"undeveloped" poems
I kissed you because it felt so right
I kissed you because I knew it was wrong
I kissed you because I felt a connection that we both said we lost with our current partners
I kissed you because I knew from the moment I saw you accross the room that you would mean something to me and by something I mean everything
I kissed you because she can't
I kissed you because my undeveloped brain acts too much on emotion and impulsity and not enough on logic
I kissed you because the way the moonlight reflected your face was so beautiful
I kissed you because I couldn't pay attention to what you were saying because I was too focused on your lips and not the words coming out of them
I kissed you because it was the perfect response
I kissed you because the look in your eyes was something I couldn't explain with any words
I kissed you because I can't possibly explain to you how I feel when those sweet eyes meet mine
I kissed you because when I heard that song at work with the lyrics that I no longer remember I knew you were perfect
I kissed you because you have what she doesn't
I kissed you because you deserve to be kissed, actually you deserve much more than a kiss from me
You deserve a Grammy worthy kiss from a scene in a cheesy movie
I kissed you because I hadn't felt those caterpillars in my stomach burst into beautiful butterflies in so long
I kissed you because there wasn't anything else in the world that I wanted more in that very moment
I kissed you because it felt so right
But now it feels so wrong
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Hungry for love, I was so hungry for love.
I am festering from my own greed, ravenous love.
Poor guy, he was a victim to this love hungry savage.
I attacked him with my love, pushed him so far away.
I’m not meant to be loved, no not meant for anybody.
He loved me, he actually loved me.
Yet I did not know how to love him back.
I wish he understood, and I wish I could have told him.
I’m not meant to be loved, NO ,should not be loved by him.
Stupid girl, so very stupid girl, and girl you are very much stupid.
Stepped all over his heart, unworthy of his love, so ungrateful.
My past hurt leaked into my present, unwanted, not wanted.
I felt like he was going to hurt me, hurt me, hurt me, I’m hurt.
I’m not meant to be loved, no not meant to be loved by any.
I am loves enemy, oh how love hates my bitter soul, my cold heart.
Let me in, I wont let love in, it knocks its knocking, I slam I slam.
Love wants to **** me, but I’m already dead, and now love buries me.
Here I lay; I’ve lost a heart, that beating muscle which enables me to breathe.
I gave him my heart, yet it lacked love, he didn’t feel, he didn’t know it beats.
I’m not meant to be loved, no no no not meant to be loved at all.
I love him, oh God how I love him, like you love us God.
But how do I love him, how do I show, how can I show?
I had, I have a Purple undeveloped, bloodless, loveless heart.
He pumped his blood into me; he drowned me in his love.
I tried to pump back, only a leak, over the years it drained out.
So what’s left for him, what did he get, a heart that’s dehydrated.
I’m not meant to be loved; no not meant because of me.
Here I am, sick with agony, dripping in pain.
Too late, its too late, how he hates me, me he hates, he hates.
How he tried, hard he tried, tried to fix a broken glass and got cut.
He’s bleeding now, I want to stop his pain, but the more I touch the more he bleeds.
I didn’t mean to God, I pray take his pain away, let him forget me.
Take the love he has for me out of his heart, let him drop mine, just leave it on the floor.
Let the herd demolish it completely this time so I cannot feel anymore hurt.
I never should have allowed him to grow near, but I loved him more than me.
I thought I was showing my love, I really tried, oh how I tried.
I’m not meant to be loved; I never was, never meant to be loved.
Never meant to be loved by anybody, never meant to be loved by him.
I'm not meant to be loved by you!
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
My mental capacity is reaching its max
Ideas don't develop to their full potential like they used to, leaving them in a minor state
They can't be touched by man without it considered to be molestation
My words are virgins, seeking to be sought
But this isn't the place to be a wanted thought
The world doesn't want truth, and they're nothing but innocent
Truth is inevitable but unfortunately, it's not prevalent
We prefer the ugly in the lies, and treat it like a *****
Show it the love that is only deserved to be seen by a woman that you've taken the hands of in the face of the All Mighty.
You **** it. **** it. Lick it dry.
Oh the amount of love you're willing to show, to something like a lie
"But it's right there"
That's your only excuse
Because you're way too lazy to seek the beauty of the naked truth
We're removing the sweetness from the sugar
And the melodies from the songs
All to try to belong in a world that has no problem with moving right on along
Without us
This isn't how it's supposed to be
We're supposed to feel the softness on the rugged trunks of the trees
We're supposed to sing with the wind and hum with the bees
We're supposed to write on the skies using the ink provided by our seas
But we're not.
This is how the story goes
This is how the end unfolds
With that incomplete feeling
That undeveloped thought
Cause my words are nothing but virgins…seeking to be sought.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
How can you forgive something
that has never been apologized for?
It's an undeveloped photograph
It's an unfinished sentence
It's a working draft
How can you forget something
that has never been remembered?
It's an unopened package
It's a safe without a key
It's a lost baggage
It keeps you searching
It keeps you longing
It keeps you deciphering
The question
The answer
The password
It keeps you hanging
It keeps you wondering
It keeps you waiting for
The closure
The end
The full stop
You need a period not a comma
You need an end not a pause
You need closure
You need conclusion
Because you need
A new sentence
A new stanza
A new chapter
A beginning from an ending
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
Rock n’ roll music, Folger’s, and paint-smeared hands.
Dresser drawers filled to the brim with undeveloped camera film.
Blue bonnets and overgrown grass, pecans and crunching fall leaves.
Dirt roads and river-rocks, typewriters, polaroid cameras, and feather-quill pens.
Those hand-me-down blue eyes and brown ones that are “sometimes hazel.”
Crystal clusters and Lord of the Rings.
Countless mosquito bites and play-pretend games in the clubhouse.
Early-birds and night-owls.
Trudy; and Randy Hayes.
“Don’t touch everything you see,” and “If you say you’re bored, I’ll find work for you to do.”
Sweet tea and okra and southern dishes blackened and drenched in cheese or gravy.
Grandma always burned everything to make sure it was fully cooked, and to her, it was never burned, just “well-done.”
Cigarettes and carpentry and cookbooks. Wild blackberries and birthday parties at the lake.
Sleeping in all day and staying up all night and procrastination.
Shepherd's Pie, potatoes, and four-leaf clovers.
“Nil Desperandum. Never Despairing.”
I’m from a whole house that eats eggs for breakfast, and I’m allergic to eggs.
And trees as tall as buildings and buildings as tall as trees.
“You should never take the lord’s name in vain,” and “Jesus loves you, so you should love others.”
Day-dreams and stargazing and thunderstorms.
“All or nothing,” and “There is no try, only do.”
Old family pictures in dust-glittered frames.
We are crystals. We have facets, each one makes us who we are.
With only one window of our lives to express, we’d merely be glass.
I am a part of each of these things just as much as they are each a part of me.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 12:36 AM UTC
We rave, and hailed, all hail the King
A lord who’s lowed, n’ yet, supreme
The savior of wars and of many greed
To govern and yield the land of the free
For tis clear he knows how we became
A root, and a leaf; let’s all hail the king!
This is Liberia!
A chest to aggress with hunger n’ thirst
That fruitfully enjoy climbing the rates
And faintly encourage pointing the worst
To soak n’ appraise the young's of the freed
Whose lost in the land of which they came
A branch, and a leaf; a transparent cry!
This is Liberia!
We rave, and hailed, we want the king
A man who’s loved, n’ yet, disesteem
The sculptor of deeds, and of many glee
To seize n’ dictate the land of undeveloped
For tis loud his assets are well developed
A leaf, and a root; let’s all boo the king!
This is Liberia!
A quest to possess the likeness of Christ
That truthfully enjoy the gees of versed
And skillfully encourage the act of digress
To juiced and yield off the land of the free
Fo tis clear he don’t know how we became
A leaf, and a branch; a transcendent lie!
This is Liberia!
Inspired by: Falz song- “This is Nigeria”
Childish Gambino Song- “This is America”
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthen me”
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC
A muse is not a fairy godmother
Or a genie in a lamp
A muse is a disagreeable *****
Who shows up whenever she pleases
And offers mostly excuses
For ideas left undeveloped.
Sometimes she offers up nothing but recycled cliches
freshly polished and smelling of chocolate chip cookies.
Don’t come around when the muse and I are wrestling –
It is definitely not a pretty sight.
But when we’re done -
Both of us lying exhausted on the floor -
That’s when she’ll say something really meaningful-
Or at least it always seems meaningful
At the time.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 12:22 PM UTC
We find ourselves always stuck in the between- the middle of a breakdown, the middle of a fight, the middle of a decision.
In the grey's instead of the blacks and whites of life.
In the undeveloped part of the film; the damaged part of the film.
Have you ever sat in the middle of your living room with a bottle of wine and the windows slightly open in the middle of winter thinking about life?
I have.
Have you ever sat in the middle of the street in the middle of the night and wished silently to yourself this would all end if one car just turned that corner?
I have.
There's that word again... "Middle"
Which is such an ugly word the more I sit here and type it.
I want to be at the beginning of something.
I would even settle for the end of something just so I could restart again.
I have a hard time focusing on the present, which is also the middle of your life.
I'm always stuck in the past or wishing for the future...
Then again... I am the damaged part of the film.
I am the negatives that will not get developed for another couple years.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Today I had an abortion.
I held the foetus in my hands, still hot, covered in blood, so tiny, yet so recognisable in its incomplete finishedness.
I was at a loss, it hit me slowly at first, then all at once, I started to cry.
It wasn't unexpected, I've been having this weird feeling lately, as if I knew that I wasn't going to see it live.
I felt like that from the start, to be honest, my stupid paranoid head couldn't avoid the thought, but why worry? Everything was going fine.
I don't know what caused it, if you ripped it out, if my body rejected it, or if it just wasn't the right time; maybe all these things together, in the end it takes two.
And so there I was, looking at this unborn being, staring back at me with your eyes, finally ending the dying life we put on it from the first moment.
The organs and the limbs all at the right place: I could see what they could have been, if they hadn't been so weak. It looked like that undeveloped Polaroid I took of you that still lies at the bottom of the drawer: I know what it is, but no one else can see it.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to let it go, I couldn't throw the remains away, not yet.
I put them in a shoebox, under my bed. I'll have a beer, sleep on it, tomorrow I'll see.
I have to get used to the emptiness first, I have to untangle myself from around your fingers, get some paracetamol for this ******* headache.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 6:33 PM UTC
they were undeveloped.
fetal figurines in preservation
still and detached from
the placenta of a better time
tiny knucklebones
grew miniature orchards
half in bloom
out of season, tracing palm lines.
(deciduous wrists)
forever in the interim,
encapsulated
while clock-hands
melted through ceramic face
and dripped over cream lids
sealing their last breath
like hurricanes in a time capsule
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
today i learned that your favourite
colour is red.
(i also happened to be wearing it.)
today i learned that everything i’ve ever wanted to happen
will eventually happen,
but not in the ways i imagined they would.
today i learned that i can love you from a distance,
that i can say it with my eyes and maybe you will
hear me.
(or maybe you won’t but
either way i’m going to keep looking at you.)
today i learned that you care about me because
you told me to put on my scarf so that i wouldn't get cold.
today i learned that love is a language all on its own,
full
of laughter and long embraces and jokes and
spur of the moment decisions and unrequited heartache
and other things
i cannot find words for.
today i learned that instead of being a fool for
not being able to control my heart i might in fact
just be human.
today i learned that every solid foundation was once
a battleground.
today i learned that i could one day maybe trust again but
i am still not ready yet.
today i learned that black friday
is now a thing in Canada.
today i don’t feel so afraid.
today my mother let me read her journal from 1988
(when she was the age that i am right now)
and i learned that i am more like her than i ever
thought i was,
i learned that that might be more of a blessing
than a curse.
today i learned how to use my mind as a camera, that it might
be okay to let so many precious moments remain
undeveloped.
today i learned that i cannot force you to be enamoured with me.
today i learned that i might just have to settle on the fact that my inability to express myself with words has no bearing on how nervous i get when i am around you.
today i learned that there is so much love everywhere.
today i learned that everyone is stunning.
today i learned that there is no such thing as having too big
of a heart.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
1409
Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped Freight
Of a delivered syllable
’Twould crumble with the weight.
1.8k
Inward anger inhibits.
You keep pushing, knocking,
finally yielding determination to disinterest,
to frustration. Foreign concepts
like undeveloped film.
Until, barely latching onto the fabric,
you happen upon it
at some odd hour, the light
adjusts and your perception,
and you may grasp it,
knocking through rotten wood,
collapsing into understanding,
and free within hollow enlightenment
to finally progress.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
Melodies intertwine as these
Undeveloped minds
Scrape by in
Isolation to find some
Consolation
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Depleted-
I feel depleted, emotionally, physically, mentally-
I don’t feel like me-
Like a shell of what I used to be-
This tree of life grows so continuously-
In this undefined times-with these undeveloped rhymes-
I grow so empty-
And this potentially could be the end of me-
Heaven set me free-
Free to fly so casually-
Happy-feels like a casualty-
And I’m just hammering-
At myself-by myself-
My health depletes so erratically-
And magically I’m still battling-
The enemies are gathering-
In my head-in my bed-
Better off dead-
So demanding-
Here in front of you Lord I am standing-
Commanding you presence-
Are relationship is so adolescent-
So co-dependent-
Just demented-
And I am repenting-
Descending into a world of pretending-
Where the smile is vile-
And the eyes are the lies-
Of all that I am inventing-
The façade is cementing-
This is not my intention-
Expression is only expressing-
Meir fraction of my aggression-
Positivity-I could use a lesson-
But negativity is just not letting-
Me-
Be free-
Freedom from demons-
Is how I’m dreaming-
Like I said-I’m simply depleting-
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
When we're young,
We're filled with goals and dreams
In those goals and dreams we hope for someone, whom in the, believes
Talents galore, but undeveloped songs unsung
Passionate drives fervently burning
However, flames have difficulty quenching
Cries want to come out from pointless trying
Dreams falling to the wayside, tranquilly
Forever fighting strong feelings
Painfully building new strengths
Like a high-perched eagles gliding down, hope falls
This is the story of unconquerable dreams
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
Lucid in a lush landscape, baked by burning Savanna sun
The undeveloped endlessness all encompassing
My feet sink into the tender tissue
Of Green Mother and Infinite Father’s lovechild
The watering hole is overpopulated with thirsty families
Suspiciously inspecting the albino primate
I make undeterred deliberate steps skirting hydration
Drawn to his penetrating and omniscient orbs
A genuflect to show respect, my head bowed and gaze on ground
The mighty titan mimicked me and extended peaceful welcome
Gradually I rose and full-figured, approached
Warily, minding his twin osteoscimitars
Hello friend, he said
I heard you coming from several years away
I have been waiting for you
In a thousand forms and figures as the shadowy shapes you doubted
But Wisdom, how?
Baffled now, as I follow worn creases of age
That line his cracked and withered face and date his hardened hide
Come see yourself as I see you, he said
For we are as old as your mind is young
And he led me to the liquid, still and reflective
My own visage now ancient
You often sought me out, and I never hid
But I always came too late
I am with you in every action
Every success and every mistake
I was your hand when you learned to hold on
And your ears when you learned to listen
I was your adrenaline when you lost control
And your uncut blood tunnels when you learned to live
I was your arms when you hugged a forgiving embrace
And the nausea you felt when you lied
I did not mourn you when you died and scattered
For you returned to me as many; come, we have much to teach and learn
We will raise the bulls of a generation
Without another word, I mounted sacred pachyderm
And we became a vortex for wandering energy universal and fluid
The venerable sage and I rode as equals through the night
The savanna sky resting its tired eye at last
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
Folded into this numb-husk of unknowing,
undeveloped eyes, wrapped by distressed skin,
continue to peer, unseeing, accustomed
as they now are, to a feed of distant
Telegenically Dead. These short lives have been
socially shared and mocked,
as morgues overflow to floor;
impromptu fans recirculating mournings hot air.
There is little chance for grief on Day 13;
rage has to be spent like a brass cartridge
or slung stone, or drowned in red pools
mixed with the water of collective driblets.
Meanwhile a politician says something else.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
I write because if I didn't
I would choke on my thoughts
like a piece of half-chewed steak.
I would gag, turn red and meet certain death
from the inside out.
No need for first aid.
I write.
I write to express the dark and the heavenly
snapshots that sit undeveloped in my mind
potentially creating blurs and plaque over time.
I paint pictures with words in lieu of oil base
My pen draws me within
It is the high that I chase.
I write.
I write because words are my music
Poetry my score.
I close my eyes, disappear.
Shhhh. Can you hear?
That motion picture soundtrack?
The stories that play
havoc and bliss in my brain
are much more captivating than
real scenes too mundane to name.
I write
I write because without it I just couldn't breathe.
I'd huff and puff
And finally asphyxiate on just.... me.
Words are my blood
sharing life from my core
Yet my pain is tinted with rainbows.
Open me up;
watch me pour.
I write.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Call me insignificant but I’ve been chasing undeveloped photographs
Down these old hallways that we used to call home when the sun didn’t look right
Locked away in closets with my heart stuck under your skin
The same old words buried under your fingernails
Sometimes I struggle to find the difference between hospital rooms and a bed for the night
And I’ve never seen the point of living by the hands of the man-made god that hangs on the wall
But the difference between then and now was that I always saw you in the dark
I traded your broken grimace for her smile and I swear to God I will never regret it
Because she speaks the same words with her mouth sewn shut
And I guess thats something you could never understand
~W.C.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
i'm still a little
shifty
sweaty around
the eyes
slightly
mushy
in my undeveloped
frontal lobes
falling into an
abyss between my growling
stomach and the
sweat on my neck
into where
my eyelashes
are replaced by
blackened teeth
the neon chemical
fruit smell of
raspberry hair dye
and johnny cash
i never think anything
through
or maybe i do
i just chose to keep my
thoughts silent and
lie about them later
if i could wish for
one improvement
upon my wardrobe
i would wish for my
father to stop rattling
on about the way jeans
never used to come
pre-faded and how
work was the only way
you added holes to knees
just when i like the way
things are going when it
comes to my past is
just when i am forced
to relive everything
i ever hated
it's not
purple
let me tell you something
it's not
purple
i'm not repeating
pink
it is
raspberry
get it right.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
With passing days queued up
for the forecast foreseeable
Tuck into the routines' reserves
deplete when permissible
Shot through the feet
with what we can't forget
run on through the limp
past the end of the sentence
and sit
In the glow
remain undeveloped
stay unreconstructed
drop the curtain
on scenes interrupted
Dot your i's
with up-slanted slash marks
sparks fill my eyes when
I read through your retorts
Blank page.
Blank page.
A waltz through a minefield
reeling jigs over headstones
when digging through
plain white lines
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
I have bad dandruff
And oh gosh my feet don't dance,
But Lord does my heart.
I can feel it fire-stepping away
On red-hot ants abound
In this anthill of a school.
Stacked molecule to molecule
In undeveloped hives and grottoes not financed,
Forgotten subterranean in the failing facilities
Of a school underbudget are the insects,
The maggot-child students who wriggle
And worm their way from pest to drone,
Caught up in fates not fully grown.
Queen comes down from throne up low,
Where creatures come and villains go,
Slow moving in their ridiculous pace
Of immense inhuman waste.
These people come and itch their heads
(For lice these make most perfect beds),
Made sick in clinic ***** and small
While countless others roam the halls.
I scratch my head and snow, fast, falls,
Though white are floors and bleached are walls.
Cacophonous laughter soon erupts
Volcano bursts from ant-like huts
Of dirt and cave and molecule
Which packs us austere ants in school.
To you poor slaves of Mother Queen,
Who hates to think and hates to dream,
I say, "Have faith, eyes down high,
Though Queen's abode may up low lie.
Look, I lie at the bottom of the chart,
Though way up high in place of heart.
You think these feeble strata last,
From age to age and pasts not cast?
You think when all will leave these halls
That anyone will remember the *****
That white will be those same walls
That mockingly, to you, still call?
Youth does not ever stay,
No matter nay nor if you pray;
All kids become oppressive Queen
And forget their wild and childish dreams
Where ants go to school and snow comes from hair
And not a single ant can bear
How they recall this place they mark,
Lost in caverns winding and dark.
I may not dance but I still see
How things in future times will be."
These words exit with black contrast,
"Nothing here will last."
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC
I.
You told me you still had
Those roles of film,
Undeveloped.
The ones that you took of me
In the summer.
II.
I wonder
If you will ever see me again
As I used to be.
III.
I wish you had a darkroom
For my soul;
For all you've ever seen
Have been scratched
Negatives.
IV.
I miss looking at your features
Through viewfinders.
V.
You were the whole world
Inside a tiny glass frame.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
I want a song by an African American artist
That doesn't degrade women
That talks about our beautiful smiles and faces
Instead of our body’s and bedroom advantages
Calling us big ***** hoes will not increase our self respect
Or make us feel any better about ourselves.
I want to be approached with a hello and a smile with confidence and respect.
Not an emotionless inbox on facebook calling me shawty with blatant disrespect
And unthinkable intentions.
I don't want skin tone to define what society thinks I represent
Or my body to represent what you think I do.
I want people to look at me with caring eyes
When I tell you I’m a ****** and not a shocked expression
And ask Why
Why... why what-
Why do I have self respect?
Why do I not think of myself as a bag of money?
Why do I not refer to myself as a ***** or redbone?
Why don't I respond to yo light skinned or hey big ****
Why am I being defined by my outside appearance?
The question is- since when
Since when is it okay for a man to place his hands on a woman
Since when is it okay to refer to one of gods creations as a
***** or a ***
What happened to the old days?
When you had to ask a girl’s father for permission to take her on a date
When *** before marriage was a sin
When women didn’t have to get on her knees to keep
A man around.
This society my generation is so twisted
I’m done with it.
I’m not lowering myself worth to myself
To get a boyfriend because people think I’m lonely.
I'm content with being by myself
And the sooner people realize your lifestyle doesn't fit me the sooner
I’ll be happy to go downtown alone
Without fear of a *** will study my undeveloped
Hips or thighs.
Like imp worth a trade of two bag s of skittles
And a pack of gum
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC