"unbruised" poems
the clay patio was baking
just hot
enough for the dough to rise and crisp
and for you to spread your blanket
in the sun
perfect for a picnic with the kids
and observing the man on that really tall bicycle
it’s times like these when you think
why doesn’t everyone just shut off
and bake in the sun
with a glass of peach tea and a pair
of well behaved kids
who share life like it was their job to love
each other
their mother
dad
and especially
the old dog
even the young lovers get jealous
as their gaze from the park to
your front patio
witnessing that there is something more to love
than just body heat
chocolate-dipped strawberries
and jazz clubs
that children grow like spinach flowers
in mellow
medallion
heat
until the training wheels come off
and they feel earth’s balance for the first time
and the peaches!
they shackle the branches
like juicy bombs
and you decide that
mothers are like fruit
unbruised
unwashed
and perfect
something that God
herself
keeps in her finest
crystal bowl and replants
in the summer
mother
sister
friend
shoot me some of that peach tea
you’re drinking
that sun you are soaking
that air you are breathing
the world needs more of you
and you deserve the last taste
of its summer light
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
How do you explain that your bones are the coal used as breeding ground for a fire? How do you explain that there's a fire raging inside of you, setting every inch of your body and thoughts ablaze? Like a wildfire destroys the forest, this pain is knocking me down and smoldering me.
But how can you say you're in ashes when your body is unbruised?
No collapsed limbs, no heaving lungs, no unconscious mind -only puffy eyes and a tired tongue?
How do you explain that the tightness one gets in their throat upon hearing unexpectedly terrible news is a common feeling of yours - a side effect of the blood that runs through all of your veins? That even though you know you can do something, the words 'you physically cannot' are flooding your brain like a drug and poisoning every choice you try to make?
How do you explain that every move you make feels like walking on a tightrope that seems to never end. How each step sends a shiver down your spine; trying not to fall, trying to finish the task, trying to stop the anxiety -but you can never reach the end because your destination keeps switching from left to right despite the progress you've made.
How do you explain that you're dying when everyone see's you as perfectly alive?
NJ2016
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—
whither? It ends—
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses
It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal’s
edge and the
From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space
5.5k
i am lonely in a
body that has wasted
my skin to paper stretched
against collar bones and
my ribcage won't stop
trembling
i am isolated in a
body which hyperventilates
when it nears all things
sweet or salty or sour
or good because the weight
wrestling in the pit of my
stomach suffocates me
i am alone in a body
that aches for untouching,
unbruised skin and hair so
thick it'll never fall again but
it cannot give that to me any
longer because that would
mean i cannot be sick
i am in a body
that refuses to love me back
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
I realize that when you asked me to feed your two calicos
while vacationing, I wasn’t given title to pluck four large
tomatoes from your perfectly trained vines.
The tomatoes were Christmas red, unbruised
and husky. It seemed criminal and unfair
to my palate not to devour them
by dusk the day I stole them;
in my shallow defense
both of your cats
repeatedly hissed
at me when fed.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:25 AM UTC
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—
whither? It ends—
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses
It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal’s
edge and the
From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space
1.8k
As crazy as it might be
This callus is a beautiful thing to me
What's an ego to go unbruised?
What's a heart left unabused?
I didn't get this hardened shell
From concrete, glass, or fires of Hell
Why dwell on the knell you gave my cerebral gel.
I'm under someone else's spell
My palace with this Alice
Unshared with such malice
As what gave me this callus
It should be just now, us
I can say with a sense of pride
I needn't abide by a bride
Whos the great divide on each side
Without intention, will break my stride
I won't be denied
This emotional high tide
This woman which I confide
My side, a guide astride this distance ride
This callus thick of scorned love
Glad you're not what I'm thinking of.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
The old and feeble worship and rave
Trying to find more souls to save
For if they can save one from the pyre
They'll surely subvert their own hell's fire
Dismissing a past strewn with humanity and sin
All the lies forgotten, so empty within
Judging all others, since they found their path
Do they have enough stones, they're doing the math
For they will not leave a sinner unbruised
Bashing their lives, verbally abused
Telling them all they're feeling is wrong
Dressing it pretty in verses and song
Hypocrites profound, come one and come all
The louder they boast the harder they fall
Pride in beliefs is still a cardinal sin
When I get to Hell, I'll welcome you in
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
Wrapped in a blanket of blue
steadily breathing
blissful to the world
How I envy
So full of joy
of all the goodness the world has to offer
Unscathed and unbruised
My only wish is to bask
in the light of the world
that took you in with loving arms
and held you close under the stars
so that I may be so lucky
as to shine with you
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
and i don't want to say but
i keep looking for something unbruised
or a distant feeling that's been renewed
or i don't know
a past memory. maybe an old life.
she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
and i struggle to say that i miss the past.
that everything i lost was really all i had and
i miss it. i miss them.
i miss every time someone made me genuinely smile
i miss the times where people bothered to try.
she asks me why i keep looking behind
closed doors
when i know there's nothing of substance
and i don't want to say that
i find out a new disappointing fact every time
i peak behind that door,
an outstanding opportunity to break my heart,
an old smile that feels like happiness when i tend
to revisit,
and a part of me believes my care could revive it.
that's why i keep checking behind closed doors.
that's why ill beat the door down, until i can see right through it.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Grasping my breath, over time
time, is so slow and I just want to
see you
I just want to
touch you
I just want to
breathe you
Looking into the screen, that are mirror images of us
Is she there? Is she looking for me? Is she real?
I could feel her thoughts, filled with passion and full of excitement
heart pounding, wanting and yearning to dig my nails
into her unbruised skin
wanting and knowing she would be at my feet in heart beat
whatever is damaged, I will heal
because we're all damaged in some way
It was told to me that maybe we're all alone for a reason
That there's something wrong
blood related family, it was us three
single hearts with drifting minds
Now I could say, that lonely person
Isn't me
and I just found
the key
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
The flames that melted innocence
Ravaged my soul uncontrollably
Doused by aspiration of purity
If only I could be clean again
If only I was
Unbeated
Unbruised
Unscathed
Doused Flames
Melted Innocence
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
You came to me flawless
Skin smooth and unbruised
And my arms were painted
Scars from the past exposed
And I tried to assure you
That you would come away clean
That love doesn’t hurt
That love isn’t mean
But you walked away decorated
One arm black, one arm blue
Tattoos from clinging too tightly
To someone who wanted to run
The sharp words we threw around
Dug deep into your skin
Leaving permanent lines
Etched into your porcelain arms
Yet, I’ve spotted you lately
With skin smooth and unbruised
You hide your scars from the world
With an innocent smile
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Grief sees grief,
sorrow spoken
in tear drops
and swollen
red eyes.
Grief speaks to grief,
in holding hands,
hugs and
heartfelt conversations.
Grief cannot cure grief,
or see sorrows removed,
flesh unbruised,
and the abused
reborn.
Grief can ease grief,
tension softened
in the presence
of those
who share the essence
of similar
experiences.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
i took you.
brand new
unused
naive
and unbruised.
you took me.
broken
experienced
sinful
and confused.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
an edge, the Double facet
becomes a gEometry--
but each petAl ends in
But if it enDs
but love is at an End--of roses
cementiNg the grooved
colD, precise, touching
columnS of air--The edge
Crisp, worked to deFeat
cuts without cuttIng
edGe and the
figUred in majolica--
from it--neitheR hanging
From the petal's Edge a line starts
glazed with A rose
infiniteLy fine, infinitely
It Is at the edge of the
itself in metal or porcelaiN--
laboredness--fragilE
makes copper roses
meets--nothing--renews
nor pushing--
penetrates space
petal that love waits
plucked, moist, half-raised
rigid penetrates
Sharper, neater, more cutting
so that to engage roses
Somewhere the sense
steel roses--
that being of steel
the broken plate
The fragility of the flower
the Milky Way
The place between the petal’s
The rose carried weight of love
The rose is obsolete
the start is begun
unbruised
What
whither? It ends—
without contact--lifting
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
I imagine things that do not exist
And to those that do, I am blind
As a spew of caustic apprehension
Pervades through my mind.
I am possessed with a fear of losing
A thing much near and dear,
Or having lost it already
Or, more fiercely, not having had it ever.
Losing it would affect me
And make sour my present,
But not having had it threatens me more
Stripping off my very essence.
Did I hallucinate then
If I indeed lived in a delusion
And thought of holding the thing
So firmly in my possession?
Or am I being paranoid now
In making mountain of a molehill
When I still possess the thing with me
Unblemished, unbruised, and whole?
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
My heart is ticking like a bomb,
Beaten like a dusty rug,
Still ticking like a bomb.
Unbroken, unwavering
But ticking like a bomb
Not unbruised
Not yet fatally wounded
Still ticking like a bomb
My heart is....
Strong but not hard.
And ticking like a bomb
Safe in its own discontent.
My heart is...ticking like a bomb.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Under unfounded skies;
My soul has been buried alive.
A dreadful fear creeps in,
as the treading sound comes closer.
My bones can barely make a move to hide.
The dark creature dwells out every night,
in hunt for skin.
He prowls in;
With the hunger of flesh in his eyes.
His cursed fingers,
Burning my skin.
Not a place left unbruised from the greed of his pleasure.
My Soul bleeds out,
as he thrashes himself into me.
The pain ebbs to my bone
Giving me a wailful cry.
It keeps dragging me down every time I make an attempt to climb out o' this hell.
If only you could listen;
You would hear the crashing pieces of my Hope.
A Hope to escape my Destined World.
***** for several nights.
I'm the voice of a 3 year old girl.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
[fragment]
I can not breath,
Unless your lips, of black & blue,
Are pressed against me.
My pale skin can meet your once unbruised skin,
And maybe I will breath again.
So, place your tainted, blood-stained lips against my clean, pure ones, and
Pull me into your damaged world
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
I wish I could tell you
that it goes away
but it actually gonna get
bigger and bigger
Bigger than my unbruised ego
and you'll gonna start feeling
smaller and smaller
Smaller as a piece of junk
feeling nonsense
breaking heartbeats
and smiles
Smiles, a defense
used to disguise
covering faces
hiding these cries
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
It dropped down on my forehead
I saw crimson red.
Red like the roses that burned back then.
I couldn't fathom the reason why
Why she didn't say goodbye
I could only scream and cry.
I sat there unmoved
Like the books in the library unused
Decades unbruised.
I felt like I was forever frozen
In a silence unbroken
Why was there no commotion?
I only heard a ringing
Like I heard back at the beginning
It was nothing but chilling.
Her eyes were dead and gone
Like the daffodils that whithered at dawn
Why did she have to whither alone?
I do recall sensing pain in her voice
There was no rejoyce
Why was this her only choice?
As the timeless seconds pass by
I saw a light that could only amplify
I heard a familiar ringing,I could only comply.
I woke up with tears in my eyes.
I realize as I slowly rise:
It was, again, the dream that never dies.
The dream haunted me as far as I recall
On every night with rainfall,
I only want it to stop once and for all.
I don't care about it's wrenched meaning!
Since it started leaking,
My sanity took quite the beating.
Playing with my crimson red hair,
I start reluctantly prepare
Time to start the day I declare.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:59 AM UTC
~for my students
Beginning a new semester
once again I encounter
bright, thoughtless faces
staring at me as if
I were a curious, irrelevant
antiquity from a museum
they don't wish to visit.
The earth is fresh to them
and they are unbruised,
for a little while yet,
by the unforgiving realities
that life must provide.
I shuffle papers and make
solemn pronouncements
about the beauty of learning.
They yawn and ******
the ubiquitous cell-phones
I have so cruelly
ordered turned off.
I no longer envy them
their youth or their future.
They remind me of pigeons
ready to be plucked.
I am tempted to tell them
the necessary brutal truths:
half their marriages
will end in anger and divorce,
others will drag on in despair;
there is no such thing
as true love forever and ever;
the jobs they dream of will
mostly be empty and boring
and obsolete in short order;
the corporations and the usurers
have already captured the world;
that the earth is poisoned
and dying a slow, certain death;
how there are no more secrets
and the government may now legally
read their texts and emails,
listen to their conversations
and learn down to the last moan
even how and with whom
they make love;
that there will be more
than just rumors of war
and they will have to pay for them
in blood, loss and treasure;
that God is otherwise occupied
murdering children in the middle-east;
that we have utterly failed them.
But I don't, of course.
They wouldn't hear me if I tried.
****** weeping holocaust
that it has always been,
the world must be rediscovered
by every shiny, new generation.
Mentally wishing them luck,
I do my job, stick to the syllabus,
say a prayer for their possibilities,
turn it all over to them, smile,
and continue to pretend.
- mce
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Two white dots
What gives?
Why are you writing this?
That is you and this is me
What do you mean?
We're exactly the same
2 of a kind
1 is such a lonely number
And you're lonely all the time
The thing about dots is that they can be erased
You won't stay
Maybe I will maybe I won't
If I don't will you give in ?
Probably not because I'd never give in
I'll probably never love again
Why is this ?
My heart is not mines to give
Whose possession is it left with ?
His
He abandoned it!
Some place it's hiding where I can't reach
But love is the thing you seek?
No, I just don't want to be lonely
You don't have to be
Two white dots
What gives?
Why are you writing this?
This is you and me
What do you mean?
We're exactly the same
Nothing?
But an empty blank space
Ran off and concealed
You could build
But instead you ****
You **** with your looks and your mean words
You're not the only person who hurts
You're not the only one without closure
But if you look deep within
You don't need to find it through him
Your heart is still inside you
It's sitting, waiting and ready to be unbruised
You've just been stuck in this ruse
That reconciling with him is what you need to do
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC