"undamaged" poems
You wanted only rain today
And clouds from far anon.
I watched their fingers smudge the sky
And cast away the sun
I brought upon the downpour
And trembled as it fell.
Chilling every molecule
And drenching every cell.
I could not wish this rain to cease;
It was necessity
To end the all-consuming flame
That blazed through you and me
Still I felt the damage
Of burns beneath the skin
The outside seemed undamaged
Though truth lie deep within.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
~
*Mermaid in a manhole
suffering hibernation sickness
she drinks in every sob like wine
her oceanic call reverberates
whilst speaking dead languages
into the receiver
but slipping off melancholy
and blown a wish
by hide-and-seek lips
she chooses an unfamiliar light
****** with scissors
throbs of undamaged energy
from her vernal equinox
but in love with a bad idea
and beyond the minimum safe distance
she no longer plays at fragile volumes
and careful times
hands playing butterfly
pinch nippled skin
she chooses an unfamiliar light*
~
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 10:58 AM UTC
I like to play RPGs
It's a world that is unlike my own
and I'm a character I've named myself.
Sometimes I save my progress
on a file- safe and undisturbed-
and then I wreak havoc,
make friends I wouldn't make,
experiment for potential easter eggs.
It feels good to know I can just go back
to where I started
unfazed, undamaged, unharmed.
And if I ever do something substantial
in my free-for-all joyride of side quest,
I can always save it to another file.
There are so many memory cards in my drawer.
I find myself living life this way-
but with empty drawers
and only one disturbed file.
of only one fazed, damaged, harmed, character,
that my brother named when I was a baby,
in a world that I don't like too much.
And everyone tells me it's a game-
that we all put our hours in.
I just see the option
of a never-ending boss battle with loneliness,
or a never-ending side quest with friends,
and too much damage done,
so where better to let my thumbs rest?
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
The pattern on the underside confused
By snarl and tangle, jumbled, twisting knot.
Its warp and woof constructed without thought
It seems: the flawless linen now infused
With spots of wreckage--perfect weave abused.
“A waste of thread,” I cry, upset, distraught,
And try to pluck the mess now sewn in taut,
Then see the Eye that watches me, amused--
Whose Hand now turns the underside to light.
Amazed, I view a matchless, pristine shawl,
Embroidered dosser, interlaced with shine
That stirs me as I contemplate the sight
Of faultless weft, undamaged after all.
Eternity alone discerns design.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
That smile will be with me forever
on the day it all went wrong
the two of us trying to be clever
our journey was too long
deciding to take a different trail
thus must recount the tale!
That smile will be with me forever!
Desperate to try and save our marriage
after both drifting apart
had we passed that irreversible stage
our love was there a start
yet the tension high I drove to fast
and our destinations cast!
That smile will be with me forever!
Into a tree we rammed I was powerless
to avoid the collision
the anger had created this foolishness
shaping the final decision
my side undamaged just shaken
realising I was mistaken!
That smile will be with me forever!
Why had I been such a stubborn man
had shock awoken me
you the only one in my earthly plan
at first what I did not see
there hurt with that angelic smile
how bad I was in denial!
That smile will be with me forever!
Somehow got a signal to call assistance
talking more than before
why now could we seem to be consistent
doing my best to reassure
that any problems we would transform
our love overcame any storm!
That smile will be with me forever!
As the rescue team arrived we tenderly kissed
such a magical moment
how such tenderness for so long I had missed
she had been sent to me
that smile I shall never forget or guilt fade
too late true feelings displayed!
She died from her injuries soon after!
that smile will remain with me forever!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Barren home
Something is missing?
Again
Had she forgotten something?
Keys?
Phone?
An appointment?
Had she turned off the cooker?
The oven?
Check
Check
Check
Can’t shake off the feeling
Her barren stomach
Un-filled with joy
Always monthly bleeding
Grabbing
Punching
Mocking her womb
Useless body
Empty tomb
Desperation choking her
Never to love her own
No bond with a pure and undamaged soul
Her womb an infertile home
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 1:37 AM UTC
On August 31, 2012
at 1:44 PM
Tom bought
Value Meal
VM
Whopper
No Onion
Small Fries
Small Soda
Coke
For $6.27
From Jorge
and then went to the North Village Branch of the Austin Public Library
to check out
Superman: The High-Flying History of America's Most Enduring Hero
Returning it undamaged, unmarked
So I could check it out
At 15:31
On September 7, 2012
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
Your mind- it's too young.
Knows not the truth of the world.
I suppose its the reason why I adore you.
Your innocence, your purity,
Your heart, your soul, all intact.
All the things I've lost and watched shatter before my eyes.
You admire my physicality
Not my soul
For you do not appreciate the existence of one that is pure, and undamaged.
The kind that you have.
One day you will.
And you will understand,
Why we couldn't be together.
And if that day arrives
I will be here
Still adoring your everything just the same.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
O Kypris and Nereids, undamaged I pray you
grant my brother to arrive here.
And all that in his heart he wants to be,
make it be.
And all the wrongs he did before, loose it.
Make him a joy to his friends,
a pain to his enemies and let there exist for us
not one single further sorrow.
May he willingly give his sister
her portion of honor, but sad pain
[ always an astounding action ]grieving for the past
[ breakneck, breath-taking ]
[ calling, crying. Can't. A ] millet seed
[ Disheartening downpour drenches. ] Once again no
[ Enclosed eyes evident, ears extended ]
[ Fatally flawed ]
[ Groaning ground grows grey ]but you Kypris
[ Hell-bent, heavy, hopelessly hurricaning ] setting aside evil [Insubordinately incoherent]
[ Just jolly ]
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Texas dairy farm killers crushed the skulls of my holy vessels in 2011.
Their animals spirits descended to heaven.
They bludgeoned their heads as many times as 7.
My defenseless, sweet, trusting, innocent babies.
Their fate of their existence shouldn't be a maybe.
Wilbur & Bo Bo .
Should not be Bacon at breakfast with hot cocoa.
To eat what is dead is sickness unsaid.
Cattle **** the serial killers "downstairs".
Televise the video to be seen everywhere.
So caravores will start to care.
They heartlessly murdered my cows.
My cows. Mine now & forever in this time.
A life for a life.
A precious calf's life devalued, abused, disrespected, & used.
Meat has no price tag.
Like a two faced old hunchback sea hag.
A priceless life without tombstones or mourning.
This corrupt caravore world is disturbing & my empathy for the animals is pouring.
Change this mother earth in the next morning.
Father sky watches their animal spirits soaring.
****** is their hobby.
They butcher & dismember a creatures body.
Every animal belongs to me.
They have a spiritual essence I can see.
All species created are mine.
Their ****** is not okay or fine.
The killers need to do time.
I guess justice is something we have to find.
Baby cow is delicate & needs respect & love.
Baby piglet where is mommy spirits above?
Baby Lamb I love you your a baby angel.
The sinners morals are distorted & tangled.
Their bodies should be undamaged & not mangled.
Not on a death pile of other livestock.
Their revenge should be on the farmer's ****
Protect the living of these farms.
To the livestock bring no harm.
Sadistic butchers disarm.
Stop the slaughter alarm.
These creatures are precious their souls innocent.
The lives priceless & mint.
Meat industries & factory farms get a hint.
Clueless evil attacks as their back is turned.
A blow to their fragile baby head is how hamburgers are made i learned.
The dairy farmers killed my cows.
Unspeakable evil without a why or how.
The slaughter across the lands spread like a flood.
More death in the mud.
They lay on the ground in a pool of blood.
Their life drains from their lifeless bodies.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Came home from a trek into town.
To buy so odds and sods.
Guess what smacked me in the eyes.
Memories generated by sweet pewter rocking horse.
I walked into the sitting room.
Found laid upon the deck.
Undamaged fortunately.
My little pewter rocking horse.
Initiated memories of us two in the pub.
Where we first met that rocking horse.
Not mine.
The one that lived on the shelf by the books.
Remember that day so clearly.
You were very funny.
You still are in your own sweet way.
You were drunkish and I was your dear lady.
Still am.
Everyone who approached us.
You greeted with one question are you a poet?
You told the world that proud you are to be one.
Me. Poetess also with poise and prowess.
I'm proud of you.
I will always remember that day.
Come what ever.
As poets and lovers we remain.
Livvi Kent Sept 2013
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
the limits of language futility of language languagelessness of language how to speak write express within the confines of language inadequacies of language how to describe thoughts feelings ideas with 26 letters however many words to conform to standards of language imprisoned by rules of grammar punctuation how to reveal what happens inside your stomach psyche breath bones blood muscles nerves glands equilibrium first time you feel totally free dance joyfully yell first time you feel in love sprout hopes imagine winter spring dreams first time you learn betrayal the selfish isolation in everyone first time you realize the corruption unkindness cold-blooded wickedness of people the pain suffering within us all what anguished syllables utterances can describe the sadness hurt frustration deep inside language how do you convey crippling emptiness of loss the challenge of language to create more profound articulation vocabulary undamaged by media untainted by commercialism to communicate without derivative talk simple sounds maybe be understood appreciated my long journey so shell-shocked i can't process a million diamonds languagelessness of language way back to you
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
When in Charleston you
eat fried pickles
drink cheap and
pass out a
few feet from where you
gave your heart
to an island girl
a girl who wrinkled her nose as
a sign and said she once saw
children
painting the grass red like
my eyes before she
****** the fireball from
my lips and spat it out like tobacco
you look undamaged she said
before she turned my forearm
and licked the scars
as I wondered how chest bones open
and how to give what is already
torn like
communist pamphlets
but she scratched my cheek
leaned her head on my words
I can twist my legs around a branch
and walk on my hands she said
what makes you think I won't walk miles to twist them around you?
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
The road looks bumpy from down here
I'm sorry that sleepwalking me loves jackhammers
And wondering what else she can mess up
Without a concept to time to tell her when to stop
I'm sorry about my gasoline decisions and my flaming attitude
I burn everything I touch
Nothing near me goes undamaged
Nothing near me stays
I can no longer tell if I'm setting these fires while I'm awake or not
Though I doubt it even makes a difference
Somethings crept it's way under my skin
I haven't been myself for weeks
Every word seems to roll off your tongue in just the wrong way
I'm not saying it your fault
I swear i see a slyness in your eyes
I'm not saying its your fault
My pens have run dry and so I have I
I have said all I can say
I must now be on my way
I wish nothing but the best of you
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
Why the belated savagery?
Why pierce my flesh, perchance to bleed?
On precipice high
my principles already leak down my shirt
and drip from golden-bangled wrists
to paint the ledge in leaky watercolors of loss.
Numbness, is that all we want?
we freeze our brows, and beating hearts
so none may dare to show inflection,
Or galloping strides of untamed lust
much less the small, sweet, flickering Love
that sits, whitefeathered, in that gilded cage
Oh, sweet she hums, her plumage falling
as hopes of freedom slip away.
Oh, cruel is passing time
Oh, fate;
how idle you creep by, and then
I wake in fervour, nightmare-hot
His gaze has passed me by at last
I should have silenced all my cracks
and filled in flaws with repartee
and been undamaged Demeter
rich flowing harvest, aglow with life
oh, shame to wither to that dark of day.
.....We wish for deliverance, grant it Us;
for what good are we, as faded cloth?
None wish to sew the fantasy tapestry
on patches, holes and crinkled past
You must not show these embarrassments
and so the poison is paid for gladly
and so you never know our fear
and so; the eyes will linger longer
and so we hold our Place, still here.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Something's broken and I can't quite put my finger on it
It was running fine for such a long time
I didn't drop it, I swear!
A flywheel must have jammed somewhere
One of the cogs out of place
The gears that meshed now just grind
And the **** thing won't wind
Or rewind
I didn't drop it I swear...
But the Watchmaker knows what He's doing
Something's broken and I can't put my fingers to it
But His hands know their work
We were made for more than to tick the hours of the day
Something's cracked and I can't hold the piece in place
Every time I try another one falls off in its stead
All packed in the same cardboard box
Heading off to the same place
It's dark and we *****
We feel around long enough to see not a single one undamaged
We all know where we're headed
And the pieces held perfect by Hands we cannot see give us hope.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
I believe that thoughts at 3 am are the most pure of thoughts. What may run through one’s mind at that point is what they truly care about, their deepest fears, their most secret desires. The things that define them as a person.
When It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I can’t tell which one anymore, I think about life. What is the reason I am alive? Why was I put on this earth? Why am I not some kick *** alien from a faraway planet?
I think about every mistake I have made, the stupid things I have done and said.
I think about what I will do when I inevitably have to remove my bracelets and the long sleeve shirts. Or what will happen if my family finds out that I am getting bad again. What might happen when they notice that most of my meals are replaced by water, and how I spend more time alone than before.
I think about how I wish I was different, how much I wish I was free from my own mind.
I think about how much I miss my friends, both new and old.
I think about my sister, and how she is beautiful, and how she is so much like me, but there is more hope for her.
I think about how much I want to tell you that I care about you. How much I wish I could save you, how much I want to tell you that it will be okay, but I can’t because I’m not even sure about that myself.
I remember what it is like to be a child. So innocent, undamaged, unaware that the nervous feeling that was always lurking inside me would never leave, in fact it would only get worse.
