"unblock" poems
Can I call you ?
I miss your voice.
I miss our long calls.
I want to hear you say my name.
Can i text you ?,
unblock me!
I feel so alone.
I feel so foolish.
Can you come and see me ?
May be for the one last time,
Or Could you please hurt me some more,
And give me something to move On.
:(
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
I've been blocked
well an good
by some obtuse
butthurt mindfuck
cant believe my luck!
but please unblock me
long enough
to delete your unread
message (so I can clean
up your verbal Diarrhea)
It's annoying
to me
as its messing up
the aesthetics
of my screen
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Blocking
Others
Way
May
Not
Step
You
In
Blockbuster
Unblock
Your
Thought
Which
Leads
You
Towards
Blockbuster
- Amisha priya
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC
My hand hesitates above the button
"Unblock"
Just millimeters away from my fingertips
Pieces of your life could appear in seconds
With just a little pressure
Yes, I know last time this hurt me
But maybe this time will be different
What's one more time
Just one more visit to your page
Gently the button clicks and your name disappears
I search it and easily find your page
A lot has happened since I last checked
And it's funny because
Even though I'm reading them
The poems themselves tell me nothing
Like mine, theres no way to know
Who it is you are speaking of
Though every so often
I read one that hits me in the gut
It makes my heart hurt and my stomach curl
Because I'm almost sure that
The person you're writing of is me
And you are still hurting
You're still angry at me
I want to like the poem
I want to open a door for you to see
So maybe I can help give you closure
I'm itching for you to talk to me
And as my finger
Renters a state of hovering
Over yet another virtual button
I realize that it wouldn't help you
I'd only be hurting you further
And I don't want to do that to you
I realize that my missing our friendship
Is solely a desire of mine
And it would be cruel
To drop in on your life again
I'm sorry for what I did
And I'm sorry I'm struggling so much
To let that piece of us go
But your feelings about me are clear
So even though it hurts to read
Just how much I destroyed you
I think it's just what I needed
To stop getting my hopes up
And to stop pressing your buttons
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC
You scroll through your social media where people have sworn not to show what they feel like so their 'profiles' can be aesthetic to look at.
You look at dog videos and swear not to think about your dead dog with whom you never got to cuddle one last time.
You walk through streets you've never been to hoping that it'll lead to a story.
You kiss boys and girls you don't really like and pretend you're waiting for the three-days-later call. You constantly listen to Cardi B because you can't take another Bon Iver song.
You fake a smile, an ****** a brave face.
You look at where you're staying and pretend not to long for that one little park in Paris where you could spend your entire life.
You unblock the ones you lost and feel a fleeting sense of comfort in knowing that they're not happy either and block them again, to feel 'powerful'.
You look back at your journey and sigh because you haven't done enough. You curl into your uncomfortable bed.
And then you realise you're not done.
You realise your journey is just starting. There's so much left for you to say and do and teach and feel. You realise that the best part about yourself is that you're hopeful, despite it all. You realise that despite all the bad that has gotten to you, there's still good, and you can create it. You realise that you've places to go and people to fall for. You've learnt to become your own teacher and your own pupil. You realise that the sky is not the limit for you. You think people calling themselves a work in progress is a cliché, but you know you're one yourself. You're not magnificent. But you will be.
So you light up a cheap cigarette and play the Bon Iver song. And you wait.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 5:07 PM UTC
Today is one of those days
My mind has sooooo much clutter
I don't know where to even begin
My table I sit, staring blankly at my notebook
Waiting for some sort of words to come out
But blank the paper still stays
Sloppy words, quite unhelpful, I mutter
It's so loud in my head, I wish you could listen
My eyes glaze over when into the clouds I look
Thoughts going floating all about
& truly I reassured you that my words are quite real
& tell you how high my anxiety level rose
My attention spans is worse than a hyper active, strung out crack addict
Who is in Walmart's clearance section
Up & down up & down sliding clothes back & forth over five times
Sometimes things feel so surreal
Almost like a mirage I suppose
**** every two minutes there I wander off distracted
If it doesn't catch my interest quick, then it's see ya later attention
.....ooooh glitter, shiny sparkles oh so pretty wind chimes
Well that helped unblock my daze
My mind just needed to choose where to start
It was something in the clouds that ignited a brain spark
& all of sudden my mind was like "where are my pens?"
No more distant stares, sitting in front of blank paper
.....ooooooweeeee.... Goodness I really gotta remember to blink during my gaze
Yes, that would've been smart
Then maybe every blink wouldn't open up so heavily dark
& I could clearly walk without blindly step by step suspense
I am just a day dreamer kinda creator
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
.*but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: **** the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin ****** off Chopin)... **** better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than ***
i was never into blocking someone,
esp. if someone is liking your stuff,
but it happened to me with
that poetess on here,
i wanted to know how it feels,
to just randomly block someone
who really enjoys your stuff...
and then... **** gone, never
to be seen again...
Wattpad is basically a fascistic website
to boot this thread of thought...
who the hell gets booted off a platform
for starting a cordial conversation?
- but i really did wake up with
a moral hangover...
excuses?
irritability...
there's just a certain level of
conversation i can take,
i can't get the pedant
out of me... i really can't...
i tried and i tried,
notably because when speaking
to natives, i see them lazily doing this
or that, while i come with an acquisitive
perspective, hence the furthered
acquisitive impetus to further this
acquired language... while the natives
are like: blah... it has been given to them
from birth...
and conversations,
after having completed a...
well for me it was an exhausting poem,
the desire to finish it before off
the rails with the bourbon instigated
a thirst, matched with irritability...
**** i hope i can unblock the guy
and apologize...
spare of the moment thing...
well... if i can't...
i know what it feels like:
not being on the receiving end...
so... that's one plus from all of this.
p.s. that sort of direct messaging language,
aged... 40?
how can i talk to someone
who's older than me, on that level...
(looks up his profile page)...
huh?
so i didn't block him?
*Dennis Willis's profile is not
visible because they have blocked you.*
and i still have the block option
handy...
mind you... i didn't wake up today
recollecting some pretty
trippy ********
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
You play innocent
You're the one who started this
You think it's acceptable to play with fury
By calling him a *****
I'm sorry Bex
It seems you've been misled
I was a normal caring citizen
Of this fabulous site where I can mend
A helping hand is a healing hand
Or so I first believed
But Woody is bad and gives me reason to write
So I guess looks can deceive
I pity those by his side
He seems respectable, right?
Yet when he calls you a ***** for no reason
Well if not for that, i coulda liked the guy
Nice try Woody. I'm not as stupid as you believe. All I have to do is signout, search my name and then check my activity. Unblock me and take your punishment like a man. You're the real coward here. I'm still in school man, does it feel good to kick a kid in the ribs?
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
It seems like you are playing musical chairs,
I am free of you, but when the music stops.
When the world grows silent,
You sit in my mind again.
Unblock and stare at the words proclaiming "online"
Curiosity crawling up my spine.
Wondering if you ever opened our chat and stared as well.
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
Every time I see you
I feel we can start afresh, anew.
You smile, I smile.
We try to remain in denial.
We go on as just friends
We finally make amends
We pretend nothing happened.
Then something happens
My heart flutters,
But nothing can come of it,
So it shatters
I locked it again, but you are a skilled lockpick.
unblock - block - unblock
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
I wait for your message to arrive,
You're no longer blocked, you're alive.
But it never comes,
I become numb.
My dreams are black,
Because if I sleep too deep,
I might miss your message back.
The memories creep.
I can see them sneaking over the fence,
Maneuvering through every defense,
Until it stands like a shadow learing over my bed.
A demon stuck in my head.
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
I am almost over you.
I have almost made it through
This tormented affair
This maze of dispair.
The memory of you no longer walks with me down the street,
I don't see you in the places we used to meet.
Your face doesn't burn in the back of my head,
But now you have crawled into my dreams instead.
My mind is working through the last bit,
But I am so exhausted.
So tired of fighting guilt and shame,
So tired of breaking all over again
Whenever I hear your name...
Block - delete number
Heart broken, heart shattered, but heart finally locked.
Mind screaming, but screaming a different song.
All of the dreams are finally gone.
It is over.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
.
I need a Drug.
A decongestant.
To unblock good thoughts,
so they flow through and wash away
the flotsam and jetsam
and bitter history, in the flat field.
A decongestant.
To relieve the suffocation,
entrenched in nasal pollution
denying access to fractured lungs
and caustic breathing, in the flat field.
A decongestant.
To ease the flow of feeling,
for it to cleanse and energise,
to be free to share with fey
and open hearts, in the flat field.
© Pagan Paul (22/02/17)
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
I'm on a strict diet of
red wine and smoke
as I train for a marathon
of loneliness, self-discovery, and
moving on.
Letting you go was crushing,
and I still fight the
urge at least once a day
to unblock your number
just so I can say hello.
Nearly everything takes me back to you,
whether it's a sunset I know you'd cherish
or a poem I know you'd
want to analyze with me.
You live in the tree's green leaves
and in the smiles of strangers.
I feel you next to me as I
toss and turn in my bed,
and I smell you in the candles
that are supposed to soothe me.
It seems cruel that you can't be around,
and my heart often
threatens my head for *******
a good thing up.
But the good I had with you
was bad for me,
and I know I need to let myself
be broken so that I can
one day be full again.
I'm on a strict diet of
red wine and smoke
as I replace the love I have for you
with love I'm finding of and
for myself.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
Unblock, unblock,
I'm dying just to unblock...
Take stock, take stock,
of what's been said of me.
But unblock, unblock,
I'll never ever unblock
Or take stock, take stock
of what's been ailing me.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
your haunting hands, my anxious eyes
your passion burning leaves me hypnotized
by the glow of the flame, its unpredictability
the heat of the flame, but you are so undeserving
should be perfuming my body in your kisses
should be dancing your fingers in my rivers
they call out your name, haunted even in the day
haunted at every sight of rain and Janelle Monae
we were in the eye and I was naive
now my anxious eyes follow me
and your haunted hands lead me
to an inner journey to find the key
to unlock and unblock my potential
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour.
westerners define western slav as cleaner material,
if not simply the plumbers and electricians,
got a blocked toilet? get a pole
to unblock it. but you see... the thing is...
the slavs see the spaniards as
euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan...
spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs...
western european nations (excluding
the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth
that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating
without colonising... when the western
powers migrated and colonised,
never really preparing themselves for jihadis,
st. john the decapitating tyrant spoke to st. george's
dragon with a cockney accent:
oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth
of 20 quid!
so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican
rather than deutsche swiss keep time and
penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain ****
the slavs mock the same tier with a choice
of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan...
because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs...
oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature
of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled)
stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden
might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
I tried to unblock my thoughts to feel something.
It was a bad idea.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
The poorer get poorer
and the rich get rich
Its an unfair turn
its an mounted stitch
The temptress shows us
want we want to see
she does not give us depths
she does not set us free
We must give up
what is making us blind
to unblock our vision
to seek all there is to find
We envision our lifes
In a whole new light
To l...ive with our freedom
Hope is in our fight
To understand our world
what lies upon our land
to seek our truth in answers
Live by ungoverened hand
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 11:48 AM UTC
I feel as if I am drowning under the weight of thousand words unspoken,
feel still lost in the I's and the eyes on the tip of my tongue and teeth in my lips in your eyes in your lips.
If I could unblock the rot and make the heartache stop.
If I could rewind the time and decamp this vast desert filled with landmines.
If I could start over again and just pretend, that this is surely not my trying to fend for myself, would you hold me with your touch, caress and noone else?
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
first of all i unblock the reading block.
then i unblock the writers block,
that i feel heavy in my chest
the rest is the monk in me exposed
to write dailies on all sorts of matters.
this aspiration i am declaring
will be re-written by monks hand
i can feel flow of the monk,
like Geoffry Chaucer reincarnated
modern day Canterbury Tales, i will write
on my poetry pilgrimage .
i am an aspiring poetry monk
i foresee a poetry monk,
who will invent and reinvent words
for poetic stories to be told infinitely
like numbers.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Can you see in
all that Light?
This body waits
to unblock it...
to see what it sees.
Light can only enjoin
Light metaphorically
speaking...more of
what sees, and less
of what does not.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
baptism
from the clouds
washes away
channelling to the harbour
broken branches
in gutters
leaves strewn
across footpaths
wild urban obstacles
puddles stay
wet socks
umbrella struggles
a moment of teasing
blue drifts to
grey portents
time enough
to clear eaves
unblock drains
prepare for
another cleansing
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
Why the heck did I just unblock him on fb?
I have now hit depression mode.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
Walking did I to her a summer’s day
Song birds had flown about and guided me
To her; twisted the street had done in play
My path to her unblock without debris
A soft sound of a pitter pat that my hart
Tattoo inside my chest as I walk on
Not sure of how but knock at with a start
Super aware of self for I’m not brawn
Long had the time laid thick weighing me down
Did she hear me, had not the rapping awoke
Alarms to who was here? At this I frown
But no my doubts have turn into a joke
Before me stood an angelic wonder
That time and space would be blown asunder
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 10:01 PM UTC