"unaccommodating" poems
Stains & worn spots in carpet.
(A heart trampled, abused & neglected)
Torn wallpaper.
(She doesn’t feel as beautiful as she once did)
Chipping paint.
(With a little maintenance & love she would shine)
Mold from water damage
(Nights of tears & heartache stain her pretty face)
Leaky roof
(Her mind only dwells on the past not able to rise above & find something better)
Poor design
(Is it her fault – she was made this way by God – to give her whole heart & soul. For what?)
Needs expansion to fit more people
(Her heart is cramped and closed – afraid to let anyone in.)
Chairs hard, uncomfortable.
(Unaccommodating, she turns people away so that they won’t hurt her too.)
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
That sound, like vengeance, bitter and whining!
The unseen terrors ‘midst an unstirring throng
Come weaving between my fingers, books, ears.
Why, oh, why does it target me?
A bee, a stinging assumption of the most
Prevailing type, a thing—if ever there was—
Most hated by the modern man:
A loafer inspiring fear, inspiring action
But to act would draw the cool judgment
Of my peers—a **** a twitch, a sound—none move.
This distance, for it does not bother you!
No hesitation to act progressively when charity
Is abundantly “there” but the coffers deign to open
And the kitchens are dry, and the powers are artifice
To shove the matter—illusory—to the great blue wayside.
Away, away thing! Do not plunge your itinerancy
In the soft of my skin—I do not want you here,
Remove yourself from my sweet drink,
Remove yourself from my food, remove
Your presence—transparently, I don’t have to think
About you if you…just…leave!
And it did—ha! Hell spawn! Parasite! But such a lonely
Planet finds its orbit just as drifting rocks find theirs,
Even if it unaccommodating, in the outer wears,
To sylvan marches—take thy there!
And it has, poor little creature, buzzing through the miens aslare
Spacey, empty, sans (attention), but sans care.
None will bat an eye as its well-meant body,
Interpellated annoyance, genetic condemnation,
Vermilion-paints on the walls of Hell,
Floats, broken, between uncaring faces, looking for
That thing called home, arms warm from its
Present-roam—uncared for Other on lithe little wings
Glass beats at the speed of sound, beat heard
Against the sky’s blue scrim, glass rippling, incensed
So quick, movement becomes oneness and still.
Who could not love you when you’re world’s ignominy?
These ******** are but foul, they can not love you
Steeled by the constant repressive ire
For that which is so homeless—what is spurned in steely pines
And flown away, far, far from the mind,
Ceases to be in the cosmos free, trapped by hate
And invisibility, objectively all, subjectively none.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
I find meaning in the eyes of others,
Love never seems to come from within,
It comes from the eyes of the girl who despises my being,
From the lips of the guy I never seem to fulfill,
I find meaning in the flesh of others,
My own seems rotten,
Unaccommodating to my soul,
Undeserving of my dreams,
If one day I let myself relish in the flesh of others,
Will my body become worthy of her eyes, of his lips?
Will my soul find rest?
Will my dreams...
Apr 13, 2025
Apr 13, 2025 at 7:12 AM UTC