I think about how much I overthink, which is kind of counter intuitive...
I think about how I want to be like my friends, who can live so normally. While I can’t make phone calls, or talk to people without having a panic attack.
I think about how much I want to tell my family I love them, that I need them, but I can’t because caring is weakness. Because I don’t want to accept the fact that without them I am nothing but bad jokes and endless issues.
I think about what would happen if the ceiling were to collapse, killing me instantly and I wonder if anyone would care, or even remember me once I am gone.
I think about how long it has been since I have had more than a few hours of sleep.
It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I am thinking again. Which is decidedly one of the most dangerous things I can do.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
The truth is much harsher when it is out of the blue
but then it isn't really out of the blue, is it?
Lingering, hovering, nagging, gnawing
at the back of my mind,
fingers just of it's reach.
Each time it would come close to the surface
I would glimpse at its purpose,
only to get nervous and kick it back away.
So I may stay oblivious to it just a little longer.
I knew this to be the lull before the storm
And now the horrid truth has pull the storm in to my orbit
Full of lightening, but what is its target?
Great flashes of light burns through the night
leaving heaps of ashes among the trash.
I remain unhurt, undamaged, unburned.
Others haven't faired so well.
Feared the flash and rightly so
Their pain stains the ground in the form of ashes.
Ashes and dust stains everywhere, even in the heaviest of rain
A reminder. Of what's to come. What's to be returned.
And I -
I watch it all.
The Writting on the Wall on the ground.
I might be unburned but such a sight
unhinges me something terrible
Prys me open just enough to cry.
Pouring tears lost in the roaring rain.
But crying all the same.
Because I don't know why it's you.
I don't know why you have to die.
Dodging lightening all your life until now a streak is lodged in you.
Breaks and splinters inside tightening its hold.
Even though you are burning up, I have never seen you look so cold.
I wish it was one of your famous poker faces
Tricking us you are going to fold
but at the last minute revealing a hiden ace.
If ever there was a time to play your ace, it is today.
Don't let this be our last game
But you have no control over it do you?
Have to deal with the cards that has been delt.
I must admit, these cards are ****
No aces to play but that won't stop you
You'll play till the end with the same grace you've always had.
So for now lets keep playing.
We still have time, we've always had time
You are not ashes, yet.
And when that last flash does occur
Then I will say goodbye
And in the morning cry all the more
Mourning you and everything you were.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
I've been in some pretty big fights with the people I love the most in my life, yet time after time we find ourselves unscathed, undamaged, and unflustered. Patching the pain I fortuitously cause others isn't some errand I bitterly await, it seems like more of a human duty.
I never have a hard time fixing things that are broken in my life. A glass shattered on the floor this morning, & now it sits stitched flawlessly on the shelf.
It just feels right to leave something the way I found it, or at least try my damnest to get it near perfect. It really is the try that matters.
And I just don't understand how it can be... so easy for me to say I'm sorry, while it's somehow so easy for you to unapologetically lacerate every inch of my sympathetic soul.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
in dreams, her heels dig into the soft overlap
between ocean and beach, an underbelly
she ebbs and flows to phantom melodies
of spectral murmurs, un-broken.
she is adrift, with the liberation of seabirds
amidst salty, swirling sea breezes
all gradients of blues poured over ice,
and the cocktail of fluttering wings, beating, pumping
like an undamaged heart.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
Omnipotent, audacious in power. A craving I hold, though intangible to my fingers. Able to bellow with ions of energetic magnificence and allow power and eternity to pass through. So strong. I am not.
Immortal, suffering throughout, inner galactic warfare wages on beneath my crackling skin and steams out my pores. Cursed to bleed eternally, withering into a shape made of dust that would but blow away if not that it were nailed to the ground. Undying, undamaged, eternally ****** to live. I am.
Omniscient, vastly knowing, swimming in the sea of a mind, aware of such actions that could overthrow a universe, but would falter in awareness that it need not act pointlessly. So full of self control. I am not.
Alone, wanting, hoping, reaching out to a father and a creator of whom I wish I could love. Clawing with infected stubs at a ghost. I pass through untouched by the divine and am left hallow. My emptiness providing my only company. Cast out amongst the endless decay of happiness, dark pain fills my hovel. I am.
Omnipresent, existing amongst all things. Spatially filling the gaps of the universe, existing thoroughly and throughout. Seeing and hearing and understanding. Procreating happiness in the minds of the hopeful. Bringing purity into the world with eternal hands, and spreading it throughout the cosmos. So present. I am not.
Banished, outcast to lead a sorrowful existence. Cursed by meaningless actions that could not prevail and see the light of anything. Walking an untraveled path that I alone must aimlessly stumble across. Blistering feet bleed and crack beneath a decimated body. Everlastingly succumbed to Hell. I am.
A God. A powerful being that could not but shine His holiness on the universe. An entity that could make the multiverse bow before his divinity. Who could spread his arms and cast a deafening roar of purity. His spirit, floating through the minds of his children. A deity, blessed with the power of creation and given the job of fulfilling such desires. I am not.
I am an outcast. An unwanted empathizer of evil. Master of the demons that crawl beneath your withering and faltering mind, finding sustenance in the sin of a world full of hatred and wrong. Bringing whole worlds to their knees and casting away any angel who dare spread his wings before me. Willing to rip off the feathers and burn them so that I may cook the pain and swallow it. Allowing the pain to seed itself into my system and metabolize into something I call a soul. I am no god.
I am not God.
I am the Devil.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
you apologized with art
you, filling the room of your mouth with earth
carefully. you brush the dirt into the center of each
flawed little room, humming. there’s a light in
the front yard across the street where i cast
my long-over moody shadow
about the couch, backwards:
where she and i slept in our soft vapor
and when it was across the room
where you placed me as if i were a piece on a table
like “all part of the game” that i forgot to think of
as you slept beside me, sorry or not sorry
i say you’ve grown taller
as if sowing eight drops of blood
had stirred something within your spine,
undamaged and still young
cracking in your sleep
my jaw told her i dream of some long lost bird
and she understood,
there in the humming clarity of that first-floor room
where we’d never been
as if this could all be about me
and the condition of light on that first morning:
the music which i did not hear
the room that i never saw
(but wept at all the same)
the things you hide from me, even now
each photograph is too big for truth
and how surprised i find myself at being finished.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
You know what it feels like to be sad. But there’s a certain type of sad that not everyone has felt. And if you have, you’re not exactly the minority, but I feel for you. You feel terrible, you feel like you just found the edge of the world and you’re so very disappointed because you grew up being so sure that there’s so much to see in the world, but you found the end of it all. Mentally, it feels like someone decided to pound the inside of your skull with a maillot. Physically, it feels like you just got hit by a bus, but nobody cares so you’re just laying limp and pathetic in middle of the road not knowing what to do because you just got hit by a bus. Unable to respond to your nerves, you lay there, hoping for a sign of life. A sign that you’re still here and you’re bloods still pumping through your veins and your nerves are still working properly. I find myself in this specific type of sad quite often.. It eats away at your brain until you feel too stupid to care about anything. It tears away at your soul until you’re just a sad outer shell of a human with a dark, lightless pit inside you where your soul should be, but is no longer.
So you’re laying in the road, unfeeling and unnoticed by society, you decide you don’t seem like you exist right now, so maybe you don’t. You’re trapped in the never-ending, always-frustrating maze of sadness. You need to get out, you need to find your way back into your life, back into everyone’s life and try harder to make an impact. So next time when a bus does hit you, they’ll notice. So you cut open the maze. And it feels so good to do it too, it feels like the weight of the world is flowing through that cut. Out of you and back into the world for someone else to bare. You cant explain it, and you know you’d sound crazy if you tried, but it feels so good to do something so outrageously stupid and unacceptable. But you think oh its okay because now they’ll notice! Now they’ll care and I wont have to cheat my way through a maze ever again! Hooray, right?
No. Because you were wrong. You need to find help.
You’re addicted to hurting yourself and you’ll just go on cheating your way through life instead of going on a fabulous journey and having the sweet reward of finding the end of the maze. So take my advice. No matter how hard it seems, every maze has an ending. You cant stay lost forever, and you should be able to make it to the end undamaged and strong knowing you didn’t have to cheat give in to pain.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
Goodbye hung on my lips like frost
Bitten and heavy with numb intent
I've never felt such affection towards the disease of sadness
But it must be done
We have drifted, unable to moor ourselves once more
Wishing it could have been different
Is like having bees with no flowers
Useless
I know I come off cold
My eyes flat and devoid of emotion
This is the way it must be
Your tears flooded my better judgement
A lone sparkle sneaking beneath my eyelids to slide down my tired cheek
This is about as clean as I could make it
You may not know how vulnerable I feel
Raw. Rebirthed.
As I turned to walk away I realized
You must not have seen the stitches on my chest
That are holding together the lonely cavity that once held
My heart
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC