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"undiscoverable" poems
I learned more about you in a Tattoo shop than I should have I was talking to an artist named Adam when he mentioned a goblin shark and how even in 2014 we have only researched 1% of the bottom of the ocean and until then I would have never compared you to a sea floor but it seems that is just what you are : undiscoverable deep dark dangerous
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Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Skin Thrills
A weakening speck Unknowingly sinking, tottering, diminishing into an undiscoverable wreck Much to master Much to obtain Infinite time, unable to restrain Stuck  in a rusted fetter Rewriting that one unspoken letter Inventing and destroying And doing the same thing over and over A constant cycle of forlornness The understanding of perception is ideal Something you and I can't even begin to find real Finding out the way things tick is mind blowing No, no wait incomprehensible. So here you are Exactly where you were And where you will always be Unless you see That you aren't a crumbling speck you were  meant to abide by More like something precious set aside.
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Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
Contradiction, Affliction, & Conception
Back into the dark where I am undiscoverable left nightshade cloaked, no stone turned, no bell rung, no tree carved, no hammer swung. No strong man, no whipping post, no beat down, no anniversary toast, no smart *** no sassy ***** just floating now, alone, alone, where I've put myself. To find God again, to find God again.
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Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
Back in the Dark
I am so elated No more sorrow My scars have faded I have a tomorrow I was trapped I was petrified My life was undiscoverable My life, you electrified One smile One look More more dial My breath you took Forever and more I’m no longer distraught I have something to adore In more than a thought
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Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:31 PM UTC
Love in A Thought
You’re just the kind of person some lost adolescent would go home and write a ****** poem about at 2am in hasty cursive scribbled on stained notebook paper wrinkled from careless handling, using your being to bring some riddle of the subconscious into an acknowledged existence— and then destroy the evidence, rendering it undiscoverable to humanity—like everything else she ever kept too embarrassingly close to her heart, because when she was a little girl the adults in her life told her that there certain parts of yourself you always kept private that are a no-no to show to anyone, and those perpetually invisible parts are covered by your swimsuit and your stoic reserve, the eggshell guarding your psyche—that if anyone forces themselves in with enough effort, you’ll break all over them and stain their sacred feet with your messy insides that never seem to go back in once you’ve released them, which will leave you eternally wishing to retreat into that perfect little immaculate white shell, undisturbed by your own humanity. I deprive myself of glances I would love to take of you, but that would mean that at some point you would grow suspicious and perhaps conjure the ESP I seem to think everyone has whenever I have a secret about them I’d rather they never figure out—but I have to admit, you’re beautiful. I wish there were words precise enough to explain exactly how I just ******* love how you stare at the world with a poet’s wistful empathy, peeking discreetly through the one-way mirror of well-guarded sensitivity, eternally wearing a gaze reluctantly masked with an adaptive weariness just transparent enough to expose brief silhouetted glances of vulnerability. You’re just the kind of person I wish I had the courage to let into my psychological fortress constructed with every accumulated brick of accumulated cynicism that materializes from living in a world that muffles every voice it makes want to scream, even if no matter how old I become I’ll always be some lonely kid standing outside of my own person, eternally yearning for somewhere safe enough to have a broken shell.
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Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
"You're just the kind of person..."
You’re just the kind of person some lost adolescent would go home and write a ****** poem about at 2am in hasty cursive scribbled on stained notebook paper wrinkled from careless handling, using your being to bring some riddle of the subconscious into an acknowledged existence— and then destroy the evidence, rendering it undiscoverable to humanity—like everything else she ever kept too embarrassingly close to her heart, because when she was a little girl the adults in her life told her that there certain parts of yourself you always kept private that are a no-no to show to anyone, and those perpetually invisible parts are covered by your swimsuit and your stoic reserve, the eggshell guarding your psyche—that if anyone forces themselves in with enough effort, you’ll break all over them and stain their sacred feet with your messy insides that never seem to go back in once you’ve released them, which will leave you eternally wishing to retreat into that perfect little immaculate white shell, undisturbed by your own humanity. I deprive myself of glances I would love to take of you, but that would mean that at some point you would grow suspicious and perhaps conjure the ESP I seem to think everyone has whenever I have a secret about them I’d rather they never figure out—but I have to admit, you’re beautiful. I wish there were words precise enough to explain exactly how I just ******* love how you stare at the world with a poet’s wistful empathy, peeking discreetly through the one-way mirror of well-guarded sensitivity, eternally wearing a gaze reluctantly masked with an adaptive weariness just transparent enough to expose brief silhouetted glances of vulnerability. You’re just the kind of person I wish I had the courage to let into my psychological fortress constructed with every accumulated brick of accumulated cynicism that materializes from living in a world that muffles every voice it makes want to scream, even if no matter how old I become I’ll always be some lonely kid standing outside of my own person, eternally yearning for somewhere safe enough to have a broken shell.
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