Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"undiscernable" poems
COLD, HARD flesh - a very lonely girl in a room filled with fluttering moths and fully-functional nooses - Makes a game plan, in an effort to:   - penetrate your wavering, wandering, yet wholly conscious mind (The fate - the fear - lurks in the futility, the fragility, of your unsuspecting ears) - Equipped with: an anchor (the rock-climbing kind, in order to avoid a metaphor), followed by some paper (and a pen - the use of my blood as script seems overly dramatic), and - a concoction of incredible (and edible!!) proportions                     THE GOAL: - To become the smallest presence possible, to take up the tiniest amount of space in the real and imagined world, and to in turn envelope your very existence - like a Sunday driver in rush hour - with emphasis on: The slope of your neck - I could mount my anchor into it and climb for days; I could nest in your ****** Youth cut when I reach the top, I could build the world's smallest fire with the world's saddest hands                     STEP ONE: When secured in predesignated cocoon, I will unleash the first sheaf - a perforated edge - and enclose a minuscule fragment of my still-breathing soul (for your keychain, perhaps, but preferably your pocket)                     STEP TWO: I will mail you a fraction (incidentally, a subject I still can't grasp) every week until: - I have decreased in size with each turn, I get smaller and smaller until my tangibility disappears entirely and the only presence left of me is a slip that reads: - apply to areas affected (only as directed) Wait! No, not only that- my very own subconscious now rests inside your "thinking cap" - INTRODUCING: Your every day monotony, now littered with: - 17 scratched mix CDs you didn't want to listen to - 4 dogs I secretly liked (and only you knew) - a bright pink dumpster, largely livable - a rusted mailbox with an ocean in full - soundless Skype calls in stolen sweaters - alphabet soup with undiscernable letters - the unfaltering presence of a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness - confused with the very small and haunted town I couldn't leave to see you - and last but not least - The ceaseless, repeated  chorus of "you belong to me", like an immortal fly in an endless August dream
0
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
With Dreams of Getting Stuck in One Place
COLD, HARD flesh - a very lonely girl in a room filled with fluttering moths and fully-functional nooses - Makes a game plan, in an effort to:   - penetrate your wavering, wandering, yet wholly conscious mind (The fate - the fear - lurks in the futility, the fragility, of your unsuspecting ears) - Equipped with: an anchor (the rock-climbing kind, in order to avoid a metaphor), followed by some paper (and a pen - the use of my blood as script seems overly dramatic), and - a concoction of incredible (and edible!!) proportions                     THE GOAL: - To become the smallest presence possible, to take up the tiniest amount of space in the real and imagined world, and to in turn envelope your very existence - like a Sunday driver in rush hour - with emphasis on: The slope of your neck - I could mount my anchor into it and climb for days; I could nest in your ****** Youth cut when I reach the top, I could build the world's smallest fire with the world's saddest hands                     STEP ONE: When secured in predesignated cocoon, I will unleash the first sheaf - a perforated edge - and enclose a minuscule fragment of my still-breathing soul (for your keychain, perhaps, but preferably your pocket)                     STEP TWO: I will mail you a fraction (incidentally, a subject I still can't grasp) every week until: - I have decreased in size with each turn, I get smaller and smaller until my tangibility disappears entirely and the only presence left of me is a slip that reads: - apply to areas affected (only as directed) Wait! No, not only that- my very own subconscious now rests inside your "thinking cap" - INTRODUCING: Your every day monotony, now littered with: - 17 scratched mix CDs you didn't want to listen to - 4 dogs I secretly liked (and only you knew) - a bright pink dumpster, largely livable - a rusted mailbox with an ocean in full - soundless Skype calls in stolen sweaters - alphabet soup with undiscernable letters - the unfaltering presence of a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness - confused with the very small and haunted town I couldn't leave to see you - and last but not least - The ceaseless, repeated  chorus of "you belong to me", like an immortal fly in an endless August dream
Continue reading...
25
no residue of the future don’t know what to say the contours of words bear enough ambiguity mama and papa have moved their battle inside my anemia a reversible memory, you you’re not a battlefield with poppies the blues had just hit the road to the city while you were busy to be born in the quietness of fields this desire today with silver teeth shouted at me in the street: “you belong to him” it’s something to have learned how to deconstruct the power of love it’s a different matter by your side in the depths of whispers in the cage of time you’re not a dehydrated dream of my unshed skin I so elegantly raging keep up with this desire my life needs a soul not to play cards past present future heavy in my arms undiscernable I am a sentimental girl & I am afraid of you of the darkness of sleep of the blue annihilation of truth let me tremble a bit let me taste some light today I am round enough I am round enough.
0
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
this and that
She is a river. Boundless, undaunting, Pristine. Rosebuds, she blossoms Through her gentle stride Knowing not of Eden That of which is lesser I can no longer Fear life, For I shall die of thirst. No liquor or brine Is sweeter Than her ebb , Undiscernable To my vapid quarters, My steamy mind. Upon my end, My only regret Will be that I’ve never Learned how to swim. -Juan Carlos Gomez
0
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
She is a River
Over the quiet distant moons @Pretty soon I feel it coming like a long awaited cartoon. That stallions ship. passing in moonlit flights, rearing its engine again. Telling me stories on the how's where's and when's. Rewriting my pains repeatedly. What was The beautiful love story. In all of its old glory. That was now used to be. It I will not let recapture me. H/I/M wanting me back wanting me to believe again. Never again want, a need to back  up and pack. No more sad dreams of hopes I can't get back. H/i/m Lied lied once,  lied more then twice, became uncountable. Excuses timed out. Good wishes and desires @undiscernable. Actions ought to show out and speak of our good intents. Honorable, let me show you my good deeds. If I want better.. How can I  u-turn back to where I was lost. Be it I'm a lover of commitment, giver of faithfulness equipped for stabilities. logos of inner peace, removing foolishness at all cost. Patiently listening.. full ear on learning. having hands full of pleasantries. No room to be considerate of your unreasonable pitch. Come now shut down turn it down. Cut off hustles handles of  this hopeful switch. Computers on a sudden glitch... Must be time to release turn up your frown. Let us accept these fields are pleased as we realize its over.. DONE. selinasharday H/E/R 9/24 S.A.M
0
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 6:59 PM UTC
Over done
We sat around waiting for the end To come, Watching the edges of clouds and ridges Of the mountains burn like paper Glowing and retreating into themselves, And behind them the sky glowed with Fire undiscernable from the sunset. As it came, I sat by you, my last person and I closed my eyes; I was glad to end it With you.
0
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
Apocalypse
Out of the day that covers me, Bright as the Sun from pole to pole, I curse whatever gods may be For my undiscernable soul. In the foul clutch of inevitability I have not convinced my existence void. Under the sufferings of destiny My death is nigh, inevitable. Confined in this place of joys and tears Looms but the Horror of the fate, And yet the transience of the years Renders me unaffected; i have no hate.
0
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
Evictus