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"unexpressive" poems
So many thoughts feelings expressions emotions locked behind deadpan eyes and a voice that's toneless. A mountain of a person consolidated to this form. A body unimpressive. A face unexpressive. The chaos upstairs requires all of my attention. Conversing takes a back-seat which is why I seem distant. Too many things to say only leaves me in silence. I don't know how or where to begin. If only I could let you inside to weather the storm maybe you could make sense of this nonsense and bring me to port.
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Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Quick freewrite
Robots and gods. Is this madness? It must be. On one hand, the robot feels. The robot knows what it wants, takes it. But has difficulty feeling what other people are feeling. On the other hand, the god watches. The god orchestrates and plans things to go its way. But feels as though it doesnt have control over itself. It manipulates and prods. It is calculated. It is watching. It is observant. It is careful, caring and emotionless. Yet full of it. And still yet unexpressive. Full of life. Trapped in their vessels; their roles. What am i?
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Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:43 AM UTC
The Robot and The God
I can cry whenever I want It is an actor's dream I can cry whenever I want It's just coursing through my veins That hurt, ungratefulness Inner discord It's calling to me Let it out! But I hold it in so well I am a terrible actor I have an unexpressive face Or maybe just a lack of courage in expressing emotions Tears are physical Aren't they? Or are they emotional? I am a terrible actor Because I'm so good at catching and keeping What should be out in the open I can cry whenever I want
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Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I Can Cry Whenever I Want
an observer, viewer, purveyor watching your every move she's the self-proclaimed overlord, claiming secrets and lies shooting philosophies and judgements into the dark wielding words as wisdom with very little presence or actual knowledge an incredible surge of passion that is constantly misplaced lost within her own head and her own version of reality pretending to be a master of time, when time is only a concept full of fickle, non importance, full of everything within all of space a pathetic attempt to get words to express feelings trying to hide the pride, the snide, the hypocrisy a self destructive human being pretending to be more a core of karuna, purely and simply full of false bravado and empty promises a not very smart lady, gaining stupidity and blank memories losing the past and floating into the future forgetting the present as it goes confused yet full of understanding full of too many unexpressive, unknowable, unaware girl girl girl short brown hair, blue eyes, plain and uneven face, long legs, veiny feet, skinny wrists, straight teeth, wide nails, confused, sarah.
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Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
sarah
Where once breathed life You smell rust Years torn by strife Turn to dust! Where once echoed the sound Of the pride of might The nestling bats abound In the dark caverns of night! Where reigned the royal whims Hangs the time-worn portrait Of fallen hopes shattered dreams Swallowed like all else by fate! Where once danced in lust Warm flesh on soft mattress Lies a ghostly looking bust With a stony unexpressive face! The living comes to visit them, Awes at the displayed story, Once living is now an item From a bygone era, a piece of history!
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Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
A Piece of History
I never planned on falling in love with you. In fact, I tried my hardest not to. All those efforts? All that time? It amounted to nothing. I failed. However, I have never been happier not to succeed. I adore you. Every little thing. You, make me better. You, make me love everything. You. I love you. I can’t explain it. I can’t describe it. Too many words. Too few words. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. So, I’m asking you to accept this. My love. I wish that these words, These, unworthy, Unexpressive, Uncreative words, find their mark. I hope they speak to your soul. The same way that they speak to mine. A burning whisper that excites and calms. You, mean everything to me. I love you, with all my heart.
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Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 12:12 AM UTC
A Beautiful Failure
At the end of the dusty road where the road yawns with boredom at the stillness, you would meet a man. One who walked like he did not care, laughed loud to hide the tears behind his eyes and the chest pain from his heartbreaks. He also scratched his thick beard just so you would be distracted from its length when he laughed. Watching him laugh was a sight to behold for he shook his head up and down as his jaws tightened with the force of sad stories. In the afternoons, he sat in his rocking chair because his bed with the thin mattress had hardened his back, from the thoughts of his failed relationship. You see, his woman had promised him, seven fine children. But she had left him for his best friend, the one who drove a noisy Subaru. At night, he spent hours staring at the ceiling twitching his face in thought as if to ask questions. But, the ceiling as always remained unexpressive and silent. Providing no solutions for it was made of concrete. And when he slept, he did not sleep like a child after breastfeeding. He instead slept like a man with a ransom on his head. Today, he sits and pauses for a picture beneath an art piece the one he received when he left his father's house to venture on his own because he had become a man. As the camera clicks away, he smiles and freezes to give the viewer the illusion that his life is perfect. But deep down, all he needs is a cold Tusker and a loud laugh that would make him forget how his back hurt when he lay face up in bed every night wondering when his big break would come.
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Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC
Back Pain
At the end of the dusty road where the road yawns with boredom at the stillness, you would meet a man. One who walked like he did not care, laughed loud to hide the tears behind his eyes and the chest pain from his heartbreaks. He also scratched his thick beard just so you would be distracted from its length when he laughed. Watching him laugh was a sight to behold for he shook his head up and down as his jaws tightened with the force of sad stories. In the afternoons, he sat in his rocking chair because his bed with the thin mattress had hardened his back, from the thoughts of his failed relationship. You see, his woman had promised him, seven fine children. But she had left him for his best friend, the one who drove a noisy Subaru. At night, he spent hours staring at the ceiling twitching his face in thought as if to ask questions. But, the ceiling as always remained unexpressive and silent. Providing no solutions for it was made of concrete. And when he slept, he did not sleep like a child after breastfeeding. He instead slept like a man with a ransom on his head. Today, he sits and pauses for a picture beneath an art piece the one he received when he left his father's house to venture on his own because he had become a man. As the camera clicks away, he smiles and freezes to give the viewer the illusion that his life is perfect. But deep down, all he needs is a cold Tusker and a loud laugh that would make him forget how his back hurt when he lay face up in bed every night wondering when his big break would come.
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another seance, gulping and gasping, in hopes to welcome the chaos. wistful with no margins, no colourful crayons, nothing promised. unexpressive, at times dishonest. passive aggressive, with a mind in ******* the desire for an end, the wonder of what is beyond this. a prayer for love before then, to one day look in the mirror with fondness. -t.m
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Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 5:38 PM UTC
to you, to me, to tonight.