"unconvincing" poems
What most
of the people
fear
is their disappointment
in mortality,
the unconvincing possibility
of invincibility
and everything that is
waiting for the eventuality,
while
all they have
to do is just
to embrace it
like letting the wind
wrap
their body on a cold, rainy night.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
Not real people,
just characters,
defamiliarized,
playacting through
the stage dressing
of their
unconvincing, plywood
lives.
In one small spotlight,
one character
is deciding
not to call
the other character,
and a
second spotlight
picks out a
telephone
not ringing, and
the second character,
who could
call the first,
but doesn't.
Between them,
the few metres of
darkened stage
represent the cold,
separating sea, or
their emotional
estrangement, or
the shadowy uknowability of
the inner self, or
something.
They don't elicit sympathy,
these characters, only perhaps
an intellectual empathy,
critical and objective.
They are devices
by which we might learn
some abstract lesson about
the human condition.
They cry, or don't,
soliloquise about their fears,
their guilts and their woundings,
or are silent;
they damage each other,
themselves, and seem
incapable of learning
from pain.
But they are not
real people,
only symbols,
only the roles
they occupy:
Father,
Daughter.
It might be heartbreaking,
if it wasn't all so
far away.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
we see the dying die. i walk down the stairs and give them nothing everyday. as i was walking down 8th ave one afternoon, i was approached by a girl who was about my age. she was screaming indiscriminately
"please sir! can you help me?! i have no idea where i am and i don't have enough money for a bus ticket home."
i drudged a drunken look up at her
i was tired
i wanted the bus ticket home
and the beautiful new york city girl you sit next to
you know
the ones they keep up in front
but they sit in back
she told me she had gotten on the wrong bus and wound up in new york city
just by accident
that she didn't have any money
and her family was worried and needed her back home
8th and 43rd
she wined at anyone who passed
with a terrified look
as if she was to be eaten or sacrificed
her story was unconvincing
i gave her twenty dollars to get home
i truly hope she did
but in my heart of hearts i know she spent it on drugs
she was a good actress
and should get what she deserves
after i handed her the bill
she asked
" oh my god , can i give you a hug!? please?! "
she grabbed me tight and was almost crying
she was so beautiful
in trouble
as if i had given her life itself
our elders do not understand the affect of there traditions
upon the truthful way of life
so we sit here and wither
victims of just being tired
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
In the modern void
Floats a vast and barren planet approaching
Absolute zero
Though once teeming with life and
Energized by starlight
Now it just orbits
Telling itself
---in an unconvincing tone---
That one day
The star will burst
(Stars sometimes do that)
The orbit will change
All will be ****** into a black hole
Dark and cozy and oblivion
Beyond absolute zero
Beyond any fiery passions
Beyond seemingly endless orbits
The black hole and the planet will sip tea made just so
With boiling water from sea level
Not steeped too long
Just the right amount of sugar
And a touch of love
Not too much love though
Just enough to escape the touch of gravity
For a time
Before waking from that daydream
Still orbiting around a dead star
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
The bond of brickwork is vital to the structural integrity of delusional tradesmanship.
Idaho is a state to be reckoned with when the future of marital and maternal roles stand in juxtaposition with self-loathing.
Yet downtown Boise is a cultural centre of safety even though massacres occurred on the Oregon Trail.
I am now drawn to consider the simplicity of a cheese and pickle sandwich.
It is all in the shape and tactile quality of the word.
Teachers can be boring in their unconvincing sterility, so it all depends upon the type that we are talking about, doesn’t it?
Let us never forget, that we cannot build meaning upon the foundations of a vacuum.
It is incumbent upon us to hold hands as we traverse this challenging path where we seek to avoid psychological ****
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
And when the bell tolls, as expected, I imagine
an unconvincing ending and quick new beginning
fighting my instinct that tells again and again
it's just a nonsense we force ourselves to embrace
obeying an illogical prompt never once questioned
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
Ah, you are anxious today my morbid rule-breaker;
Forever and never sound much the same when your mouth is full of questions.
Our lives were once dull and sober, now we’re littered crooked bastions,
But no such fairy-tales are ever uttered to an unconvincing faker.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 3:28 PM UTC
When Donald Trump gets up to speak, you simply never know.
Will he seem sane or ludicrous? Just which way will he go?
Will he stick to the teleprompter, presidentially,
or rant his way to la-la land, lost in a fantasy?
Will he just share the facts and make his statement strong and clear,
or ramble, lie and shout and spread division, hate and fear?
When needed, he reads from the script, but looks like he's in pain.
He'd rather spout what's in his head, no matter how insane.
So when we all see ****** Trump, it's plain to see the fact,
that Presidential Trump is just an unconvincing act!
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
do you want to know where i got these scars?
"i have no idea. they were just /there/." my mother merely traced the fading lines on my pale skin and frowned.
"i must have scratched it somewhere." i offered as assurance and she agreed, the topic dropping as quickly as she dropped my hand.
do you want to know where i got these scars?
"i fell down the stairs." i blurted out, panicking at the question. it was the most unconvincing answer in all the history of self-harm, but what was a girl to do in the case of sudden confrontation?
my friends (god bless their souls) nodded and turned away their gazes. "those are awfully symmetrical for an accident," one murmured once she thought i was out of earshot, and it took everything within me not to turn around and yell at her for calling me out on my feeble fib.
do you want to know where i got these scars?
"my cat scratched me."
"you don't have a cat."
"oh, **** did i say 'my' cat? i meant a wild cat. jumped at me out of nowhere. crazy, right?"
she shook her head. "if you're going to lie, at least make it convincing." she advised, and i shrugged.
do you want to know where i got these scars?
"i had to fight off my monsters." i wiggled my eyebrows, tugging my jacket sleeve a little more snuggly around my wrist. "i'm sure you did," she humored me before turning serious. "you can always enlist me to fight them with you."
i didn't know what to say.
do you want to know where i got these scars?
"cold nights and even colder razor blades."
she nodded and passed me the bottle. i watched as she took a shot from her own glass, her shirt riding up ever so slightly; faint scars seemingly outlining the portions of herself she wanted to cut off shining under the moonlight.
i didn't ask.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:15 PM UTC
Lita's ice blue eyes peer into my soul
as my fingers strum along an acoustic guitar.
Cautiously, I match its rhythm with the beat of
her heart -- swiftly then slowly, until the harmonious
chords filling the atmosphere still the rapid
vibrations of my own heart and the silk strings
beneath my fingers slip into her enigmatic allure.
"Wounds heal over time," I say to no avail.
Each empty note immerses into her pool
of toxic thoughts. My eyes become lost
in the nihility of her eyes as her lips form
an unconvincing smile that quickly fades.
To soothe her internal pain, I strum away.
My guitar and Lita are the same --
hollow.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Am I read so easily?
Do I display my emotions
so clearly?
My soul, do I bear
so blatantly?
Can I hide nothing?
I am transparent.
I am no liar.
In fact, I'm terrible.
My truth, too honest
my appeasement, obvious
my distaste, too obvious
my pains, apparent
my joy, over-joyous
I am predictable
in my crooked hypocrisy.
I am unconvincing
despite my conviction.
I am a lack of words
in a serious discourse.
All along
and
I didn't know it.
love me hate me
kiss me **** me
I would.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
I’m huddled in a corner -
I’d move but I’m paralyzed
by invisible patterns of heavy air
and magnitudes of decision.
I know I must motivate
this unconvincing vision of myself
to struggle with the immaterial forces
and perform the pointless activities of life.
Oct 14, 2021
Oct 14, 2021 at 11:50 AM UTC
*don't worry, even i think this is all a bit too wacky... but then i eat the placebo of feeling the emotions of https://goo.gl/tzEPhO / dido's no angel album, and i really concentrate on the symbol... and it feels less wacky after a while; i'm always apprehensive about influencing people, even if they number the 1 or 2 or 3, less than a dozen... these are sensitive areas, where there's a seemingly en masse acceptance for either accepting or criticising such potent reminders of human history... always apprehensive, only because i do not really care much about illuminating footnotes... always apprehensive... it's an apprehension born from not wanting to influence new arguments in these debates.*
why is it always either 1:30 or
13:30 when men hold sway the hour hand
and women the minute hand...
or it's either 18:05 or 6:05 when women
hold the hour hand and men the minute
hand? well, never mind, a new
interpretation of the ☿ (mercury), lineage
of all sourced prophecies, the crescent horns of
mobilised islam, by the power that mobilised it,
that of the feminine nature...
and that femininity mobilised islam in
christianity with the emergence of the nag hammadi
library, and no official plan to instigate it
along the lines of canonical orthodoxy...
an undercurrent emerged in christianity with
the parallelism drawn by the historian josephus,
a false prophet, the unearthing of the library in
egypt... the flight of joseph, mary and infant jesus
to egypt... but as the symbol clearly suggests...
the crescent moon became mobilised by a
feminine ontology... St. Thomas' gospel working
its way, into the mainstream, although well hidden
in the undercurrent... replacing all known
canonical orthodoxy - and you know,
if your prophesy about the end of the world,
and to prove your prophecy to be true with the
culmination of the atom bomb, and the only
way you can imagine proving your words true...
then i guess you'd have to get yourself crucified
to make everyone follow your words to ring true
should they actually be rather unconvincing;
a crucifixion would desirably create a sperm-like
influx of people who'd believe you
and follow all the preparations through -
Pythagoras' estimates about the future had
about 30 followers... and he's still covered in dust
in school libraries and mathematics lessons;
judaism is still a minority religion:
the last words of convictions from it were written by
Isaiah, who was cut in half for going among the
people, as a former courtesan.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Some say that love is an ardent thing;
That its sentiments,
When elucidated by words
Or art
Or something physical,
Are afire in their altruisms, but I
Know love as something fading.
But it seems different with you.
I am over-zealous,
Unconvincing,
Perhaps unenticing,
But I will not lay,
Dismantled in my existence,
And let the gaps between my fingers
Be filled with air,
And they will wait to be inundated
By your gnarled hands.
And though your touch could
Set me afire in a most illustrious way,
I will not open myself up this way again.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
I am the blank page here, before you. An empty book to write at your will. And As this scene unfolds before you, memories pen stroke your cheap thrill.
As these words crash, and collide upon my barren page. Full of fragments of thought... full of moments of wonder.
You close both eyes, and open the third, just enough to see the splendor.
The words stain and etch upon the fiber of my being. Seeking, what they might leave behind.
A story perhaps? You close your eyes and redefine, and reassign the unrefined.
Feel the roar of the breeze as you clench your eyes. As she writes in me, she writes in you also.
An imprint in your thoughts. Whilst just symbols upon me. But How the power of symbols, on the mind can be.
You hear voices in your mind and the subject of time, is far more unconvincing than you could ever find.
For me, time is only of what has been written. For I do not possess thought or an abstract ambition. People come and go, and leave imprints in me. Of life, and love, and what solace can be.
Imagination wants what reality can't offer, a vision perhaps for which you desperately tether.
I know this too well, tis' a familiar feeling. As these markings in me are known also as writing.
The recipient finds meaning, which is forever undivided.
And I'm again a blank book, whose fate is... undecided.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
It is a basic question humans ask each other on a daily basis.
"How are you?"
Never have I ever seen the truth come out of their lips. Although, how could I tell? Maybe it is the fidgety hands or just the bounce they performed. Now, I'm describing myself. Aren't I?
If you ask me that question, I can hardly say "I'm fine" without having to take a deep breath and my throat would try to reach for that one glass of water, making a simple interaction a hundred times peculiar than it should be.
My throat stays dry for another two years or so.
It has been four years since my very first unconvincing "I'm fine"
I wonder when would be the right time to confess about this. Perhaps, I don't have to. I made my mother worried once I had my "first" panic attack. I can not exactly say that was the first one but my family hasn't really done anything about the lines on my skin.
Well, mom asked me about it. She pointed at it and said, "What is that?"
And then, I got annoyed and threw the topic back on to the shelves, hoping she had noticed something is not right.
It is not that I want my mother to feel bad. I'd never want for the woman who was blessed to have had the surgery of her cancer cells cancelled to frown. Why blessed, you ask? The thing is the first ultra sound was a gold digging snob. Blunt but true. Without the second option of a decent kind, I wouldn't be writing this.
I would have never got the chance to listen to music.
Hence, yes I'm fine.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
I return from off the ground,
Hands bloodied and body aching,
Brain swaying left to right,
The opportunity has passed it's self up,
Further away into the distance,
"I'm okay"
Tears are asking me why,
The cause for comfort and security are...
"No really, I'm okay"
Pools of fear gather around my feet,
Rising above my waist quickly,
I lean back and float,
"This has happened to me before"
Rapid breaks of an unconvincing breath,
Expectations are never achieved,
So I send mine to the burners,
Humor me with your thoughts,
"Thanks, but I'll be fine"
Asking to be alone
Judged that we are in the wrong
But we never searched for the answers
Welcome the smell of flowers
"I gotta go... Bye"
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
Senseless.
Shapeless.
Restless.
Feelings that I wanted to flee
when the world went dark
It seems, I feel delighted every night
Totally alone, stuck in darkness' side.
Even now, I couldn't feel
the frozen ground
As I lay underneath a big old oak tree
I don't know if it is inhuman
to stay calm
When you couldn't find the beauty
of the things around.
I won't fret if the moon vanishes
from my sight
I'm thankful of the insects silenced
by the cold
I feel the emptiness run inside me
I can comprehend now the language
of pain.
I know, I'm an unconvincing feeble
Swallowed by world's benightedness
Trying to find an answer in all the miseries
Makes me feel that my life is so pointless.
Somehow, I wanted to go out of this
situation overnight
I wanted to view things to it's perfection
But again and again
I always end up in this prison cell.
I couldn't deny, I'm so cruel to myself
I always let intrusive thoughts intrude
In the vicinity of my consciousness
Because, I want to be a witness of this
Moonless Darkness.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 7:37 AM UTC
I don't like having friends
They're far too full of consequence
I am a fool, and unconvincing
I cannot shut my mouth for the life of me
For every word that pours out
There's a knife in the back of me
That's the pain I feel
Like KNIVES
That's the pain I feel
You pose a question
I grasp at it desperately
I'm so afraid to answer it incorrectly
So I throw out ever detail and story
Hoping something I say will connect
Will explain
Like maybe if you could see me
Like REALLY see me
All that has been and all that I am
In my entirety
That maybe you could see all of my flaws at once, but each one would leave a trace
Some deep rooted reason or far removed place
Some trauma that tainted me
Maybe it would save you from blaming me
Like I blame me
I'd hate to think that I was responsible for this mess barely standing in front of you.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
I’d always ask you if you were okay
And you’d say “I'm fine” in an unconvincing way.
Because “I’m fine” never really meant you were fine.
It was your way of avoiding telling me how you really felt
Because you didn’t want your problems to become mine.
So, I’d look at you,
With that side eye that let you know I wasn’t convinced,
But instead of telling me the truth
You held up your hand and said
“I pinky promise.”
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 5:09 PM UTC
If you live your life with your teeth gritted,
with your jaw clenched,
with your upper lip pinned back
to reveal your pearly white fangs,
don't be surprised
when your they start to loosen,
bleed,
and fall out of your head-
leaving you with an unconvincing smile
and an even less convincing
sneer.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
I want to be soft.
I am hard,
Rough,
Cold.
I am guarded,
Behind a solid brick wall,
Built by a need for independence.
"I only need me"
An unconvincing mantra.
Needs are not wants.
I want
To wake up on a Sunday,
And stay in warm arms until noon,
Wrapped tightly around my bare skin,
Because it's no longer rough.
I want to be soft.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 12:53 AM UTC