"unbearably" poems
This morning before
I ever lifted my head,
I turned to see
Your half of the bed.
And what a harsh reminder
Of how I'm growing old
With your side of the bed
Still unbearably cold.
Your sheets are not tossed,
Your pillow unpressed--
All lovely reminders
Of my current distress.
Was it not merely a month ago
That I was curled against your skin?
We were perfect puzzle pieces,
Your shoulder to my chin.
All day long
We would curl up and sleep
With nothing like time
And business to keep.
But what a terrible disease
Lurked inside my mind.
I never thought I could be
So selfish and unkind.
If only I had known
I was capable of such sin
I never would have let
Our cursed romance begin.
I could promise to never
Let it happen again.
I could take my pills
Like I refused to then.
I could be so much better,
My darling, please see.
If only, if only
You'd come back to me.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
I've only been camping a handful of times and this is the first we've been in about a year and its very nice and the outdoors is very comforting. The stars in the sky shine so bright tonight, they remind me of my lovers smile. The bugs chirp and make so many noises it keeps me up, at late hours. The weather is hot and its humid so my hair sticks to my face and I sweat. I have to *** so bad but everyone is asleep and the bathrooms are unbearably disgusting. It took us almost an hour to set the tent up and we had hamburgers and hotdogs for dinner. The bonfire was warm. I can't wait to get out and go swimming in the lake later. Camping is alright.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
Sundays, too, she got up early and let her feet lead her through the dusty alleys of that small town
It was a luxury to have this kind of time alone, silence was vital food for her soul
Enduring the weekday demands to relish a few hours of nothingness, rare meditation,
An escape from a world of momentary necessity
The sweet morning air that kissed one’s skin now turned heavy and stagnant
Back down again through the same storied streets that,
Had become unbearably hot by the noon-day sun, the pace of life slowed accordingly
A weight came over her, the sort of fatigue where every exhaustible cell in your body yearns for rest
She would wander all day if she could, meandering over ground hallowed by history
By now the shadows of the afternoon had casted their long, lanky bodies behind the old chalk buildings
The pulse of life reached a complete pause, as if away on vacation in a more hospitable place
Everything bent, decaying, surrendering to the heat, and everything marked in contrast by the sun’s glare
Here, she stands straight and strong, gazing into the burning face of the oppressor and giver of life
And deny it the desire to win this vague war of attrition
When rung out on the floor she’d smell of autumn and satisfaction
Speaking to me she’ll tell of the faith in self, strength in solitude, and love of something greater than we dare to know.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
5.2k
O Golden Hair, My Friend
Kitty kitty
So fluffy
So witty
So unbearably pretty.
Stay away from
The city,
My kitty kitty
It'd be such a pity.
Hussanara
This is my mango.
There are many like it,
But this one is
Mine.
Without me,
My mango is useless.
Without my Mango,
I am useless...
My Sweet Wonderful Mary
Dark dim witty kitty
Trailed into New York City
With bad intents inevitably
Bad.
Through Earth and lake committing
All its great natural giving
Forced utter pain incoming,
Dad.
Lord (Religious readers please take no offense again the writer was not quite there)
God is a champ.
The bearded light upstairs.
He's cold and he's damp
Like fresh lumpy pears.
Won't one, if you dare,
Stick your hand in the air
To clamp
Like bears?
He's a scare of
Puny people
With long ginger hair.
Whose souls the cannot
Go in there,
The holiest of despair.
They all run through his stare
Of bulging eyes he got!
Anyone want to translate that one? I sure couldn't.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:43 AM UTC
It was a forbidden love from long ago. Still whispering softly after years and years. It won't stop until it winds around again, dangerously entangling two lives separate. Her heart skips a beat, hasn't done this since years long gone past. What is this!?! She suddenly can't stop the fluttering, she smiles, remembering innocent tender embraces. His plump rosy childish lips. Hers. So similar they were bound by the laws of the universe to meet again, no amount of time or distance could keep them apart. Secret lovers, unbearably passionate that no one but they alone will ever understand. And she waits. Because she knows the power of this and the inevitable. She waits with a hidden smile of joy in her heart. Waiting for his words that will cover her body. They only need a quick glance, to know that yes! This does exist! A forbidden love that can only be allowed to entwine once in a pink full moon. To spare the heartbreak it would cost to others, and knowing that only this way would it ever feel like this any way, to meet more than once in a pink moon would destroy the pureness of this, thing. To remain hidden, known only to the two of them. But this passion makes them to better love the one who awaits at home. The rock at home that each needs to hang on to because to let their wild hearts go recklessly would break them forever. Break the rocks and these star-crossed lovers. Only once when a pink moon comes about, and the universe is forced to unite two hearts again in their strange entangled lives.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
I miss you,
West Texas,
You more than most.
I miss people
And things
But I’ve never missed more,
Than I’ve missed you.
One day, I’ll return to you,
And we’ll be together until I die,
My dear West Texas.
Some say your deserts are unbearably hot,
And I say,
It’s easier to make shade
Than a fire.
Picturesque cacti,
Blooming in the spring,
Sunsets that put oil paintings to shame,
And wild mustangs escaping man’s unyielding possession,
Just like me.
I can see them running along the dusty banks
Of a wide river in canyon carved by the Great Artist Himself,
West Texas,
I want to drive a rusty old truck through hot afternoons till frigid nights,
Miles and miles of sweet loneliness,
Until it’s just you and I,
And I can watch your brilliant display of stars move
Across the endless horizon.
Desert owls,
A serpent’s rattling warning,
Creatures that crave solitude,
As I do,
Emerge in the night,
Like the neon lights of lonely bars in the middle of nowhere,
Sweet prickly pear in perfect harmony with Jose Cuervo in my glass,
A tribute to my lonely West Texas,
Singing me a tune of cicada chirps and desert winds,
And the jingle of spurs on concrete floors,
As the men,
As old and covered in sand as the bar itself,
Make their way in from isolated jobs miles away,
To listen to Tejano,
And sip on that cactus nectar,
Distilled by the Great Bartender
For a night like this,
In my West Texas,
Perfectly lonely,
Perfectly perfect.
I just want it to be me and you
And your hot red sand,
I want to see those yellow blossoms bursting from the deceptively spiny hands of desert life,
I want to hang a dusty, wide brimmed hat above dusty leather boots when I come home,
I want the sky to explode with color,
As a reward for enduring a long day of the heat,
And when the rare jewels from heaven fall, and nourish your cracked ground,
And peace is sworn between all animals,
Predators and prey,
For that moment,
So that all may celebrate the loving dew sent by our Great Caretaker,
I want to dance on your planes,
Twirl in the rain,
And let the drops fall between my lips like the crevices of your canyons,
Brought to life when you are,
Slumber when you do,
Live each day as you live,
My sweet West Texas.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
A solid center presages
two generous edges
to shoulder the weight
of the curve: the bow
relinquishes tension
to the anchors of the
taut bow-string.
The wayfaring archer
tends to the curve,
notches the arrow,
selects the target,
gauges the wind,
surrenders --
*Riding like an arrow on the wind,
sure to find its mark in Breath,
and the end of Breath it portends.*
A reveler
abiding the flirt
of angle and arc,
finite and eternal,
arbiter of the holy
moment, the dance
linking death with life;
So unbearably
near the horizons,
desire yields its grip
to the coaxing
womb of the curve: tension
sighs into the space
between arrow-head
and its mark.
*And in the transmission of feeling
is the spirit of Life,
clinging - so gently - to free itself
of its own burdens.*
A sudden violence
voids archer and stag:
Continuity rushes forth
to meet the sacrifice.
The heart of the bow
resumes its tension.
And the curve
evaporates,
all but a trick
of Timing.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
My mind can't comprehend the emotions inside,
a war fought each night I lose by a landslide.
The sheets of comfort have become an anxiety-ridden hell,
my mind unbearably racing like Van Gogh preparing a pastel.
Remedies have been given but I lay restless,
indescribable assurance it's helpless,
as I become anxious and continuously stress this.
Not the battles but the war I must calmly defeat,
as I finally become even on my sleep's balances.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
Let us invoke a healthy heart-breaking
Towards the horrible world:
Let us say 0 poor people
How can they help being so absurd,
Misguided, abused, misled?
With unsifted saving graces jostling about
On a mucky medley of needs,
Like love-lit ****
Year after cyclic year
The unidentifiable flying god is missed.
Emotions sit in their heads disguised as judges,
Or are twisted to look like mathematical formulae,
And only a scarce god-given scientist notices
His trembling lip melting the heart of the rat.
Whoever gave us the idea somebody loved us?
Far in our wounded depths faint memories cry,
A vision flickers below subliminally
But immanence looms unbearably: TURN IT OFF! they hiss.
2.9k
I live in Kerala, South India
Where it's usually unbearably humid and hot.
But it’s been rather different lately,
Cool gusts of wind have been brought,
Along with some rains that have turned into floods
Poisoning even fresh water with mud
And so the people, just like the fish our local fishermen catch,
In a net they have been caught,
Leaving friends and family distraught,
Coz trapped by water, a symbol of life,
People have suffered death
And been left to rot
In the houses where water breathes in human space;
Imprinting in our minds a memory we would like to erase.
Everywhere I look I see prayers, with help sought,
But people are just having their hopes shot.
The only grace is that atleast those who have their heads above water
Are having their prayers slowly answered.
I thank God for the army,
Who for the safety of our lives have fought
Pushing through broken homes with everything they’ve got.
I thank God for the navy,
Who have sent men in fleets
Just to save our countrymen off the flooded streets.
I thank God for doing everything to keep us safe and alive,
All so that we would not have to make that final dive.
Quite literally.
Right now, we may mourn this disaster that has led to our demise,
But I promise you, our beautiful state will rise,
And when I say this, I assure you, I speak no lies.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
You never did manage to see
The final nail on the casket nor
The 9 years it has taken me
To unweave it from my crown of thorns
You say you shout you scream
You could not have foretold
The bullet I held clenched between my teeth
Heavy to the touch, heavy and unbearably cold
Not as I my mouth became a steal barrel,
Not as it came racing out
Not as it came to meet your creased forehead's third fold
I shake with loss
I shiver with relief
My silver armor melts away and evaporates into flesh
The life you had left ahead of you was anyway brief
Unlike the fruits you stole from my long life that once lay ahead of me
An ugly, loud, rampant, hobbling thief
I leave my pills to you
For all the times I failed
Trying bleed your blood out from my wrists
Bullet blown, skeletons thrown, casket nailed
I walk back up the stairs light as a feather
A crested crow, my wings unfurled, a crested crow unveiled
Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 1:28 PM UTC
I
loathe
fighting with
my entire being.
Maybe because I have
never really been in a fight
just observed my parents, my
friends, everyone around me and
watched as the tension built and built
and built making me feel as small as a child
and as powerless too. People don’t understand
the consequences of their actions, I don’t understand
people. But, I understand fights. Words are like slingshots
catapulting friendships into dangerous territories the words you
say sometimes you mean them, sometimes you don’t and it’s the
words you mean that are the worst. Those are the words you can’t
take back. And what I understand about fights taught me this. A fight
is like a symphony it builds and builds until its deafeningly loud, and then
its quiet, and there is nothing left leaving its audience unbearably sad and at a
loss.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Depression is not a grey mist hanging over everything, it is the absence of the grey mist that 'normal' people are accustomed to. They experience life in a muted way. We, as depressives, get the chance to experience the truth, for that moment, and it is so unbearably painful because it is real.
Seeing this reality is being exposed to the truth. We think. Does the truth lie?
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Yes, Doctor
First it hurt horribly
Unbearably
Then,
It swelled up
So I wrapped it tight
Till the swelling went down
Next,
The swelling was gone,
But it started to bruise
It turned bright colors; purple and red
So I iced it numb
Till I felt no more
Now,
The bruises aren't so bright
But the numbness went away
And back came the excruciating pain
So I took some medicine
To make things seem better
But Doctor,
Here's the thing:
I don't think it will get better
So Doctor,
Can you fix my soul?
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement
People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces
There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois
Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Secrets
we all have them
and denying that fact is stupid
no matter how close you are with someone
there’s still
something you haven’t said
and will probably never admit to
and if you have great
but likeliness is whoever knows is sworn to secrecy
and nobody else knows
in fact you’d probably **** to keep it safe
destroy those who shouldn’t know
and bury the ashes
see the thing about secrets
is that it’s the most
precious
part of who we are
it’s the thing that made us who we are
and continually molds us even now
because you see
our secrets are the very monsters
we created
that lurk within us at all times
it’s the rawest form of our very essence
and too much of ourselves
to simply give away
it’s that selfish, greedy part of our souls
that claw at our insides
and whisper
as sweetly and darkly as shadows and honey
driving us insane
and unbearably reckless
never caring what it is that soothes the burn
just that it’s dulled
but the thing is the weight of it comes
crashing back down on you
and forces you to your knees holding you captive
with it’s icy fingertips
and brands itself on you with burning eyes
paving the way for
guilt and fear
becoming the new guiding light
and north star of your moral compass
let me tell you
nothing good comes from this compass
it doesn’t lead you to paradise
nor does it lead you into the silent escape you long for
hell it’s job is to claw
it’s way through your soul
bursting free from the prison of your body
and dance to beat of your
slow destruction
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
He is safe. He is happiness. He is everything.
He takes away the anxiety. He takes away the hurt. He takes away the pain.
He makes you love yourself. He makes you feel like you aren’t alone.
He keeps away the nightmares.
He holds you. He tells you all the things you need to hear. He pushes you to be a better person.
*Without him you are afraid. Without him you are unbearably sad. Without him you are nothing.
Without him you are anxious and bed ridden. Without him you are ridden with depression. Without him you are in constant psychological pain.
Without him you hate yourself. Without him you are alone and always will be.
Without him you have nightmares and sleep paralysis that never seem to end.
Without him you are cold. Without him you are no longer pretty- you are no longer anyone’s favourite person; you are no longer loved. Without him you’re an awful person and no one wants to be around you.*
He is security. He is life. He is air.
He makes you do things you never thought you could.
You aren’t afraid to be with him. He makes the voices go away. He makes the paranoid feelings less intense.
You can touch him without feeling like you’re having a heart attack. You can kiss him without feeling like you’re going to faint. You can lay with him and not feel like something bad is going to happen.
*Without him you are lost. Without him you want to die- there’s nothing keeping you here but him. Without him you can’t breathe; you feel like you’re drowning- suffocating, always.
You’ve always been afraid of anyone with romantic feelings towards you. You’re always afraid of people touching you or kissing you or anything that relates to intimacy- but you’ve never felt that with him. There have never been heart palpitations. There have never been anxiety ridden shakes and hot flashes. You’ve never felt faint around him. You crave his kisses- you want him to hold you.
Without him you’re afraid of everyone and everything. You never leave the house. You never go see friends. You’re too scared to live your life- you’re too afraid to die. You barely exist.*
***But worst of all- without him, you’re left alone to have to deal with me.
Without him, us voices come back to taunt you and we’ll never go away.***
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
as i’m lying down in the dewy midnight grass
i can’t help but notice
that the moon tonight makes me unbearably homesick for your eyes—
i see you in the way it glows
how it radiates with pureness and beauty
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
When you hold a flame to an unlit wick
It takes an unbearably long time to catch.
The wick is pretty and new,
Covered from top to bottom
In a waxy coating of armour
That keeps it safe longer.
When you hold a flame to a previously lit wick
It catches fire within a few seconds of exposure.
The wick isn't so new anymore,
It's walls have been burned down
It's armour is gone and the
Beaten up wick is vulnerable.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
please sing me a
song of your most
precious memories and i
will try to sing one of
mine
of rainy days spent
under worn down umbrellas,
of clear nights where
the constellations are
sublime
please compose me a
rhythm that will be neither
too soft nor unbearably
loud
i am afraid unwanted
ears may hear, for i
desire to be your only
crowd
please perform for me
the show you've only
dared to execute in your
wildest dreams
and i will dance along
as the moon does for the
stars every time they
gleam
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
Late nights in my apartment,
we were brand new.
You'd come snuggle in that
unbearably skinny
twin XL after your intramurals.
Squished up against the cool wall,
I lied on top of you
like I'd never loved anyone before
like
no one would
ever get that close.
The half haze bliss
of sleep and wake all ran together and
overcame me
until seamlessly, I woke in your arms.
The still swell of
your breath,
the dry salt smell of
our skin
eased me to life.
Perfect dreams melting tides
into perfect days.
And the nights you couldn't stay,
How we kissed for hours in a
dark kitchen, awestruck, lucky
with wobbly knees.
You had to hold me up
when I melted,
had to float home afterward when your feet
couldn't find solid ground.
You faithfully came to me in dreams
where I tried to reconcile
perfect love,
I groped around in the dark
for some explanation of it, unprecedented.
Threw out faith with
arms wide open
in your enamored promises.
Like your flowers, though,
they couldn't help it, they
faded to winter too
soon,
leaving ghosts in my kitchen
and mattresses a mile wide.
There are days still,
I wake, hungry and alive,
from dreams of
perfect love
and almost understand you.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Full of such heavy thoughts, yet feeling so unbearably empty.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC