"unenthusiastic" poems
Epileptic light,
A hundred voices,
One song,
Unenthusiastic dance,
Upon rolling, heaving floor,
Chemical powered wonder,
Takes me away from myself,
Piling pleasure on shame,
No sound through ringing ears,
Only the silence
Of too many people.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
The final crossroad
Look behind you at all the occasions you had , moments of truth , and forgiveness the times you tarnished the innocence of an affection.
The lies , infidelity, and unenthusiastic attention to moments special.
And yet their was still a chance , a way forward , and outstretched hand, and open embrace.
Corners , crossroads, in our journey.
Streets where unconditional love, fidelity, respect awaited at every turn.
Yet you chose to pass buy , this last time ,The eleventh hour , our final hope , you've turned your back on us , and said goodbye to our forever , my road has its own corners now , and your road without me , as you have just said goodbye to our
" final crossroad "
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
I awake to a new day
Yet feel unenthusiastic.
Unlike most others, I don't really care
That the new day brings upon a new year.
It just means milestones occur.
Important events. Changes.
My birthday's in 16 days.
Adulthood approaches rapidly, and I'm unprepared.
Am I immature? Am I not ready?
I'm unsure. Yet I remain steadfast.
I'm not ready for this change.
That day will only add pressure on me.
Their expectations are high, I suppose.
"You're going to be a computer engineer." Or something like that.
But I'm…confused. Parts of it I'm not good at.
And I'm left wondering if I even care about that class anymore.
What if I don't want to pursue that?
Will it be a waste of my "talent" or is it just a fleeting interest?
I suppose I could take up writing but…
We all know that's just wishful thinking.
My mind's clouded, uncertainty filling it to the brim.
And as each minute passes, I just count down the days
Until I can talk to her again.
Even if we're far from each other, we'll still be connected.
Just like the days before.
And then, I'll make her smile.
In that moment, I'll forget about my own troubles.
And focus on hers.
Is this a bad thing to do? Probably.
Do I care too much? Perhaps.
Will this help me forget about everything though?
No. It won't. But at least I can be happy.
Even if that's for a few hours a week.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
Hello Poetry; we meet again
my bored, unenthusiastic but sympathetic friend
Why is it you never seem to like what I do?
The rhymes, the rhythm structure, the ideas I write for you?
Or maybe, in my haste, maybe I've miscalculated
Maybe, it's actually me that feels discombobulated
I have had times when I've struggled with what I've written
I always die a thousands deaths, before I'm smitten
with how I might have dotted the i's, and crossed the t's
I'll hide behind furniture to be sure that no one sees
lest they lambast my catastrophic grasp on diction
With god's help I'm sure I'll conquer this terrible affliction
and actually construct a poem I'm happy with
Here are the laws, I'll live by, forthwith,
1. don't write about your pet hamster, no one cares
2. and you should probably steer clear of international affairs
3. remember no word in the English language rhymes with 'month'
4.
5. always know your subject, inside and out
6. Do weasels have noses, or do they have snouts.....?
**** you can't even write out a set of rules
You; You have no friend in anyone that won't suffer fools
gladly, but sadly, I have another idea
another lacklustre shot at being sincere
I hate this vicious cycle,
hate every single bit
but yep,
I'll get my pencil,
grab some paper,
then just
sit
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
It's 11:20am in OHare
and I'm here with Sam Adams'
cardboard cut-out,
sipping his hard work,
chasing my breakfast,
picking up where Starbucks left off.
But really, I'm avoiding the tired,
unenthusiastic bodies nesting at my gate,
with their dilapidated muzzles,
with their deadpan expressions,
with these head-and-shoulders of
malcontent- of brewing disappointment-
floating morosely above their respective
boarding passes, passports,
and food court receipts
clutched in cranky knuckles.
And so here I am, sitting at
Facade, raising a second glass
with cardboard Adams,
and I kinda have to ****
and I really have to ***
but there's no way in hell
I'm joining the rest of my flight.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Drastic self-defence,
Drastic in my linguistic augments,
The evidence of my attempts at trying,
To see any future where I’m not dying,
And it makes no sense
Tactic for offense,
Offensive in sarcastic defiance,
Ambivalence on a course for further premonitions,
Static fragments of my continual refusal of any medicinal diminution,
Please help me make some sense
Psychopathic friends,
Systematic traffic hence,
Pensive head and that will drive you,
Insane and round the bend if only they all knew,
I can’t see any sense
Automatic ends,
Ammunition diplomatic,
Suspense in its unanimously tragic situation,
Fate’s unenthusiastic in its conflict upon two cognitive nations,
That makes no sense
Anatomically attic fenced,
Just a poetic way to represent,
One’s combative mental condition,
An addict and the opposite always on the right and the left warring in attrition,
If that makes any sense
Plastic ornaments,
Plastic bottles left to lament,
As the alcoholic labyrinth in my life that cannot be broken,
To help wash down writhing thoughts forced to remain unspoken,
And an I that makes no sense
Fix it no expense,
Fixed monthly recompense now,
I am a myth of someone, whom I do not know,
Sickly pretence took me down a road that I never wanted to go,
And now you say I’m finally making sense
Panic is absent,
Absent the magic,
In the pills that in basic blindness I routinely swallow,
Dynamic in the worn out tools that continue to carve once whole now hollow,
Does that make any sense?
Now I’m really not making sense, by finally making sense
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Words carried on ears in hearses
dead and deaf headless on the back of horses
carrying axes stalked by a lumbering mob armed with torches and pitchforks
hunting for sport. hiding among the herd different but not by much
reality and fiction blurring and becoming lucid leaving me clueless
It keeps coming down this way breaking over in intervals and phases
breaking like the waves of a tepid and unenthusiastic ocean droning
bloating and lurching then slinking and retreating,
bringing lost thoughts back to me caught in a fit
of Cognitive Dissonance
restless and oppressive
Spread and Sprawled out on the floor surrounded by animated bones
swirling through the night air and coalescing into skeletons
dancing through draculas dining hall
stalling my fall with wandering thoughts suspended in air by a fanciful imagination
fleeting as the floodgates open and it all comes back full circle again.....
I can't keep hiding behind my dreams like this anymore.. it's time to face the real world now.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Today while I was at work,
an elderly couple came through my line.
Their faces were heavily wrinkled,
aged over time.
The man greeted me kindly,
asking for paper and plastic.
His voice was rough, raspy, and weak,
and most certainly unenthusiastic.
As I bagged his groceries,
I watched as he talked with his wife.
The woman he had to chosen to be with,
for the rest of his life.
Once we were done ringing up his food,
he reached out to pay.
His hand trembled when he extended it,
as I continued to survey.
"Debit?" he quivered with uncertainty,
as the cashier kindly took his card.
"Just confirm and sign right there." she said,
as he concentrated very hard.
Bent over slightly, eyes squinted,
he shakily signed his name.
A receipt printed, and was handed to him,
"Alright, have a great day."
I turned to the man and his wife,
and smiled as they smiled back at me.
"Thanks kid, don't work too hard!",
he said to me gleefully.
I nodded and smiled as they slowly waddled away,
and headed out the door.
I watched as they left, out of my sight, and thought,
there has to be more.
There has to be more to this measly life,
than just what I can see.
There has to be more to this pathetic life,
which means nothing to me.
The thought of death, it scares me so,
and leaves me shaking in fear.
My mind is clouded, thoughts a blur,
nothing seems to be clear.
The thought that someday when I'm old,
I'll wake up and think to myself,
"Welp, this is the end of the line,"
is really something else.
Because to be quite honest, I don't want to have to think,
"this is the final stretch."
I would rather not have to confront,
such an evil as death.
I don't want to face a wrinkled face,
brittle bones and a deteriorated mind.
I don't want to grow old, or die alone,
or face the powerful Father Time.
But then I remember what I saw today,
and it makes me realize how I will survive.
The man had a love, his wife, his soul mate,
which kept him alive all along.
So I will face my wrinkled face,
and I will face brittle bones.
I will face my deteriorating mind,
and I won't face them alone.
I will love you all my life,
and I will make you my wife.
And we will fight Father Time,
together, side by side.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
She seems nice.
If you’re into one word responses,
and silent, bored stares.
She seems nice.
If you’re into lackluster smiles
and unenthusiastic vibes.
She seems nice.
If you’re into rants and complaints,
and acerbic comments.
She seems nice.
If you’re into rolled eyes,
and, “You’re not funny,” replies.
She seems nice.
If you’re into judgmental glances,
and not taking chances.
She seems nice.
If you’re into insecure hand holding,
and constant reinforcement.
She seems nice.
If you’re into that.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
when i wake up from a nights typing i feel refreshed
as though i up-chucked for a few hours but brushed my teeth before
passing out for the night. i keep my eyes closed and often lose many sentences.
ones i rather enjoyed, too.
its a smelly pile or puddle on the floor,
usually near my bed or the garbage and i regard it as such,
however i do so often enjoy a little detective work
to see what didn't quite digest properly
and wonder if maybe i have irritable bowels;
or some kind of parasite.
the sour flavor tells me that even the mintiest
toothpaste sometimes a bit short of adequate
to relieve the eroded tender feeling on the backs of my teeth.
like maybe bile digests them away.
i often dream on writing nights
about how wonderful and wacky the world sometimes is.
but i usually wake up and in and unfriendly way,
remember what the score
is within just a few seconds.
the sensation of regaining consciousness and being uncertain
of your whereabouts is fleeting
but agreeable.
most times i dig that feeling;
though once aware i am generally unenthusiastic
or perhaps quite appalled by the surroundings
ive brought myself to endure.
even average mornings when the morning is the evening.
as i see it.
when there is nothing to do,
it does not particularly matter to anyone when you do it.
so long as it appears done or you believe it so.
maybe ill do something.
but as i plan it,
and cleverly smile to think i am so sharp, when perhaps someone arrives.
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 1:04 AM UTC
Hey you
What is it that you want?
Why do you suddenly seem like a distant stranger
Towards whom I only feel disdain
A newness that I m not amused of
Not is it my routine to refrain,
But from you all I want is to flee
All I want is some chains to be broken and free
I want to rediscover the corners of my surroundings
No I do not want to do it under your strings
All along, this was supposed to be an experience of Glee
But I only feel thoughts so sick n hence sound my plea
Being dissociated from you may make me a mad woman
But wouldn't it be grand to feel afterall like a human
All you have done is playfully stirred my ego and confidence
And here I m broken and lay like a toy ready for good riddance
The things I used to like seem to be distraught and don't fancy me no more
Making me question my stand my past my future beyond this shore
At these times when well trodden paths are being chanced by adventure's slaves, who refuse to leave trails in sand
I walk under the spell of fleeting pace and unenthusiastic shroud
Please oh please get me out of this deep fraud
Not seeing enjoyment as goal nor death
But I want to be happy I want to be good
I want to stop the spite and feel the rejuvenated breath
Oh you disturbing thoughts.. May you just rest in peace
While I try to piece together sanding down the edges and joining the crease.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
doesn't anybody even look at the sky lately?
like there's nothing between
me and this screen
- nothing.
no purpose
no moment of wit
no urgent revisions of loyal commitment -
just forget it -
- in this odd object is the origin
and the horizon
- by the time you noticed
it was already over
overwhelmed
unenthusiastic
i guess when you've been through hell
you're okay just making it to the mattress -
but maybe you don't know.
maybe it's not so bad.
maybe we can get together
and share the laughs we used to have ----
- nah.
she said.
i got things going on
she said.
**plus it's already been so long
we might as well keep going strong -**
she said.
jeez, i mean, i guess i agree.
but look at it like this
- we already have everything we'd need.
- it could be worse, you could fall out of a tree -
- plus it's already beginning to seem, not so bad.
*don't ask me why we relapse on a kiss of the past
when there's a smorgasbord of other organs to explore?
sure, we could share all the laughs we used to have
and who knows, worst of all, we could make even more -*
too deep and been here before
and i didn't wanna come back
i knew she'd be on the fence
i sat in the same awkward position
going through awful images and thoughts of vengeances
exacted, exactly - I wish we could say why
so no wonder we haven't the time
to eye the sky and imagine lives
where we're happy and calm and by each other sides
no wonder we didn't do this
or find the moment to do that
and we make excuses like
"i wish time didn't move so fast."
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
Never knew why I could not express my emotions;
could never show anger or excitement
unless I was really stimulated or wired.
I knew the emotions were running inside
as much as I really tried to project them
I just could not show them
people thought
I had something to hide
or just plain inconsiderate
if you knew me you would know
its the complete opposite
just not true about me
whether I sound unenthusiastic or visually somewhere
in a different state of mind:
I do care
and interested in what you are saying
there is something out there
trying to confuse the way I want to say things
or distracting me
wanted more than anything to show how I feel
to people so they couldn't accuse me of being false
or just a lifeless a robot;
i'ts frustrating
not everyone will always gets me
my tone of voice can fall flat
feel dead and lifeless
never changing my ****** expressions
its like having an constant botox
injection sealed to your mouth and eyes
Being autistic can be hard sometimes
not being able to control your
hand and body movements
it does this automatically for you.
Light and sound in a room
can really affect me too
everything is way too intense
sending me visually
out of focus, can't always
focus for long on other people
too without feeling nervous and uneasy
I feel I'm not always in control
of what comes out my mouth
and feel like something is constantly
sabotaging my thoughts
everything is distorted jumbled and
sometimes comes out backwards
occasionally repeating
things I've said a hour a go.
I can't even always control my volume
of my voice its either too quiet
or becomes far too loud.
I kept thinking I really must be broken
Why can't I switch off
wish my brain would shut up
all I do is annoy
everyone in the room.
However I realise as frustrating living with autism
can be I'm not in fact completely broken
it does have its quirks
I found i'm very self absorbed
with time so always punctual.
Really creative and intelligent
especially with topics of my choice
I hyper focus I love to research
love to write and read
i'm a problem solver and try to
be logical look at things in another way
but never accuse me of having
no emotion as that is not true
can't always be the way
people expect me to be.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
When I become passive and unenthusiastic
And my already blackened soul darkens to an even darker shade of black;
When the unknown tears misrepresent my sorrows and my cold sweat is no longer a medal of effort and triumph
When my nails are basically non-existent from my fears eating them away and my hand gets the shake
When people start to have “sympathy” in me and try to understand my tears
When all forms of mental sanity has been terminated, my noggin inside my head but my mind outside my body
People will come and pay tribute to my empty shell, maybe shed a few meaningless tears,
Oh well, its too late now
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC