"understands" poems
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
174.7k
After getting so close to you and also getting to close to loosing you forever, I decided to redefine importance. While I was redefining importance, I got to understand how far friendship can stretch. After that, I came to a conclusion that friendship is a lot more greater than love.
Below I'm going to give some emphasis which I hope will make you understand.
LOVE
Greedy: You get so absorbed in the moments you share with this person, you never want anyone else to share them, cause you're afraid his or her attention would be taken away from you.
FRIENDSHIP
Sharing: You understand that one of the basic principle in life is sharing, so even if you have breath taking moments, you allow others experience it as well cause you're sure friendship is enough to go round.
LOVE
Has a limit: When people are in "In Love", if it's not meant to be, it eventually ends and this people turn from lovers to strangers. Then start referring to each other with past tense.
FRIENDSHIP
Knows no limit: When you are friends with a person, in all honesty there's no such thing as the end. Even if circumstances takes you far away, you see no point in becoming strangers. You just kick start where you left off, and in no time catching up is done. No heart breaks. No past tense.
LOVE
Heartbreak: Because we only want our partners to ourself, or cause we feel like we've attained a certain point in love, then we have the right to be in the know of every situation going on in the other persons mind. Hence the heart break when a mistake is made.
FRIENDSHIP
Forgiveness: Because we don't wanna lose what we have, and we understand that we are human who have strengths and weaknesses, when a friend offends, we forgive, we don't see it as the end of the road cause in friendship, we understand forgiveness is a basic principle.
LOVE
No boundaries: Love makes us think we are on soul, you are me, I am you, there should be nothing between us and these prompts us to be all up in each other's faces, never having alone times, never doing what we enjoy even if our partners don't like it.
Love doesn't give room for secret hide outs. There's always crossing the boundary.
FRIENDSHIP
Boundaries: Friendship understands that we have our individual differences. Friendship knows when you to give you time to sulk, cause you need to heal. Friendship knows how to allow you enjoy your stupid snack even if the other friend doesn't like it. Friendship doesn't make you feel bad for having an opinion, instead it makes fun of it and you all laugh. Friendship understands signs and friendship will always come back for you even if you have a big head.
LOVE
Jealous: Love gets jealous and causes heart break.
FRIENDSHIP
Doesn't give a **** Friendship enjoys the moment with you and no one sees the point to be jealous.
Friendship is not common, but love is everywhere. When you find a friend, keep him or her cause if it slips off your hands, you might never get it back.
Love can be amazing if you have the attributes of a good friend.
You hardly find a two in one package. If you do, **** You're lucky. If you don't, always remember
FRIENDSHIP CAN BE SHARED
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
"No one understands me."
it slipped out in
a timid whisper
as she combed her beard.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
How do you do that?
How can you make me smile with a simple act?
From this moment, I begin to think
But the way you make me feel is hard to explain
You’re one of the many aspects that changed my life
Coz’ you always make me happy
And I want you to know, after all
For the rest of it, that I’m very lucky
You make me laugh, you make me smile
You’re smart, you’re different that made my day to shine
For all the nights that I shed tear
I won’t worry anymore, for you- is finally here
That summer cold times, I’m contented just being by your side
All those feelings I just can’t hide
You’re special to me
And I hope you’re beginning to see
I can’t describe how much I care
But when you need me, I will ensure you that I’ll be there
To wipe your tears when you’re sad
To make you happy when you’re mad
I never imagined how sweet this could be
With emotion and desire that’s coming over me
Now I’m trouble…. but in sweet, sweet trouble
Because I could not happily escape this anymore
I love the times when we chat and text
And I don’t want to end those nights and wait for the next
The things you do and no one else will do
Results me on thinking of you
When there is something in my mind
Or weighs heavy in my heart
You always seem to know what
I want to say before I ever start
You have your own special way
Of making me feel valuable than I am
What I want to say is
You’re soft gentle smile, on me, truly understands
I am truthfully fortunate my dear friend
You have that personality to where I can learn
You are in my dreams whether I’m awake or asleep
While these emotions, for you, are going way too deep
A best friend, to me, I gladly submit
Giving my all, to you, I admit
This feeling I feel for you is something totally new
And I’m so glad, so so glad, that I met you.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
my mother has blue eyes
but I'm still a ******
my mother has blonde hair
but I'm still a ******
my daddy is black as night
but I'm still a *******
my daddy has ***** curls
but I'm still a *******
I call this hash tag the struggle
because to be biracial is nothing
more
because to be biracial is nothing
less
than a struggle
to find who I am
to find who I should be
to find who I'm supposed to be
i really wish they were the same person
i really wish you understood hash tag the struggle
but you don't
and you won't
so stop telling me about my
good hair
and stop telling about my high
yellow skin
and stop telling me my parents have the fever
and stop staring at me when I
walk in
and stop trying to guess which parent is black
and stop trying to guess which parent is spanish
No
I'm not Spanish.
No
I don't speak Spanish.
No
You CANNOT touch my hair
Yes, my nose is in the air
Of course I think I'm the ****
Because I live my life trying to be better than women who are dark skinned ...with something I was born with
...out of my control
Of course I try to flaunt my plush lips around the white girls who get botox
who then become the have nots because I've stolen all the brothas hearts from the city and the boondocks
See you don't even know me
but you think these are my goals
see I call this hash tag the struggle because nobody understands the trouble in being whole
when you're given two halves
that don't match to patch up one soul
and you're born into a ****** up mess still expected to know
and they tell you to ignore them all
be yourself
race should not define you
but I can't even fill out two ******* boxes on a standardized test
because you are only allowed to check ONE to describe you
hash tag
TheStruggle
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
There came a time in the history of Nigeria when she dreamed for independence,
There came a moment in the history of Nigeria when she groaned to gain freedom from the British;
There came a season in the history of Nigeria when she desired to obtain independence from her rulers.
The moment when she groaned for independence,
The season when she was ready to groam freedom;
The moment when she desired to be independent as a country.
The moment when she seeked her elites to stand up and fight for independence,
The season when she awaited the voice and appearance of her freedom fighters;
The moment whe she believed that independence was ready to answer the call of nature in her country.
The moment when she believed to find freedom and independence which as that missing part of her that made her a complete country,
The season when she trusted and believed in the treasure called independence;
The moment when she hoped and desired to be called an independent and sovereign nation in the history of the world.
The moment when she was expectantant of the mother called independence,
The season when nothing meant anything to her except for the father called freedom;
The moment when she still believe to be an independent country despite foreign exploitations,
with the understanding that she could still stand up on her feet as an independent country.
She believed that someone who understands her tears and passion for freedom and independence,
will arise and fight for her freedom knowing that he will never bear to see her travail in birth for independence.
The elites she knew not but believed was out some where fortiing and preparing themselves for independence and fight for freedom.
Independence she waited for like an expectand mother of a child,
Each step she took was believed to bring her closer to freedom and independence.
She believed in freedom and independence for her country and it's occupants, and not
colonisation and exploitation from the British colony.
She believed in fighting for freedom and independence than dying a coward,
She believed in her elites efforts to obtain her independence and sovereignty.
She expected her elites to stand up and rage for independence to freedom and sovereignty,
which they did when the opportunity and strategy came for them to uphold.
She believed that destiny will bring her independence and freedom,
when the hour of liberation from exploitation comes.
She believed that her pains and heart beat was felt and understood by her elites.
The name independence she was passionate about and the fame freedom she was desperate about.
The memories of colonisation she groaned to erase and the histories of exploitation she desired to filtrate.
The name independence she struggled to uphold and the gain freedom she strived to unfold.
Before her moment of independence,
she strived to make full proof of her countrie's ambitions,
she sort self asset and not self liability.
She seeked and desired independence and freedom from exploitaion which she got.
Her dignity and hour as a country was restored on that fateful day of October 1, 1960 whe she gained and famed her independence and freedom.
She believed in independence and freedom which she got.
The death of her elites and freedom fighters was never in vain.
This is Nigeria At 53 and she is still a sovereign and independent country.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
with
electric tail and
push-button
eyes
he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree
neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn
if I were all the man
that he is
cat--
if there were men
like this
the world could
begin
he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.
21.4k
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once
They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer
Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
In moments of my life
I lie, I do admit.
I try and guard my heart
with my rancor and my wit.
In moments of my life
I gave a piece of myself,
for nothing in turn.
There's always another woman
for whom a man's heart will yearn.
In moments of my life
I doubt I will have a one and all;
one who understands me
when I cut and when I crawl.
In moments of my life
I try and run from my fate.
Yet as I've found,
with growing dread,
I'm already too late.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
I can’t listen.
My mind is a prison.
Tears fall down my cheek.
My confidence weak.
No appetite to eat.
Thoughts race and prevent me from sleep.
Bags under my eyes.
Whats that in the sky?
They tell me its just a phase.
ADD isn’t real.
Why is this such a big deal?
Little do they know it ruins my days.
Can’t focus in class.
Teachers think its a load of crap.
No one understands that this isn’t okay.
I try so hard.
I studied all night!
But I always seem to fail.
Look at my medication.
Look up the facts.
When will they realize ADHD is real.
Reality and daydreams.
Which one is real?
Which is more important;
The lesson in class, or the color of my nails?
My confidence; frail
My complexion; pale
My mind?
A jail.
But I put on a smile.
Make life seem worthwhile.
Because once in a while I can finish a task.
But pretending i’m fine.
Missing homework deadlines.
It’s like i’m hiding myself with a mask.
Don’t get me wrong.
Some people have it worse.
At least I have a roof over my head.
Although i’ve cried.
I’ve never considered suicide.
But others wish to be dead.
So treat me with respect.
Break the stigma.
And educate yourself.
ADHD is real.
It’s an unfair deal.
So you can choose to understand mental health.
I don’t have enough focus to listen.
And thats what your missing.
This is not a choice, this is something I dread.
So next time you judge me.
Next time you label me.
Remember, some with ADHD wish to be dead.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it
it never says "love me" for poets are
beyond love
it never says "accept me" for poems seek not
acceptance but controversy
it only says "i am" and therefore
i concede that you are too
a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not delight discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious
which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Fighting to stay afloat
Fighting to get a grip
Fighting to stop and catch a breath
Fighting to be me
Fighting to stay alive
Fighting to love
And
Fighting for love
I am fighting for everything in my entire existence and it can't be helped
Because no one sees me
No one understands me
I'm just fighting to be me
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
It controls her
She can't stop it
It's a constant battle
She can't drop it
It has become a habit
She can't quit
It's taking over her body
Bit by bit
The scars fade
But the memories don't
She wants them to leave
But they refuse.. They won't
It's an on going battle.
It's a fight she never wins
It's a constant struggle
It's a war that never ends
It's her sweet escape
It gets her lost in her own place
She gets to control the pain
As her adrenaline starts to race
She grabs it off the dresser
As a tear falls from her cheek
She presses even harder
Reminding herself not to shriek
No one understands
No one ever will
This habit now controls her
As the world around her stands still
But now the room is spinning
Her head is getting light
She falls back in her bed
Refusing to put up a fight
She takes one last breath as she turns out the lights
Then she closes her eyes as she calls it a night
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
people usually ask me
if I’m headed home
i always answer them yes
but i keep thinking no
cause my home is not here
it’s 5000 miles away
and no one understands
that i don’t feel at home here
i’m homesick
(s.m)
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
I have a nephew who's full of life
Makes me happy in this **** life .
He is the rising sun
Breaking light on every one
Helping me smile
Helping me be free
Colors just burst for he
He can not talk
He is special needs
But in his silence
I no his needs
He also smart
He understands me
He make me laugh
He so full of glee
So happy
So insightful
So misunderstood
He walks in a room
A bomb of energy
Oh dear sweet boy
I do love thee
Thankyou for trusting me
Thankyou for showing me
How to be free
You are the fastest river I ever see run
The strongest boy
So full of joy
Heart so pure
Colours dance around you when you sleep
He is the kindest wee boy you will ever meet x
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.
Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.
In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.
Who sees
clearer through rain.
Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.
Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.
Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.
Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Tears fill my eyes
images flying through my head
my childhood memories of places
I'm not home.
No one understands
I don't belong here
I don't want to be here
but I don't have a choise
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
She said she would be willing to get a matching tattoo
with me. A flower permanently imprinted on our skin.
She likes orchids, I like lilies. And even after moving
away she understands my addictions; growing old,
the rain, Team Gibbs, bats, my love for pistachios
and maybe even my need to come back home.
As much as I love Ohio, it’s nice to go home
every once and awhile. Saving up for my tattoo
is not easy when I keep spending my money on M&M;’s and pistachios,
especially when my mother isn’t there to pinch my skin
and tell me to put my wallet away. She’s not old—
but I certainly feel like I am when she says she’s moving
away from me. I toss and turn and move
in my sleep thinking about how home
will never be the same without her. The cats are getting old;
their time is coming. Maybe we should get a tattoo
of them instead of flowers—light and dark brown skin
warm and cuddled together, munching on pistachios.
I remember when I first became addicted to pistachios.
It was a church Christmas party and the wine was moving
closer to my hands. Mom said I could, as I felt the buzz of my skin
react to my fourth glass. She shook her head and drove me home
laughing at my sneaky attempts to act sober. A tattoo
was out of the question; what would I think when I got old?
Our relationship now has changed, intimate friends never too old
to dance or talk about our *** lives, throwing pistachios
at each other or plan out our future tattoos.
I am going to miss her, and she me, as she moves
on with her dreams, starting over, building a new home
In a place we’ve never known, but always in the same skin
that I have loved my whole life. A soft, toasted skin
that has been passed down to me for my days of old.
Born, nurtured, taught and loved in my mother’s home;
home-cooked meals that surpass the freshest of pistachios
so I would one day learn how to cook. No matter where she moves,
my mother will remain deep in my heart, my skin—like a tattoo.
She gave me my skin and approved of my tattoo,
provided me with a home complete with pistachios
and an old promise: her heart is unmoving.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
i've run out of poetry,
and now all i'm left with
is gray.
gray surroundings,
gray people.
i'm lost in a world
that's lost in itself.
i can't find the words
to even say what i'm feeling,
because all i see is confusion
staring right back at me.
i'm in a room full of mirrors,
my own reflection
not appearing
because i've lost myself
in the depths of my thoughts.
someone,
please find me,
someone, anyone,
i'm gasping for air
that's not even there.
no one understands,
yet you're all here to listen.
there's only one problem.
i can't find the words-
i've run out of poetry.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
You wake up each morning feeling like you don't fit in
you believe no one really understands you
half of you is missing from the world
people find you weird and strange
you find them boring.
You're not alone
You don't have many friends
you never go to parties
a psychiatrist would probably lock you away
you feel lonely surrounded by billions
you feel you will die with no one in your life
You're not alone
It doesn't matter what others think
it doesn't matter if no one gets you
because my friend
you're not alone
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
born with a halo shattered
human afterbirth in dirt
withered wings, feathers tattered
protrusions of pain and hurt
only an angel can be born
held by the devil's hands
flesh becomes hard, when its torn
only an angel understands
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Depression is were you want to be alone,
But at the same time you dont want to be lonely.
Depression is where everything is going right,
But you're still sad.
Depression is wanting to go out,
But at the same time not wanting to socialize.
Depression is feeling trapped,
Trapped in your own mind
and no one understands.
Depression is having scars on your thighs and arms,
Scars from the battle you fought.
Depression is having sleepless nights,
Depression is shouting for help,
But no one hears you.
Depression is fighting demons deep
inside you.
Depression is not something to laugh at,
So grow up if you think depression is just an act,
Depression is something serious.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC