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"twisting" poems
It's 2 am and I want to know why my hands are still twisting knots in my hair, trying to busy themselves from writing out "I love you, sometimes." I don't know when I don't, but I'm hoping it's in me somewhere because if not, I have no hope to ever say that with any conviction. I mean, maybe if I was a little drunk I could pretend to laugh at you. But, really, you fill up my whole heart. I hate it in the way people hate beautiful things that they can't have, like a kid in a candy store. It is child-like, how I cry over you. And you don't notice, not really. I can see it in the way children pick leaves off trees and let them fall to the ground without second thought after the initial satisfying snap. Every time I see a sunflower, head bowed with the heaviness of its petals, I'll think of you. Snow reminds me of you too. In fact, most things remind me of you. I would say only sometimes, but that's a lie I can't even tell myself.
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Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
More Often than Not
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart— empowered to rise above its circumstances, unweighted, unburdened, unbound, tied only to that which would lift it higher, untethered from anything which would pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it. It's the free heart, quiet and at rest yet jubilant and uncontained, the celebrating heart, the praising heart, the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage, bent on adventure, journey and romance. All the while it's a waiting heart because it's a yielded, led heart— a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD but willingly, quickly to the LORD— a heart that though eagerly anticipating each twisting turn, next horizon and changing path keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery but forever on the Shepherd because it's a heart persuaded that He alone is the Great Reward for which it has always been looking. True joy is only ours when we find an endless source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One! The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else. The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him, desperate for Him to the expense of all else, willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied. Joy and idols, I have learned, do not easily reside together in the same heart. So if I find that joy is chased away the most likely culprits are my own desires. What am I wanting more than Jesus? For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy. There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss to expose all of the hidden idols within me. It's surely those who have suffered the greatest and most frequent losses for Christ who are also most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy. For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself. Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand, but for any with eyes truly opened to see the most precious of times may be those when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand. Rivers of sadness can open up into wide gulfs of endless delight and are often the very courses needed to carry us there. When all is lost, we find to our amazement that, even so, we still have ALL and no one can rob us of it. When He takes everything from us He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
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Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
~ The Joyful Heart ~
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart— empowered to rise above its circumstances, unweighted, unburdened, unbound, tied only to that which would lift it higher, untethered from anything which would pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it. It's the free heart, quiet and at rest yet jubilant and uncontained, the celebrating heart, the praising heart, the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage, bent on adventure, journey and romance. All the while it's a waiting heart because it's a yielded, led heart— a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD but willingly, quickly to the LORD— a heart that though eagerly anticipating each twisting turn, next horizon and changing path keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery but forever on the Shepherd because it's a heart persuaded that He alone is the Great Reward for which it has always been looking. True joy is only ours when we find an endless source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One! The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else. The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him, desperate for Him to the expense of all else, willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied. Joy and idols, I have learned, do not easily reside together in the same heart. So if I find that joy is chased away the most likely culprits are my own desires. What am I wanting more than Jesus? For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy. There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss to expose all of the hidden idols within me. It's surely those who have suffered the greatest and most frequent losses for Christ who are also most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy. For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself. Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand, but for any with eyes truly opened to see the most precious of times may be those when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand. Rivers of sadness can open up into wide gulfs of endless delight and are often the very courses needed to carry us there. When all is lost, we find to our amazement that, even so, we still have ALL and no one can rob us of it. When He takes everything from us He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
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Casualty: my interest fading Once waxing moon now seen waning And I did concede your irksome warning And watched as the rest played out So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality Mother nature being so inclined at times The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance And I accept in full, finding time to unwind Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by An occasional landmark Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it Iron bars, old and rusted Found in their hold Bales of hay or A small little pond With a bench beside it Holding initials carved against the grain With a heart surrounding As mine beats slower At last, the sun begins going down And the moon grows brighter Even in its state And my feet move faster Though my body is withering I feel this separation growing As my mind takes flight and leaves me Behind, in the twisting twilight And alone, I walk along
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Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 6:31 AM UTC
Friday
He is the tumultuous ocean, The twisting, rolling sea That feigns a certain gentleness Until its rage breaks free So vast and so unending And limitless in worth I took him once for granted As I wandered through the surf. Without the tumulus ocean Without its rolling seas Without the tide that tosses me And never sets me free The arid, fallow earth would crack Beneath my burning feet Reminding me of which I lost And dried up with the heat But salt leaves me to languish No sweetness he can quench Time will only tell from here If love can fill this trench.
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Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
He is the Sea.
Their mouth NEVER ******* seems to shut up & just stop & **** snitches don't hesitate to quickly name drop Twisting everything they'll hear Creating lies & rumors like it is their career! SO WATCH YOUR BACK, they are only a pretend friend They're scary & **** identical when they're an impersonator Nice & kind so they seem, turn away they'll be a backstabbing hater NOBODY has time for all that ridiculous nonsense Just attention seekers, without their usually faithful but now gone audience Desperately trying to remain in the center of attention, cleary blind to the EXTREME  obvious! You never really deserved to ever be forgiven I'm done wasting my time & voice on someone who will NEVER listen Ohhh yah a FYI, a friendship isn't a competition But more like a dynamic duo always down for a random mission! Oh well, no coming back now I'm not changing my decision! Deuces!
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
Gossip Dispenser
I spend most of my time Locked away in my room Writing metaphors that could never be As beautiful as you I try to catch your eye With my words But they could never do you justice So I know this'll never work But I keep trying I try to capture your beauty Using only thoughts that come to my mind I know you find it hard to trust me I don't blame you Almost everything I say is a lie I try to twist my own words But I end up just twisting my tongue And though I know it'll hurt I try my hardest to be someone That you could trust And I Wanna make you smile But I don't know how And I Wanna stop lying To your face But I can't get a single truth out Everything I say is a lie
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Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
Lies
Its a scam, its a scam, see the Crimson Gang deftly scamming them They by sleight have befuddled gullible masses Moral Compass Made them see wrong as right twisting their brains from the stem With deceitful guile they shepherded them all to the fools' campus Slander and fake News galore fed to vacant hungry masses scrum Knowledge is power the reprobates declares, do not let it pass We're the majority the bullies screams, knowing they're just scums Worthless charlatans who rob successes and **** without cutlass They take a foregone conclusion and coat it with fool's gold crumb A victim with no intention of going after an uninterested lass Dumb masses fed fake news fooled into harassing actions dumb A non-event becomes a show of the controlling might of our class Crimson gangs interpret a non-events from his deluded sad drum Creates a warped sick drama round a hapless victim for laughs Gives street theater actions to masses, these will oppose and numb Whilst poor victim subjected to 'voiding' madness wonders past The Crimson leaders laugh so much like pirates drinking *** Look how we manipulate the masses, they are so simple and crass With our devious twisting propaganda they eat out of our *** We simply use them to nail and crucify our victim to the cross
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Together We Stand......
i want to say something haunting and profound about the twisting in my abdomen and the red stain blooming between my legs— but all I can think about is how far ******* gone I am and how much it hurts to be a 19 year old girl with a brain like a jagged seashell
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Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Untitled
I wish I could give you this beautiful pain    Its captivating to endure         To watch it unfold inch by unbeatable inch             Its long                  Makes you hard and callous And makes you grovel in gravel begging for the end      And it becomes a road           A winding, twisting road that wraps around your throat       A gorgeous asphyxiation blurs the smiles of the passengers in the cars on the asphalt                 And you blur into unreality          The road ends    The film in your head stops And your left sitting unblinkingly...
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Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Beautiful Gorgeous Asphyxiation Pain
I’m rendered powerless. Just about breathless. I watch as each layer of clothing gravitates toward the floor. Strip off the clothes that enveloped his beauty. My knees begin to fail me. Through his stare it feels as though he’s already probing every crevice of my being. Eye-fingers ravish me. He’s bare. My eyes haven’t left him. He smirks, refusing to leave me a spectator. Clammy hands penetrate the chill of the tile lined room. He strips me. I'm sure he senses me shaking.. goosebumps begin to rise. We step into shower. The tap is high, the temperature hot. The passion as well. He’s capturing me. Rapturing my frame, Grasping me. Gasping for me. He pulls me into him.. into the air. My legs incoherently wrap around him. The hot vapors aren't from the water, but our lust we heed. It’s wet. "Think ya can make it to the bedroom?" My throat closes. Barley touching, the pleasure, pressure, of his words render me unable to respond clearly. I nearly whimper out an answer. The smirk returns. This act meant for cleansing morphs into such a ***** one. I’m miserable within myself, the sheer amount of desire burns. Pushing me to the wall his body presses against me. He pushes into me. His hips. His lips. I feel him sliding in and out, violating, his tongue twisting around my own. His body as well. We’re intertwined...
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Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Wet tales
this is my excavation to the days coming along running hands with laughter throwing it down on the table *straight flush okay, cool* sister, these things don’t matter when we’re twisting into the sun with pants that are too short the fountain rich with iced chai tangled with the peculiar the beautiful through these moments I commend our hearts for finding each other love is always on the move as sure as shoe shine as mahogany like timidity to relinquish to let the universe take hold and instill this emotion into my body fit it all in my heart O, singer of love fit it all in my heart the knell the reverberation the cotton that lands on your hair the sunscreen stuck in my ear we are a sketch of two travelers sleeping under stars the fire finally dies down the rapture of the universe is overwhelming everything flows everyone is connected and this music we hear is constant like gentle waters falling this too, sister makes my cane solemn and I draw you in the sand only to watch the tide wash you next to me the emotion wrangled in English simply means good simply means a full listen and dear sister because everything begins and will be remembered always as love
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Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
the emotion
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night, Observing completely, using all her might, Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh, She leapt and began to fly She soared through the trees, dark and murky, Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky, Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting, Where she landed and began scouting She spotted a baby, small and alone, Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown, Flying over to the area in which it sat, She pulled some wisdom from her hat Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example, Showing her apprentice just a little sample, Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list, She didn’t quit until it got the gist Next thing she knew, her student was growing, In no time, it was the one doing all the showing, She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work, While the child continued doing all the groundwork Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues, Most of which consisted of reds and blues, She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home, Although she longed to stay and roam As the sun rose, slow and bright, She decided to turn and take off in flight, Twisting and turning through trees and brush, She flew on quickly, as if in a rush She spotted it then, modest and small, The place she longed to go most of all, Adventures are fun and she liked to roam, But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
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Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Wise Quiet One
Thinking of you is like twisting my head around like an owl. Hoping the see the past behind me.
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Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Owl
the sun is always shining i create the rain drowning in dark water deluging thunderstorms i obstruct the view twisting tourniquet shutting off the glow fatality is sure take flight in hurricanes live in the twister’s path cyclone is my choice whirling to my death the sun is always shining afraid it’s far too bright for me to grasp my power and know that i am light ©2016janetaylor
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May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
raining sun
Twisting, turning, yearning That is what I do Laughing, smiling, cheering That's what you do I have sorrows You have joys You've hurt me I've served you The fairness of this world is as perplexing as a quadratic formula As I get hurt, those who hurt me excel As I am pained, others are healed I see who I once was Laughing, smiling, cheering Now, I hardly recognize myself
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Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Life
Our love could be like a Fairytale Twisting, winding down brick trails Full of mystery and wondrous spells Unguarded hearts with happy tales Endless room without fear to fail Our love is exactly like a Fairytale No matter how bad I want it, It's just not real.
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Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Fairytale
iN & Out Of Rehab        iRelapse Then Collapse iNever         Commited To Sober Living So Why Are People Tripping?      Drug Programs Are A Waste According To My Case.         im Never  Going to Stop  unless i O.D And Drop But Even iN Heaven Thats iF iRise.             With the Angel imma Continue Tweaking Cause iM A ****** Tweaker      Or iN Hell With Fallen Angels. It'll Be Better,        Since iSold My Soul To The Devil. He Never Asked iJust Gave iT Up. iFell iN Love With A stimulant Drug made up Of Chemicals ****** Poison But idgaf il Keep Dosing.    Went From Snorting To Smoking     Methamphetamine iLet iT Get The Best Of Me. Part 2 Out & iN 2014 iTs Krazie iM Back To This Dope **** Its been Already 4 years and Im still Addicted. In & Out Of Rehabs, Different Drug Programs and Sad That iStill Havnt learned **** Got Out November 19 2014 For The 3rd Time And im Still Twisting, Getting Lit Ilove Living Twisted Im on a comedown Im irrated right now wanting to take Another hit.
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Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
iN & Out Of Rehab
#STICK’EM UP with LIQUID NAILS DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE         See Other Caution on Back Panel: I’m hot for you Cowgirl – you’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby – I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces – pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight.  Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you… stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl – and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier – there’s only one side of you…  your GOOD side.  Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose. YEE – HAW !  Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet – be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Owed to a Caulk Gun
With every day that passes by the conjouring thoughts of you never leave my mind The infactuation your spell binds me with raddles my senses into a saturation Twisting and Tugging at my every emotion My heart begins to lurch My knees begin to weaken When time comes to make our greeting When our bodies collide I plan to be captivated by your entire entity Our time will be made of continuous serendipity.
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May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 9:19 PM UTC
Meeting
French kisses in the deepest places, pressing deeply into flesh, moist and trembling, lost in heaven Twisting and turning my body into every direction, hungry for more of my quivering slick heat I am submissive to all this pleasure - wanting and needing all given I am silk against your body, growing moist beneath your fingers, sinking hands into the wet fresh Earth You leave nothing uncharted, crossing and retreating into the deeper parts of my being Heat ignites in time with rhythm, our bodies making music only naturally following a secret beat We become nature undulating water, your hands digging into my Venus, pulling me towards the voracious heat - thrusting deeper In the most blinding white heat ever known, our bodies meshed together going towards the unknown abyss, then f e l l, exhausted, in unbearable pleasure We have surrendered to death only to resurrect and live again Si c’est comment il est, je le veux pour toujours
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Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
Metamorphosis
Mania. Everything was good when you were with me. I felt normal. The chains bolted to my eyelids where magically gone, like the money in your bank account after a heavy, drunken, stupor & forthright gambling spree. The spear in my side that your twin brother, depression, threw inside me was no longer twisting up my insides. Thank you. This feels like a goodbye letter but I'm actually trying to hold on to you. You give me life. Your twin takes it away and he rash-burns my face in it. I was accomplishing all the things; skipping from one stone to the next without feat. "Flutter your wings and dance," is your motto. But like all good things, you drive me away, knowing that I'll see you again. Try as I might, I remain faithful to you, but you commit adultery every week. Sometimes you demand my time, even when I'm low. I cry for hours with your natural dichotomy, not because I can't decide--I can--but because you and your twin rip me apart in twain, changing my reality as sure as the rain falls in the Amazon. The demons call out to me, whispering evil into my mind. I believe every evil thing when I am not armed with your brilliance. I lose that perspective, every time, and sometimes immediately. Your twin brother and cousin visit me early in the morning right before bed time. If my doubts and fears are real, then my mind's eye is experiencing a real reality, and thus I am as I feel, like a plastic bag tumbling in the wind. Yet, everyone reminds me that I am but a joke and a comic, one which not even you can trust. The biggest asset I lose when you choose to cheat on me is your energy--that precious flow that bears my creative passion. But now I am barren, an unfit conduit that is incapable of maintaining that flow. The demon upon me powerfully weaves its tapestry of sludge that encases my mind. My mind, it's the only thing I have left. And yet, I can never trust it. You've lied to me before and you'll lie to me in the future. But for now, I'll have to make do with your half-truths. Until next time.
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Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
Mania
Mania. Everything was good when you were with me. I felt normal. The chains bolted to my eyelids where magically gone, like the money in your bank account after a heavy, drunken, stupor & forthright gambling spree. The spear in my side that your twin brother, depression, threw inside me was no longer twisting up my insides. Thank you. This feels like a goodbye letter but I'm actually trying to hold on to you. You give me life. Your twin takes it away and he rash-burns my face in it. I was accomplishing all the things; skipping from one stone to the next without feat. "Flutter your wings and dance," is your motto. But like all good things, you drive me away, knowing that I'll see you again. Try as I might, I remain faithful to you, but you commit adultery every week. Sometimes you demand my time, even when I'm low. I cry for hours with your natural dichotomy, not because I can't decide--I can--but because you and your twin rip me apart in twain, changing my reality as sure as the rain falls in the Amazon. The demons call out to me, whispering evil into my mind. I believe every evil thing when I am not armed with your brilliance. I lose that perspective, every time, and sometimes immediately. Your twin brother and cousin visit me early in the morning right before bed time. If my doubts and fears are real, then my mind's eye is experiencing a real reality, and thus I am as I feel, like a plastic bag tumbling in the wind. Yet, everyone reminds me that I am but a joke and a comic, one which not even you can trust. The biggest asset I lose when you choose to cheat on me is your energy--that precious flow that bears my creative passion. But now I am barren, an unfit conduit that is incapable of maintaining that flow. The demon upon me powerfully weaves its tapestry of sludge that encases my mind. My mind, it's the only thing I have left. And yet, I can never trust it. You've lied to me before and you'll lie to me in the future. But for now, I'll have to make do with your half-truths. Until next time.
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