"tenancies" poems - Hello Poetry

<Insert Poem Here> <Insert Silent Sympathies Here> <Insert Spiraling Tenancies Here> (Wait...No. Not that.) <Delete Line> <Insert Self Doubt Here> <Insert Friends Here> [File Not Found] ::Comment:: What about me? <Insert Apology Here> <Insert Regret Here> <Insert Pain Here> <Insert Poem Here> <RvL>

0

Oct 28, 2018

Oct 28, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC

WordsDoMeanSomething

Untitled

<Insert Poem Here> <Insert Silent Sympathies Here> <Insert Spiraling Tenancies Here> (Wait...No. Not that.) <Delete Line> <Insert Self Doubt Here> <Insert Friends Here> [File Not Found] ::Comment:: What about me? <Insert Apology Here> <Insert Regret Here> <Insert Pain Here> <Insert Poem Here> <RvL>

14

I laugh a lot. I laugh at myself because I am hard stuck to find the beauty in the poetry but somehow to others words flow like vicious currents rip through ugly ducklings never to be grown to beautiful swans down the river Delta, the Nile, we call it emotion, this the true beauty of the words is always flowing page to mouth to mouth to ear, honey water to be digested by the soul and mind and some breast stroke some and some do the butterfly and some just fuckin' drown... so you could say to some poetry is no laughing matter... yet here I titter like a child because I cant help but wonder if Daniel's saying penance or just stuttering the word ***** So I laugh I laugh and laugh and laugh I laugh at myself I definitely laugh at you people I ha ha ha my course thoughts, outwards reflecting anger passion, turning it away with the yip yawing of jaws and gums flapping in celestial proportions of denial snorts and giggles push back emotion drowning out any semblance of fear or hate because who's to say I can handle it, call it sociopathic tenancies but I'll make it make belief because we just cant handle the fairy tale we live in we cant handle that there might be no happily ever afters and we cant handle that we dont have a Prince charming to take care of us but instead the crown is Crown Royal and you love it, love the burn down your throat, something to keep you alive something to keep you awake but aren’t the two just one of the same anyway? What is each day but a dream if automation takes you over rides you out like a machine and pushes 100110101. So I ask you, I ask you to listen to the words and the voice, swim down the river any way you want just get your feet wet because living on dry land is living in fear But more importantly I ask me I ask me to do what I asked you to do, but how can I trust me to do what I told you to do when I hardly connect the concept of we and have used it but once in my work, though I am no different than you! Because what are we if not all the same?

0

Dec 18, 2013

Dec 18, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC

he-said-she-said

He Said: Ducklings, Drowning, and Penises

I laugh a lot. I laugh at myself because I am hard stuck to find the beauty in the poetry but somehow to others words flow like vicious currents rip through ugly ducklings never to be grown to beautiful swans down the river Delta, the Nile, we call it emotion, this the true beauty of the words is always flowing page to mouth to mouth to ear, honey water to be digested by the soul and mind and some breast stroke some and some do the butterfly and some just fuckin' drown... so you could say to some poetry is no laughing matter... yet here I titter like a child because I cant help but wonder if Daniel's saying penance or just stuttering the word ***** So I laugh I laugh and laugh and laugh I laugh at myself I definitely laugh at you people I ha ha ha my course thoughts, outwards reflecting anger passion, turning it away with the yip yawing of jaws and gums flapping in celestial proportions of denial snorts and giggles push back emotion drowning out any semblance of fear or hate because who's to say I can handle it, call it sociopathic tenancies but I'll make it make belief because we just cant handle the fairy tale we live in we cant handle that there might be no happily ever afters and we cant handle that we dont have a Prince charming to take care of us but instead the crown is Crown Royal and you love it, love the burn down your throat, something to keep you alive something to keep you awake but aren’t the two just one of the same anyway? What is each day but a dream if automation takes you over rides you out like a machine and pushes 100110101. So I ask you, I ask you to listen to the words and the voice, swim down the river any way you want just get your feet wet because living on dry land is living in fear But more importantly I ask me I ask me to do what I asked you to do, but how can I trust me to do what I told you to do when I hardly connect the concept of we and have used it but once in my work, though I am no different than you! Because what are we if not all the same?

26

In the minutes and hours flying by Interlaced in their quiet chaos I find myself wondering, Amidst this storm of experience, On moments past I find it curious How in these long expanses of time I become jealous of those Who can find the seconds instead Living for the moments which matter I drive sometimes Late at night And as the street lights illuminate me However fleetingly I imagine those moments As memories Ones I haven't had the honor to savor I sometimes lose control Of this concept of time I allow it to dictate my position And I forget About these moments Almost naïve In why I was ever jealous of them I see a shallow rim of water In the wake of my path But most times I don't see the ripples Around individual steps I look down and suddenly All that exists is a line of disturbed water Supposedly where I had stepped before I hope I find these moments These steps These seconds Illuminated by arbitrary street lights Standing in the wake of these ripples But this time Savoring their individual tenancies Interlaced in their quiet chaos

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Jul 25, 2018

Jul 25, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC

ShallowSky

A Quiet Chaos

In the minutes and hours flying by Interlaced in their quiet chaos I find myself wondering, Amidst this storm of experience, On moments past I find it curious How in these long expanses of time I become jealous of those Who can find the seconds instead Living for the moments which matter I drive sometimes Late at night And as the street lights illuminate me However fleetingly I imagine those moments As memories Ones I haven't had the honor to savor I sometimes lose control Of this concept of time I allow it to dictate my position And I forget About these moments Almost naïve In why I was ever jealous of them I see a shallow rim of water In the wake of my path But most times I don't see the ripples Around individual steps I look down and suddenly All that exists is a line of disturbed water Supposedly where I had stepped before I hope I find these moments These steps These seconds Illuminated by arbitrary street lights Standing in the wake of these ripples But this time Savoring their individual tenancies Interlaced in their quiet chaos

39

Yesterday I really wanted to die Now I understand why so many get high They get to forget- I still haven't found a way to do so yet I have found a way to not let my tears escape By taking a blade to my skin, It allows me to keep my mind off emotional pain And focus on my physical pain Depression is like a disease but we hide it oh so cleverly that no one sees I tried to tell my father But it ended up being the day I lost all respect for him He told me it was a phase He said I'm overreacting But I never told him that I tried to take my own life- Sometime's I wonder if it would even matter if I had been successful

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Oct 17, 2014

Oct 17, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC

sklxr98

Suicidal Tenancies?

Yesterday I really wanted to die Now I understand why so many get high They get to forget- I still haven't found a way to do so yet I have found a way to not let my tears escape By taking a blade to my skin, It allows me to keep my mind off emotional pain And focus on my physical pain Depression is like a disease but we hide it oh so cleverly that no one sees I tried to tell my father But it ended up being the day I lost all respect for him He told me it was a phase He said I'm overreacting But I never told him that I tried to take my own life- Sometime's I wonder if it would even matter if I had been successful

16

******* write a love poem That's all your minds can do Shed a tear and wonder why Your poetry will never make me cry What's the point of poetry To only follow primitive tenancies So write a ******* love poem If that's the deepest you can be Tell a tale and whine and wail How your emotions are suffocating ***** and moan and disgustingly drone About how your drowning in the deepest sea Or please shut your hole and just go home Don't want to hear your love poetry

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Oct 21, 2014

Oct 21, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC

adam-jones

******* Love Poem

******* write a love poem That's all your minds can do Shed a tear and wonder why Your poetry will never make me cry What's the point of poetry To only follow primitive tenancies So write a ******* love poem If that's the deepest you can be Tell a tale and whine and wail How your emotions are suffocating ***** and moan and disgustingly drone About how your drowning in the deepest sea Or please shut your hole and just go home Don't want to hear your love poetry

14

Children are... rather innocent creatures Or at least, I, in my protected, childhood of fairy tales Princesses and superheroes and talking frogs Was My third grade diary when asked to name something precious -Family Unlike toys unbreaking Keeps you happy and safe Rather, precocious I was at that but still too much -Naive As I still am, of course See, the thing about adolescence Is Hormones raging, from crushes to bullying to acting out The time when we Think We're out of the Naive Quite dangerous, really Since, we're really Not A whole butload of "adult" stuff I'll probably Be subject to and May have been earlier if not for My reclusive tenancies and lazy ways and protected life I say it, In a careless manner Trying to look cool, even in poetry But, like, it's going to happen I'm going to come face to face Have to make a choice And it's nothing to be intimidated about I tell myself Still, Truly a question to consider, I'm assuming, one day I'll mature And when that day comes... Will I still be the little girl With the two bouncing pigtails Scrunched up face Pencil too tight grip Recreating Oval eyes, smiley lips, long hair My nth drawing of a girl? Mind uncluttered with what could be what should be what would be Only, what is And what I want Hmm... But as the clock strikes twelve another day has gone by and it's well past time for me to go to bed Another year, past More time gone by More memories to reminisce about But... Also more to look forward to

0

Dec 10, 2018

Dec 10, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC

CynicalStrawberry

On New Year's

Children are... rather innocent creatures Or at least, I, in my protected, childhood of fairy tales Princesses and superheroes and talking frogs Was My third grade diary when asked to name something precious -Family Unlike toys unbreaking Keeps you happy and safe Rather, precocious I was at that but still too much -Naive As I still am, of course See, the thing about adolescence Is Hormones raging, from crushes to bullying to acting out The time when we Think We're out of the Naive Quite dangerous, really Since, we're really Not A whole butload of "adult" stuff I'll probably Be subject to and May have been earlier if not for My reclusive tenancies and lazy ways and protected life I say it, In a careless manner Trying to look cool, even in poetry But, like, it's going to happen I'm going to come face to face Have to make a choice And it's nothing to be intimidated about I tell myself Still, Truly a question to consider, I'm assuming, one day I'll mature And when that day comes... Will I still be the little girl With the two bouncing pigtails Scrunched up face Pencil too tight grip Recreating Oval eyes, smiley lips, long hair My nth drawing of a girl? Mind uncluttered with what could be what should be what would be Only, what is And what I want Hmm... But as the clock strikes twelve another day has gone by and it's well past time for me to go to bed Another year, past More time gone by More memories to reminisce about But... Also more to look forward to

70

i have not seen it in the surge of the next moment. it arrived like a letter from complete anonymity to the familiar gape in the doorstep. i wish sometimes, now that i am full with age yet none the wiser, i were a bottle of wine sitting in hermetic space, where no breaths could go in and out of, as disconsolate light trudges the finite spaces its fingers like a taut grip to a gun, able to drain completely of its poisons. i have you in my blood and sometimes its immortality coils into morbid contortions. a rally of aches, scraping the sinews well and accurate, paring them of their pretensions, this kinship. i have you in my mind and sometimes when the impetus galvanizes me into stolid incitations, my voice lifts and then vanishes into its shy desolations and without sound, i pass through the deluge of all this - of i being you, and you, being me. i have you sometimes in my eyes, when these two brown planets wax in their postulations, nebulae of emotions explode into tiny aggregations and now, i am a lone star in its celestial ambulation through protruding shards of our battlements. i have you in this warm fount and sometimes, like a dog choosing its memory, i sometimes wish to forget my station and elude its equanimities and only have in my dull mind, where all the bones are kept and guard them in the midnight where they shape themselves into massive morphemes digging deeper to soft skin and mangled, looking down on me like a prey caught in a hawk's periphery and lunged at, where all aches are awakened with recalcitrance, casting me away from my own tenancies. i have not seen this in the coming of the next moment - we were firstly, laughing at the smallness of things, sharing light and other affectations, until we came in the way of our trains and closed their stations, looking for a place to go now, anywhere but home.

0

Sep 18, 2015

Sep 18, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Home

i have not seen it in the surge of the next moment. it arrived like a letter from complete anonymity to the familiar gape in the doorstep. i wish sometimes, now that i am full with age yet none the wiser, i were a bottle of wine sitting in hermetic space, where no breaths could go in and out of, as disconsolate light trudges the finite spaces its fingers like a taut grip to a gun, able to drain completely of its poisons. i have you in my blood and sometimes its immortality coils into morbid contortions. a rally of aches, scraping the sinews well and accurate, paring them of their pretensions, this kinship. i have you in my mind and sometimes when the impetus galvanizes me into stolid incitations, my voice lifts and then vanishes into its shy desolations and without sound, i pass through the deluge of all this - of i being you, and you, being me. i have you sometimes in my eyes, when these two brown planets wax in their postulations, nebulae of emotions explode into tiny aggregations and now, i am a lone star in its celestial ambulation through protruding shards of our battlements. i have you in this warm fount and sometimes, like a dog choosing its memory, i sometimes wish to forget my station and elude its equanimities and only have in my dull mind, where all the bones are kept and guard them in the midnight where they shape themselves into massive morphemes digging deeper to soft skin and mangled, looking down on me like a prey caught in a hawk's periphery and lunged at, where all aches are awakened with recalcitrance, casting me away from my own tenancies. i have not seen this in the coming of the next moment - we were firstly, laughing at the smallness of things, sharing light and other affectations, until we came in the way of our trains and closed their stations, looking for a place to go now, anywhere but home.

42

Imagining a beginning winning the battle but not the war I paint doors on walls and walls on doors more for them to complain about can't be in and don't want to be out. Electric trains fry your brains but they'll blame it on your mobile while they build more trains to fry more brains and everyone goes senile. Meanwhile in corporation tenancies men will be thankful for girls with their hair in curlers (That's a bit sixties) Remember the new wave before the next new wave washed it away feels like yesterday but when was that ?

0

Feb 5, 2017

Feb 5, 2017 at 6:07 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

The third word

Imagining a beginning winning the battle but not the war I paint doors on walls and walls on doors more for them to complain about can't be in and don't want to be out. Electric trains fry your brains but they'll blame it on your mobile while they build more trains to fry more brains and everyone goes senile. Meanwhile in corporation tenancies men will be thankful for girls with their hair in curlers (That's a bit sixties) Remember the new wave before the next new wave washed it away feels like yesterday but when was that ?

18