"unbecoming" poems
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar, where my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots,
Just to make its wine more bitter . . .
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.
Like a dark and tempting vacuum
That my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
It's a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish,
With a thirst that can't be quenched . . .
She finds the spots within me,
That make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble,
At its all-consuming "nothing". . .
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.
She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit . . .
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
I am empty, yet I am whole
I burn with passion, desire, hot
Yet I am frozen to the core, cold.
My steps are surer than a Lions,
Yet insecurity ravages my mind like a bad disease.
My thoughts impulsive, extemporaneous
Yet cool, calm and calculated are my middle names.
Sometimes fear makes me weaker than a withering flower
But usually I'm bolder than a boxer, ducking, diving, bobbing, weaving
I can be loud, raucous, unbecoming
or quiet, shy and unwelcoming
I prefer my own space
But I'm your best friend
I can follow with the obedience of a dog
But I love setting trends.
I am an honest liar
A well read idiot
A losing champion
A logical creative
Beautifully ugly
Perfectly flawed
What I'm saying, is I'm human.
A walking contradiction
I'm an Oxymoron,
Yet I am not.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
(The sound of breathing)
I am the air / unseen
a breath
underneath
the rush
the coffee
the traffic
on concrete streets
I am lifting the dirt
the grime
the dust
polluting us
I am adding wings
to the speed of your feet
to where your dreams may meet
I am the sigh
in your quivering lungs
inside your heart
such self defeat
when you concede to its
deceit / disease / cease to breathe
never to notice me
or listen to our song
Time’s
Wind chimes
a summer's relief / a breeze
strides along
cooling your face from the heat
Do not say you blame it all on me
Don't say I'm the purpose
the reason
or the space between
Wound of flesh, lips compulsive kiss
The mindless lies
Loss of will
between the heart & the eyes
unable and refusing to see
It’s why our love
retreats
Dagger / plunged
the deathblow
a quick hands woes
A heartless man goes
so neat and clean
so discreet
hiding in the bleak
uncaring
so...
I am the air
you never notice me
touching
your sorrow
your skin
yet never being / your glee
invisible
that is how despair begins
I am the air / unseen
waiting for you to care
to notice
to open eyes, see!
I am the air, here / with you
a friend that is always
there
invisible
waiting to be / seen.
do you notice me?
(The sound of breathing)
A heart is beating.
Lub Dub Lub Dub
Did you notice
The life we misbelieve …
Us
The invisible
Unbecoming
Unloved
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
Is it so
cliche
or taboo
or unbecoming
to scream aloud Senpai! notice me?
I don't
won't
can't say it you see
for i don't want the student body to think i'm a creep
Anime she watches
she weird
oh no
So for it
my love i cant show
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
It’s hard to fight wrong perceptions
For they are etched so deeply in minds
Unbecoming reasons obliterate the real sense
When nothing makes sense anymore
Brazen display of the fault lines
Weaken the social fabric
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
i detoxed myself under this pale sun
(you stood by and watched the
unfolding saga all the while
questioning the meaning of zen)
the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
(can you recover your own fumbles?)
every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
(my love for this is a game of solitaire)
i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.
i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
(i have seen you ignoring me)
in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
(you will know me by the number of the dead)
i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.
i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.
i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.
Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
(aren't you proud?)
(isn't he cute?)
i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
(what do you know about pain?)
i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe
my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....
i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...
i have run out of things to sacrifice
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
My life pressed like those perfect folded sheets. Married in steam and good intentions of having life together.
Of course, that always starts with making your bed in the morning and filling the days with things you ought to do.
I'd spent my whole life trying to be this person....
I can't but help miss the stain on my coffee table and my linen sheets sprawled across my floor waiting for my return.
The chaos in my life felt like a harmony of bethovan's seventh symphony. A beautiful orchestrarted master piece I could only make the sense of.
I was an absolutist. Completely content with the messiness of it all. Entirely captivated by the beauty and desire with urge to succumb to it all.
The unequivocal grounding of not giving a **** at all if at least felt good.
I can't help but wonder if the person I'm unbecoming is the person I should be saving.
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 1:36 AM UTC
Bare feet scuttle around on marbled floors
Painting muddy footprints on the white canvas.
Onlookers walk by in disgust, their noses in
The air as they click their heels in an effort
To avoid the unbecoming scene before them.
The feet are callused and shred, imprints of
Pebbles forever etched into the raw flesh
Of their nakedness. Was it worth it?
Yes. It should be.
It will be.
The gritty pavement is as hot as the
Sun, a burning star, a supernova lifetimes
Away. Their yellowed teeth are clenched tightly;
They are determined to stand despite the furious
Pain slowly eating its way into the
Soles of their feet.
Many scars and scratches from roads they have
Traveled are scattered across the bareness;
They are proud, for it is their art,
That is the measurement
Of their life.
At last, the final goodbye from the scorching day
Kisses their heads in a bittersweet farewell
And You see them smiling in the dark,
Blue eyes glowing with a brilliance You have
Never seen before. They are eager to
Run with their bare, misshapen feet
And jump with all their strength into the
Watery depths below.
You look around.
They are splashing in the waves,
The cool ocean soothing the pains
Of the day.
The corner of Your lip upturns with
A hint of a smile.
This is how they live.
And this is who they are.
Who then are you going to be?
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
When I witnessed a rare fragility of the rain unbecoming—pouring its madness, tears following the wind that brings me to a place where I knew I witnessed an unfortunate crime, an absence of an absolute evil—cruel crime I would not be able to forget; the great tragedy of what was once.
It was all I saw.
It was all I felt.
It was all I knew.
The comfort and the gruesome thought of being a witness to it all—to the chaos, the fraudulent rage of the supposed love I knew; until I became a victim of it.
…and the absence of my answered prayer turned to basking in idiotic romantic fantasies I had built. All that interested me was the world I created inside this big rotten head of mine.
What an unfortunate time to be a witness in an unfortunate crime called: the absence of love.
While odd things create reality, dreams do come true, a bittersweet goodbye turns to a sweet return. All I know is once in a while, there comes an absence. How do I return the sparks back?
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 10:10 AM UTC
the jewelled hands. a finger each /
peel the skin and let her blood
meet the air. this is
unbecoming of a lady / she says i will
never marry; her mouth curves
around her
laugh, beckoning. taunting /
if you keep going ; lover
i'll be yours
always / and he drinks her in. consumption / consummation / salt and iron and lust. how have they lived
so long
he wonders, inside her, on her, in himself,
how could they breathe
without it ?
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
At sunrise the dew melts into nothing
and the field loses its silver glow
while retaining a tranquility
unbecoming of most minefields.
Brushing his face against
heavy denim material
the curious son hears his father's words,
*Soon you will walk across
this field. I will educate you
to step here and step there,
to avoid the hidden dangers
beneath the grassy slopes
and native flowers.*
Trust flows from innocent eyes,
uncreased by worry
or the wear of fear,
as the son requests,
*Why are there mines among
the lavender and milkweed?
Because the fox must be hunted,
and the deer harvested
as food for our hungry ambitions.
These mines are triggered
by those who justify their sport
as signs of bravery and courage.
At times crazed men ignite the mines
as a show of their rage. They ****
others among us, even children.
What if there were no mines?
We must keep our freedom,
freedom to walk anywhere,
to say anything
and to plant mines in the field
despite their dangers.
The eye of the eagle
will guide you each
step amid the lavender
and coneflowers until
you are safely to the other side.*
Glancing upward, gazing ahead
the boy shares his wonder,
*Will I continue to plant mines in the fields
for my children to walk?*
A heavy masculine voice
cracks the north wind
*If I train you well, . . .
If I train you well.*
(*with Eddie Eagle)
* http://eddieeagle.nra.org/
(information about the Eddie Eagle GunSafe Program of the National Rifle Association,
Eddie Eagle is a registered trademark of the NRA
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
It shatters,
Into tiny green shards.
Peaceful garden turned rubble.
He is like dirt, he likes the ruin.
When he felt the pain of seeing,
He knew,
He saw it all happen.
Lithe form merging with rough hands,
He sighs now, remembering,
All that happened before,
All he had seen,
It didn't happen twice, thrice, nor six times,
Times are more, his mind has grown more,
His heart pumps rage more.
Rue, crumble, contort, free!
All he felt before,
And all that came now, he let them be.
The rage, blue-flames, wrath,
His unbecoming and rebirth,
Then ashes and flames,
Now sin and woe,
Next tears and rubble,
And finally silence,
Terrible silince, terribly wrong.
He is effluence
Effluence is wrath.
-MoonFirefly
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
It doesn't always Happen.
Even though it hardly stays still.
Some don't realize its presence
Some will never see that it's passed
Some seem to have no recollection
It's the unbecoming of a star
The deconstruction of a song.
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 5:42 AM UTC
Conduct Unbecoming,
False Poet
Traveling thru the Heart of Love,
like a Worm.
Bring in the Court Martial
Commuter Judge has an Appointing
Stance for Freedom
Held By One
Promised to Protect
Slovenly Surveillance
Given without Permission
An Election Year BONUS
made for Royalty..
Get ready for Deportation
1) 1 Soldier
2) 3 Minister
3) 4 banker
4) 2 doctor wannabes
and a Part Dove in a Pear Tree...
Who wants "Orange and Black" ?
After all
Even Mind Deserve Freedom of Choice
Soldier
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
My love it runs deep, carving paths through tiny crevices,
under the surface, within.
It cascades over jagged edges, smoothly, undeterred, undevided.
My love it runs swiftly, not holding back, resolute and ever-knowing
where the basin-home lies, wide-open.
Shall it be cut off from the main-stream course, an unexpected turn-
it keeps gliding, slowly, gently onward.
And shall it lose momentum, caught in a depression, turn
murky, foul, lifeless - patience - over seasons or ages
it shall rise and become clear, weightless.
My love is never old - change is her shadow - loss, a mirage
on the long journey through the frenzied jungle, home.
Formless is her nature, unbecoming and rebirth - her breath -
every moment, anew.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
How far have we come?
Our masquerading insanity,
Egotistical sensuality
We bask in the luxury
Of our miserable depravity
Tumultuous cries and sweet lies,
It's only a state of mind
We malice, not chastise,
And give birth to anarchy
The world was an empty bliss
Reveled in the vast starlit sky
Now consumed by the beast inside,
Our inglorious unbecoming
iamthe_avatar ©2015
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
She sparks in me a rage so dark
My stomach gets to roiling
I just want to rip out her throat
My blood's so hot it's boiling
Alas, alas, It cannot be
Such bloodlust is quite unbecoming
She's fortunate that I am me
Or I would name her 'usurper'
And soon would have her running.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
unheard
unseen
unconscious
uninterested
unloved
unwanted
unbecoming
unable
unnamed
unattached
unattractive
unbounded
unchanged
I feel
all of these things
at once.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
I am a
plenipotentiary
of your heart
but not your tongue
Which whips
with shout
Inflicting
all this
doubt
--
Try not to see my glaring mistakes
when uncaring I am trumpeting arrogant aches.
--
I became lost in channels of the self and now-
I have smoothed out my spikes,
inverted my aversions, diluted my delusions-
I have incrementally expanded my positive mentality.
I am the Xenolith within the conglomerate
uncomfortable with chafing sand.
Displaying dependability with the straightening of back,
gone is lithe youth's unbecoming stand.
I shall trust inappropriately and love exponentially.
I shall treat you, The Stranger-
even stranger
like family.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
.
Hello **archangel,
fallen goddess behind my morgue.
Whose complexion equaled the moon,
craters and abysses,
cascading like salt on
an empty**
wound.
**With the crosshairs of nicotine
a mirage on her cracked lips;**
“Leave me,
lowly poet,
Your pity is unbecoming.
I am the 13th fallen sister,
so linger here
no longer.”
“Death is an old friend,
I fear not his company,
nor his demise.”
**I’ve never seen such eyes;
glass-stained,
divine & unpredictable.**
“I’ll **** you.”
“Darling, I’m already dead.”
**Her monologues could summon the dead,
she preached of the lovers
who bore no fruit
and the heartless
that lay eternal
in the eyes of
her dalliance.
I’d often find myself
yearning at the pebbles at her gravestone,
impatient, to be graced by her
ink soul and** rhapsodic presence.
“Are you my friend,
poet?”
“No,
I am much more.”
**And for centuries
of cracked dawns and
folded nights,
shallow moons &
crippled suns,
we’d meet---
poet to god,
at her morgue.**
“Poet,
why must the most beautiful
people die?”
**She once asked me.
Alured, I answered:**
“When you’re in a garden,
which flowers do you pick?”
“...The most beautiful ones.”
**I’d spend my seconds ‘neath the gallows,
among the bones
of her brethren,
all had fallen before her,
from the house of god.
I bargained my soul with Ursula,
my sins with Lupus,
I ignored their tempertantrums
& discord.
That very evening I stitched a universe,
upon her shoulder-blades.**
“What are these?”
“Wings.”
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC