hated my family
Hated all my traits
Hated all forms of humanity.
Habits
Passed
From generation to generation
To generation.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Somewhere between eggshells and landmines
Were the creaking floors upon which I played
Carefully, for her wrath could be detonated
At a footfall, just a bit too heavy
From a word uttered under the breath
A mess left too long in the sink.
But her embrace was warm,
Wrapping around me like sheets from the dryer
And when she put on pause her own life
To tend to me at my sick-bed,
Her eyes showed only tender love.
“My baby goat,” she would say, affectionately,
And leave a kiss upon my feverish brow.
She is a living contradiction, my mother:
Churning disapproval shattering the gleam
That she put into the hopeful eyes of a child
Just a moment before.
I lived in perpetual uncertainty,
Never knowing which mother I might see next:
The raven or the hen.
And now she looks at me with disappointment,
Wondering aloud why her children fear her.
Her capriciousness eroded away any trust
And much of the fondness as well
Her hot-blooded adoration
And her ice-cold tantrums
Have mixed so long now
All that is left is
Lukewarm like the bathwater
Left over from when the
Baby was thrown out.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 7:16 PM UTC
While they noticed the stretch of kohl in her eyes,
I could see a pacific of emotions trapped.
While they admired her blushing cheeks,
I could read the paleness she painted red.
While they were going gaga over her smirk,
I could fathom the depth of pain that debarred a hearty gale.
While they were lured by the cascade of her hair when she unscrewed the bun,
I could feel the onus of the tantrums she wanted to turf out.
While they were hypnotized by her mesmeric curves,
I was stunned by the withstanding efficacy of such a fragile body.
While they adored her attire and scarves,
I could trace the bruises she carried with poise.
While they were hung up by the glory of her face,
I could do no help but ride out at the scars she concealed with sprightliness which was the most beautiful thing my eyes could ever have a view of and it left me dazed...
And my mouth wide opened.
-Aparajita Tripathi
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
You were wailing like a wounded puppy
Your voice was craving for love and sympathy
It appealed to my dormant magnanimity
And thus for you I opened my heart’s door
Least did I know you were an ugly *****
I stood beside you at your one call
Your tantrums, your malice I bore ‘em all.
To make you smile daily became my life’s goal
But you were so thankless it shook me to the core
I should have known earlier, you were an ugly *****
Though my knowledge about love was low
Yet at times I wondered if you really know
so much definitions of it and the metaphors bestowed
then why did your breakup happen once before
perhaps because he too knew, you were an ugly *****
What I thought was your love with glee
Was actually an act of backstabbing me.
You betrayed in the first chance given to thee
Now I shall give you chances no more
Because now I know that you are an ugly *****
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
When I was small
I had a favorite game
A game only girls loved to play
Paper dolls, pretty paper dolls....
My sister Sara dressed the paper dolls nicely
Elegantly dressed, pretty dolls...
and we loved to style them our ways...
We got bored easily and Sara begged me to buy more dolls...
I used my childish charm to get a rupee or two
My grand papa joked about our paper dolls
"no saree wearing dolls"? " no chapati making dolls"?
" No parantha making dolls?
and both of us replied.... " ohhhh.... shut up grandpapa"
When we grew up a little,
My sister and I were sent to a boarding school.
It was all girls school
and we were taught grooming, social etiquette
and how to be a lady...prim and proper
Dressed smartly, talked only when necessary
and sat up neatly, no head turns..
No giggling... only smile delicately
No tantrums or emotional plays...
just be poised... controlled.. poised and controlled...
Of course
We were not allowed to play paper dolls anymore
After awhile I hated the school...
Told my sister..... They were turning us
into paper dolls...
Paper dolls have no say...
They only follow.. They are puppets
Remember paper dolls we used to play?
All pretty in the outside but there is no life
to breathe....
Suffocated i felt here.....all I wanted to do is flee
Sis, cmon this is certainly not us... let's flee
WE SAID GOODBYE TO OUR BED AND WE DID RUN....
We managed to be who we wanted to be in the end
to live in real world, be with real people
given a freedom to choose what we wanted to do
with life...
We enjoy our life not the traditional way anymore
Have career and still we dressed nicely and elegantly
We are real people...
Unlike the paper dolls , who only look poise and beautiful..
but inside they are freezing.... lifeless....paper dolls..
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
Dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
You are such a marvellous character
Not perhaps, a perfect one
But a character with flaws
So real, and so beautiful
That we can totally relate to it
In your first year at Hogwarts
You played a game of chess
In such a magnificent manner
That even the Russians of the Muggle world
Could not have done any better
In your second year at Hogwarts
You faced your greatest fears
With a courage and nerve
That Godric Gryffindor would have been proud of
For the sake of your best mates
In your third year at Hogwarts
You almost ruined a friendship
For the sake of a rat and a broomstick
But you made amends for it
By standing up to a notorious murderer
That too with a broken leg
Again, for the sake of your best mate
In your fourth year at Hogwarts
Again, there was a misunderstanding
That threatened to derail a strong friendship
But you were there for Harry
When it truly mattered
There was also some ugly ****** jealousy
As your teenage hormones took centrestage
But at least you got an inkling
That you and Hermione
Were made for each other
In your fifth year at Hogwarts
There was a lot you had to put up with
The constant bullying of the Slytherins
Especially during Quidditch matches
The temper tantrums of your best friend
And finally, the evil Dolores Jane Umbridge
Initially, due to your nerves and insecurities
Your Quidditch performances went from bad to worse
But then, you finally showed us
The stuff you were made of
Saving goals left, right and centre
And to cap it all
You bravely fought a dozen Death Eaters
Yet again, for the sake of your best friend
Finally, we come to the war
Due to your never-ending insecurities
And anxiety for your family
Worsened by a dreadful locket
That contained a part of Voldemort's soul
You briefly deserted your best mates
But returned when it mattered the most
Even saving Harry's life in the process
And then, as you destroyed that darned locket
You finally conquered your fears
And transitioned successfully to manhood
Finally, during the Battle of Hogwarts
You showed us your sensitive side
A side that we had never seen before
As you displayed your concern for the house-elves
Precipitating your first kiss with Hermione
Later on, you lost your dear brother
But continued to soldier on bravely
Even standing up to Voldemort himself
Hence, dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
Oh my Cassiopeia
My queen; queen of Aethiopeia
Yours is an unrivaled beauty
No one can complain about your vanity
You love me
I love you more
Cepheus your king, how I wish I would be
To be with you forever and sit beside your throne
No, I'm not Cepheus; he probably is yet to come
I wish I'm your Cepheus, but I'm not even an Adam
But I can be your Cepheus if you let me, yes I can
Though I can't see your constellation from where I am
You can boss me around
Toss and turn me upside down
You can throw tantrums, those I won't mind
Forget being king, I'll be fine as your servant
You're a constellation, still I'll make a wish
Can I wish forever? No? Then let me love you at least
Let our love blossom, 'til my last breath vanish
Maybe I'll also become a constellation next to you, like what happened to Ray and Evangeline
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so
My inner demons are over dramatic children
They do not wage wars
They throw tantrums
They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
When they do not get what they want
And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
Then fall asleep when they get tired
Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
They call themselves demons
When they are more like imps
They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
They broke something
Then press on my heart
Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
At inopportune moments
As I tremble due to the ones
That have tripped and tangled themselves
In my heartstrings and vocal cords
Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
And hold themselves still against my capillaries
As if their presence might distract my blood from
Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
With reports and analysis of too many situations
And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
Of each ventricle and aorta
Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
And pry open old ones with feathers
They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
They tie my tongue with other tongues
And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
They are self depreciating and they know that they
Are not worthy of their title
My inner demons are pathetic
I suppose they're right where they belong
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Tunneling thoughts like rain
Craning through light clouds
Unsuspecting victims.
The fear
The tears
The temper tantrums;
A kind of rebuttal
That won't let our feet find land
We adjourned to rehearse,
but our efforts were null and void
Only to appease with flames
that licked our shriveled bodies
D r
i p
p i n
g
Kerosene
Tainted like ink Spilled on
Reams of paper
ruined like Christmas
A house warmed by Open flames
fallen candles Adorning
A naked kitchen My limp body,
Splayed beneath the oven
As
darkness indulges, It
consumes
The smoke, Fills
Each crevice
In your mind
Can you ever fight it
Burn your way back
To blissful ignorance.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 1:59 PM UTC
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
fingerpainted rainbow
on a flat canvass, you are
cardboard pretty.
Like this pastel-colored cupcake
you once saw on television
with sprinkles and little marshmallows on top
something you know
you can never taste
but still thought
“That must be delicious.”
One-sided postcard
With a beautiful scenery at the front
and empty surface at the back
No words to tell
No stories to give
Just a vacant lot.
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
I’ve always thought you were beautiful.
with your colors spilling out of your being and your smiles
that could light up anybody’s world
I’ve always thought it was like peering through a kaleidoscope
And you were a perfect symmetry
of everything a little boy could ever dream of.
So as I grew up
I dreamed to be something like you.
And for a while,
Without really meaning to
I was something like you.
People often told me,
“You are so pretty.”
“You are nice and funny.”
“You have a great smile.”
“You are fun to be with.”
“You are different.”
and guys liked me.
They adored me.
most especially when I exist
only for them.
When I am there to pick up the pieces
and make them whole again.
But manic pixie dream girl
I realized I am no dream girl
I am just—
me.
I feel ugly most of the time.
I eat a lot when I’m sad.
I am very impulsive.
I give irrational comments.
I have temper tantrums when I don’t get what I want.
I get scared of the dark.
I cut when I am hurt.
And there are days when I just want to sleep
and disappear forever.
I am no dream girl.
I am just a real girl.
Trying to make it out alive
in the real world.
I am not a navigator
meant to save lost boys.
I am not
a box of crayons
meant to grow smaller
as I color this blank page of a guy
I am not
a white glue
meant to disappear
once I am dry
I am not
a bandage
meant to heal wounds
on careless little children.
I am not supposed to be a fantasy
I am flesh and bones
I am human
with ribcages that are meant to crush
with the weight of a broken heart
I have lungs
I can breathe on my own.
I don’t need a broken boy
to feel that I have a purpose in life.
I am my own destruction.
I am my own salvation.
I am no dream girl.
Please
wake
up.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
You are my mother:
I suffer separation anxiety when I'm not with you.
My headphones are the umbilical cord
that keeps me close to you.
Maybe I should invest in scissors.
You are my child:
I must pamper you or else
you'll throw tantrums.
Maybe I should look into tough love.
You are my friend:
I like your company best
and you go nearly everywhere with me.
You never talk back,
but you never talk at all.
Maybe I should make more friends.
You are my lover:
buffering is our foreplay.
You've always been good at seducing me
but the *** is crap.
Maybe we should see other people.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by
Nonexistent are the pictures of them
Moving, living, breathing
Them, societies refuse
Thrown away and discarded by life
We are no longer our brother’s keeper
Human beings rendered worthless; useless
We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by
Uncaring for all in its path
Rushing to its destination
Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have
And keep it from those who have none
Not even our "little"
Quickly it has become forgotten
At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger
Sweeping over us as garbage in the street
Leaving us bare, empty, hungry
We too can be eluded by shelter
With no one to care
No hands reaching out to help
We too can become a fracture in humanity
I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles
Shoeless feet in the winter
Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go
Sound the alarm
Our fellow humans are dying!
Not perishing to wounds in battle
Senseless crimes, illness & disease
They're dying of hunger
Exposure to extreme weather
Tantrums of Mother Nature
Sometimes we're afraid
Afraid of the side effects of being homeless
Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities
The person they once were
And the person being homeless
Fighting for every breath of air has made them
The side effect, the other twin
The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep
Our underrated simplicity of going to bed
Let us keep our brothers
In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep
Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered
The right of every human being
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 12:41 PM UTC
The comfiest human bed warmer I ever had,
My fundamental tutor of the good and the bad,
The original storyteller in my bedtime tantrums,
The resident photographer of my birthday albums.
The accidental magician who tricked me out of my worries,
A sympathetic dictator who scolds but allows my fancies,
My biased talent manager who always tells me I'm the best,
The loudest cheerleader who puts to shame all the rest.
The world's underrated chef cooking heavenly meals,
Our unpaid laundry lady worrying over water bills,
The overqualified nurse never leaving her patient,
Our top-notch budget analyst negotiating every payment.
The random gardener, she can grow anything with ease,
Our talkative historian, she stops recalling only if we say please,
The uncanny philosopher, we've learned a lot from her,
The lost and found administrator, tracking things hidden anywhere.
The most efficient multitasker I've ever known,
My trustworthy adviser who knows me down to my bones,
A tough fighter who keeps winning her every battle,
My life's co-creator and this world's greatest mother.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC