"unimportance" poems
I once saw threw the stars pools of serendipitous thoughts.
Melding feelings over-constructively by manifesting stains.
It's too wet,
Leaking unimportance. They aren't colored enough; silly to forget the dyes.
Standing too long, there's a need to stretch.
Stretch back lights, free twinkling corosions away.
I was looking too hard.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
within a prison-like classroom.
i learnt the writer used
"i "
to express his or her's feeling of unimportance.
i promise you.
i've been texting my i's in lowercase letters ever since.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
Whispers the heart, insisting and so soft,
"Life goes on. Death is not dying."
Faith, that is the message. Let His
will be done, however it works out.
Fears are there. Yes, they can consume.
They can strangle and inhibit the
very will to walk on. Ease them away,
He walks with you, soothing and firm.
We rumble through our eggshells,
rushing through buildings of steel.
Pushing, shoving, important in
our unimportance. Unbalanced.
We eat too much and love far
too little. Strain ours ears to
hear gossip and slander. Be
the image we pretend to be.
These are of such insignificance.
They are bottles of nothing, with
shaded glass. Emblems of issues
that are manufactured. Unfeeling.
The truth is in Him. When we
face trials of aggravations, tears
of lost hope, that is when we
need His care the most. Forgiven.
He has always been. He will
always be. He will glide the
care of the body if you give
Him the word. Yes, He answers.
So to Jesus, I appeal. I put my
trust and my fate. Though
blocked in fear, still I marvel,
that He is there for me. Amen.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Spring. Same plants, same order.
Monday morning, open for business.
Tractor-trailers, day care centers.
Every leaf that’s coming out is out.
To tonight’s town meeting I will go unaware and foolish.
It’s delicious, the unimportance of my feelings.
Even our particular war was small.
Europe had one last a century.
Hubble photos of events 13 billion years ago
Do not put me in mind of the species’ insignificance.
Just the opposite having witnessed the universe’s birth.
But birth from what preceding state? God again rears his hoary head.
They say one must let go and will let go,
God will decide what tragedy you need.
Not every seed becomes a flower,
Not every branch breaks out a truelove knot.
While the ancient Romans wrote of love
The ancient Britons wrote of war.
The Romans should have been perfecting their republic.
No god could do that work for them.
The November moth's the fall cankerworm
Slender-bodied, beige, beginning life as the well known inchworm.
In our war more children may have died than would have had
the tyrant lived in fear and awe.
We'll never know because we can't help being here.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
I look out the window
Into the yard
I see a fluffy Junco
Sitting comfortably on the fence
I see him look around
Then fly over to the feeders
I watch as he gets some seeds
Then goes back to the fence
He puffs back up
And then out of nowhere
A baby Junco
Crookedly and excited
Flies in
Sits next to his dad
And his dad feeds him
And then his dad is off again
To get more food
For his baby
Over the weeks
I watch the Goldfinches,
The Grosbeaks, the Finches,
The Doves, and
The Sparrows.
All gathering on the fence
With their families
To eat
And I am reminded
Of my family
Gathering around the dinner table
Everynight
Chattering, coming and going
But then I think
That those birds must have it far easier
Than we do
All they worry about is surviving
While we have discussions on
Politics, school, wars
Gossip, rumors, things of unimportance
That's when I think back
To my childhood dream
“I want to be a bird when I grow up”
Because they are worry free
Unlike me
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
A paper lantern,
Crafted by the small hands
Of a girl with lime green nails
And flecks of dried glue peeling at her fingers.
It sits in visceral stillness,
Made of bleached white paper
Usually reserved for the tedious documents
Chronicling this-and-that,
The unimportance of the adult world.
There is a smell of felt tips
To replace the lost one of chalk
That used to settle so stubbornly in the air
And reside powder-blue in the lungs.
We are in the proximity of Christmas now,
Nothing but a daze away.
And festivities are tangible in the city streets
As those shops and stalls display their colours
And sounds,
In the mating ritual of buy-and-sell,
Make-and-take.
The classrooms are empty,
The corridors somewhat cavernous.
Empty coat pegs tell the stories
That cannot be heard in the voices of the children
Still echoing against the walls.
The buzz of Santa Claus is permissible
For just another year.
After that, magic must be shelved
And brought out only for the first dust of snow,
A meteor shower,
Or in a generous two-for-one discount.
But for now the children go home for Christmas
And the paper lantern will sit
Constant.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
-
- Moments. Tiny moments. Big moments. Unexpected moments. I've-been-waiting-my-whole-life-for-this moments.
- Seeing the world through the cracks in its mask; directly in its eyes (or where the holes should be at least).
- Accepting the all-round unimportance of humanity to the world but giving the world to humanity. There is no definition of who or what a good person is. So hold positive qualities (like love, honesty, rebelliousness, compassion, affection) in your palms and give your true self to the world. Tell yourself you are good. In turn, you then will be.
- Treat the Earth nicely. You have a short stay and after all, you're just part of an energy system. Be nice to Pluto too. God forbid, it could use it.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
sleep deprivation:
I wrap a blanket of the stuff
around me
and drink another round of
coffee.
no, that's a lie. I'm not drinking
coffee. I'm drinking--
get this--
sorrow and you know what?
black.
sleep deprivation:
is it too much to say that I'm
waiting for you to call and
answer that heavy question
I'd asked two days ago.
why do you love me?
no, that's not a lie. I really did
ask him that.
don't believe me?
well, he's _5 and I'm not
seventeen years enough to get
anything out of the way he
feels for me.
sleep deprivation:
enough to hallucinate circles
and twiddley-lumps on strangers.
suffice to say I'm waiting on the
insignificance of the moment,
the unimportance of the lifetime.
like the lifetime of a star on the other
side of the universe:
she burned herself out and is now just
a ten cent ****** with a smoker's cough.
sleep deprivation:
ha, circles.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 1:48 AM UTC
Have you ever woken up from a dream
where you didn’t realize you were asleep?
Where one minute,
you think you are rolling around in bed,
frustrated that you’ve woken up at 4am,
wishing you could magically get the screams in your head
to diminish to a whisper,
but an alarm grasps at your eyelids
until you realize that you’ve awoken
and were asleep all along?
Is that what this life is right now?
Am I going to wake up one day,
and suddenly the insecurities,
the unimportance,
the nothingness,
and the apathy
will be gone?
Will I wake up and stop being an afterthought?
Your I’m-here-for-you’s,
I’ll-help-keep-you-busy’s,
and I’ve-been-praying-for-you’s
don’t mean anything to me anymore.
I finally have everything I have been awaiting
for years,
but it's not enough anymore,
and yet,
here I am – again–
realizing the only friend I can trust
is myself.
I finished high school a decade ago;
I thought I was too old for this now.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
The universe that i know contains infinite infinities
The more i travel the more i see and more you think
There's an abyss of abraxas in dylan dog's comics
Here's an enstraged ghost of che on the motorcycle
We made it plausible for the pagat ultimo's elegance sake
We seek for the most Beautiful to crash us like soft waves
The immortal Beauty is the terror for the mortal passangers
The immortal Elegance is shown as an unforgettable life's style
You want the depth, you play games, cast spells, and reinvent
You want to become a persona grata, the gravity ***** you in
Today i thougt how nice is to draw a bit for a change
Today you didn't like to have hollidays from a belief
I have to acknowledge the worthwile sands of time
I have to succumb to universal subconsciousnesses
Mine unimportance is a hanging shall on a tied stallion
Mine thoughst fly high as two falcons toward your star
Thine tea is served with blood, sweat, and entrapement
Thine turtle is a giant alive planet, a colourful mounted
One
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
You move at such a strikingly different pace than I.
You are nonchalant to a T.
You progress as a river, smooth and steady.
You flow over rocks with such ease,
not letting anything of unimportance afflict you, yet still holding strong to your direction.
You are soothing and fresh,
life sprouts from you, and surrounds every inch of your being.
I, I am the ocean.
Vast and unpredictable, I'll create anything from cataclysmic hurricanes to captivating coral reefs.
I shelter anything from Atlantis to the Loch Ness monster, and my deepest parts may never be revealed.
But darling, I'll turn your skies blue, if you only give me a chance.
I want every ounce of you to flow into me, your fresh water bringing me serenity, if only for one moment.
I'll never quite get why you don't like roller-coasters, or haunted houses, or rope swings, but I'm beginning to make peace with that lack of understanding.
You'll never fail to fascinate me with your love for gardens, and old films, and espresso.
I want to uncover everything about you.
I want you to teach me things about myself that I never knew were so prominent,
I ache to know you so much more.
I want you to know me, so, so much more.
I am trying to give you pieces of me, I am just still learning how.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:47 AM UTC
Before going to America, I had never experienced being in such a large cities such as LA or Denver. On the several occasions in which we were in Denver, I noticed a strange feeling of lifelessness, an air of unhappiness and a kind of mutual unimportance. It made me feel uncomfortable and I only became calm once again when we returned to the beautiful natural surroundings of Vail. Why was this the case? Why was the attitudes of people different when only driving an hour or two into the mountains?
I believe that being surrounded by the sky high concrete and metal buildings, people have become desensitized to their natural surroundings and so have also become un in-touch with their inner selves and well beings. How can someone really be in touch with themselves if they are unable to see the earth from which they came from, which is now covered in concrete? How can someone get in touch with themselves when they are unable to hear the call of a bird above the sound of cars, telling them to return to themselves?
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
the sun will die
but not for a long time
not before our own infinities
collapse into the absurdity and
the unimportance of it
all.
the sun will die
but not before goodwill
closes its doors one last time.
so long ****** $1 books and
memories of old people couches
that smelled like **** and beer and your great-grandfather's
apartment.
yeah, the sun will die
but not before those
kids who used to pick on you
and that ******* on the train
who got kicked in the ***** for making lewd comments in the quiet car
become worm food for
more decent creatures.
the sun will ******* die
so be glad.
everything ends including
all us ********
us heavy breathers and
old ladies and ex-cons and alcoholics and plain humans.
the sun will die
but we got other things to worry about
more relative than all the others
so we may as well
enjoy
the
wait.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
One little point of light, among the vast array
One teeny, tiny bubble in the foam along the bay,
One horse amidst the numerous herds,
One lump among the copious curds,
A face lost in the masses.
But to me you’re like the sun,
I cannot know that you are one,
Nor comprehend your unimportance.
As each star has its place, and lives that it has touched,
Planets orbiting, and songs to sing,
One person can do much.
In one respect you are my moon,
Casting beams down on my heart,
Reflecting purer light,
And pulling me towards righteousness,
By giving me the tides.
Your beauty’s not diminished by the others in the sky,
For beauty always holds its own,
Don’t look at them and sigh.
Like a jewel strung on a necklace,
Like a loop in clouds of lace,
Like a single falling snowflake on a frozen winter lake.
But also like foundation stone,
A warp string in my weave,
The sugar in a wedding cake,
Your work in me won’t leave.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Deteriorated configurations that are
neither of consecutive methods
or contorted reflections,
it's upon the eye line of those who look perplexed.
For what is slumped like tired unimportance,
is neither an inflexible road,
for nothing is
either invariable or contorted
It's just a view that each takes.
Me I'm like the reed,
both woven in a paradox
of motions.
For who sees a contortionist
that's neither of each
or the other.
Riffling upon the aspects of my decisive
displacement that catches
nither the truth or the lie.
You may catch the second,
or minute,
but beyond the mirco filaments
that linger between variable glimpse
that pass.
Is more than constructive tendrils
of a lifetime of consequential
amendments or defaming the
consequential understanding
that nothing plays by the rules..
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
I just feel like
an empty shell
those were
the only words I could find
when asked
to speak more
about how I've been
feeling
how can I describe
the way I
feel
when I don't even
feel
real?
an empty
egg shell
split in half
and lying in the trash
whose insides
were fried
to be devoured
by the devil
devil
or
lucifer
or
negativity
or
my own mind
all the same
thing
(being?)
the fragile
discarded
snake skin
leftover from it's owner's
moult-
the snake
is nowhere to be found-
just the shed
old skin
of who it used to be
the remnants
of the caccoon
after
the butterfly
takes it's leave
the box
that your Amazon order
arrived in
nothing left inside,
except packing peanuts
I no longer feel
like a human being
though that statement
implies
I've felt like one
before
(I haven't)
talking to others
makes me feel real
when I'm next to you
I pretend
there's something inside
of this empty
vessel
someone tell me-
what makes me
who I am?
as of right now
I feel like
all I am
is
a sack of flesh
a lump of meat
with the ability
to be aware of it's
self
unimportance
bad decisions
no soul
there's nothing inside
I have
never
felt whole
it's not just a
piece
of me
that is missing
it's the
entire
*******
thing
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
Thorough I fall in gravity's stall. My jaw unhinges during the opening of my mouth, spewing out silent, unspoken words of unimportance. Blah, blah, blah, I keep wandering about, unheard, unwanted, and unaware of your ******** Stupidity for the all-knowing and self-righteous minions, may their force not be with me. I speak with crow medicine, better than prescriptions. I feel with emotion. I listen with soul. I think with mind. I love with heart and convictions.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
My life changed on a whim.
For no particular reason I watched a squirrel scurry up a tree.
He, or she (but not an it), stared at me.
They went branch to branch, stopping here and there to observe their new observer.
And how many times has this moment passed by, going unnoticed.
How many times had this animal instinct been drowned out by the clutter of daily life.
It wasn’t as though I had disregarded life before, but this was a fundamental awakening.
Before I could wrap my head around the simplicity of this divine happenstance,
I saw a cardinal swoop down on a fence-post a few feet away.
Again, I was enveloped in the novelty of this life.
I was in a state of dull wonder, looking at the vibrant red, the low swoop of the crown, the small of the body.
The trance broke, another squirrel scurried past me and up a tree.
I noticed this one bore a scar.
The hind leg was stripped of fur.
The skin wore the discoloration of freshly healed flesh.
They too, stared at me, perhaps perplexed that it was being watched.
I walked on.
Then finishing my morning walk, I noticed many things.
It was not just life that was intriguing me, it was the way the mundane began to scream at me.
I walked through abandoned lots, noting the way their roads would crack and crumble.
I noticed broken security cameras from long departed offices and buildings.
I noticed the broken marlin in the trash heap behind some house, no longer sporting its beak.
I noticed an old ford with a rubber rifle shell for an antenna and a load of wood planks in its bed.
I noticed a graffiti stick figure on the short bridge, some dystopian cave painting.
All of that to say, a hidden world became revealed.
A world that existed underneath my own, blurred by its previously perceived unimportance.
So now, I wonder what to do with this knowledge.
I think I’ll borrow its magic.
I think I’ll write down the bizarre normalcy that I see.
A running list of averages.
It is the beginning of something.
A door has opened.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
Smallness crept inside
Wormlike string of fear
At the face of the grandiose
Grandeur, something
You wish could entangle in between
All your gaps supporting
The thin walls of crushing unimportance
And as it squirmed inside
You stomach empty and raging
It filled you with despair
Urgency to escape or to be
Held and cradled
By this enormity of everything
Most of which you will never see
Inside were thoughts
Bouncing off the walls
Meaninglessly sinking in
And dripping out
Just as meaninglessly
What are they in the face
Of endless repetition
So glorious and terrifying
You could breathe it in
Feel it, write it out, sculpt it
Or take care of its smallest bits
That fit into your grip
Tiny you are
Tiny I am
And all of them to come
Just as tiny-tiny bits of
Comparative insignificance
Yet like the molecules of matter
We hit each other's trajectories
And butterfly's wing governs the ball
So, good night dear insignificance
I thought of you today
Between every other blink
And on the big scale
It hardly even happened
Yet thought was most alive
In the universe of my
Petty mind
That never happened before
And will never exist again
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
I hate to be alone
left all by myself
with no one but me
for company
I am some awful company
So self-destructive
so full of selfishness
and pride
As though I alone
was important enough
to ignore
or that my apparent
unimportance
was something
everyone should notice
but that’s not what makes
being alone
so difficult
it’s the part of me I hate
the part I don’t bother to hide
because how could I?
It’s the part that says things
I could never mean
and yet I do and I hate it
the part that makes me enjoy
solitude
and despise it at the same time
I’m so afraid when I’m alone
because my character is weak
because I want to do the things
I know people do not approve of
To drink so that I forget that I am alone
for when I drink my inner demons
come out to play
sometimes I simply sleep
like a princess in a tower
waiting for someone to come by
who is worthy of my awareness
as though I were ******* special
which I’m not
not any more than anyone else
and they care about me
though I don’t deserve it
and they love me
but I don’t know why
if I mentioned this
used it even casually
it would be a weapon
So here I sit
all alone
all afraid
afraid of driving away the people
who leave me all alone
such a paradox
but thus is life
so I think I’ll skip the *****
and read a book
go smoke a cigar
and wait
wait until someone comes
or something happens
because what’s the point
of feeling sorry for myself?
It only makes misery
and while I have time
I do not have time for that
I hate being alone
in a strange place
surrounded by strange people
but I could go make a friend
I could try to do something constructive
call the friends I do have
remind myself that I’m not alone
even when I am.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
Tear down the curtains, hide the walls behind another layer of paint
Draw swirls of different colors and visualize a map of our distant fate
The directions we are heading prove the unimportance of all this pressure
The spring is here, the sun has arrived in time to put an end to our adventure
We’ll dust, shake out, and wipe down every corner of our minds’
And when the moon shows up, the party will carry over into the night
There’ll be laughter, drinks, and awkward glances to fill the spaces between words
We’ll beg for a repetition of the words we thought we heard
And realize the ideas that had been shared were nothing but absurd
There was a night where we forgot, and remembered what never truly was
The lives that we created were fueled by a mixture of ignorance and love
When the forest fires had spread into our homes from the falling leaves
Burning the memories that led you to a place you didn’t wish to see
It left behind only pictures to remind you of the beauty that you used to be
Remain within a blanket, to protect you from the creatures of the night
Too scared to reveal your skin, too nervous to reach for the light
So you enjoy watching the shadows as they dance across the scarlet sky
The sights that no one else could see were carved deeply into our eyes
So the hopes we shared in your daydreams were never really lies
They convinced us that they were while they secretly envied our minds
Without you the world would be empty, a tomb for those who never tried
And we would all be searching the horizon, waiting for a dead sun to shine
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
The dark silence of late night
on a cold, suburban neighborhood.
This is the **** that fuels nightmares.
She told me once, a girl I once loved,
that silence was a force worth reckoning with.
As I think of my cold, empty bed,
I understand the truth in her words,
and I realize how much time I spent
trying to fill that silence with noise- any noise.
Until I drowned out the only sounds that mattered.
Goosebumps and palpable breath-
32 degrees is not t-shirt weather,
but I'm just here to learn, to observe.
I'm just a tourist in this quiet hour;
I will take my notes and leave.
Cold, dead cars and slinking strays
populate the streets alongside me.
I pretend that I am invisible,
and that this road is infinite.
I pretend I could walk forever, and disappear.
Really, oblivion is what this is about.
You wanna talk catharsis-
how about a full body expulsion?
I am not me, but an observer
on this quiet, dreary night.
Only a few wisps of clouds
encompass the full moon.
The stars emphasize my unimportance,
and the sky is rather unsympathizing.
Closed windows and dark doorways are no better.
I trudge on, looking for signs of life
other than the abandoned.
Looking for a wearied soul to match my own,
for someone to take one look into my eyes and say
"I understand."
Without the sun to illuminate them,
the gardens aren't nearly as impressive,
and front yards are just a gray area
separating the living and the dead.
Those houses are beyond my reach, now.
I walk on, into an oblivion,
the one I searched for my entire life.
No pain, no thoughts, only this silence.
This ******* silence.
I wish I would have listened to sound, rather than noise.
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 8:37 PM UTC
Hi, What are you doing...
Hot Local Girls Online?
be secret.
But you must aid us in
keeping this secret secret.
Look tearful.
thanks in advance.
This is the experience that will
change nothing important,
I sand,
stifling a yawn at the unimportance.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 5:50 PM UTC
Poetry
or...
just writing in general,
a diary if need be
makes a person a much better person.
in the days i stopped typing blank words into little box's
days where i just didn't say whats on my mind,
i found i missed it.
i felt something was different,
So i decided to get back online
type these blank thoughts
empty words,
for all to see.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC
Absolutely astonishing (and amusing) is the aftermath of this
Bonanza, beyond baptism. Blackened, broken and bleeding,
Corpses collapsed copiously, carelessly
Disrespected down to the depths of their deaths, now dreaming,
Enticed, ever in eternity.
Funny is this funeral of fibs fabricated from unfaithfulness.
Ghosts gaining the Grave's grand greeting,
Happy to hoard the
Infested, incommensurable, inacceptable,
Jaded and jinxed,
Kind of kin who kept
Lies lingering, leading on their lover.
My mirror mentions memories,
Narratives knitted with needles
Obtaining obsessive obscurity,
Painted with pillars of impurity,
Querried by the quaint quadruped,
Reassured of rest and relinquishment.
Sorry now is the sayer but
Time ticks tactfully.
Ugly is the untruthful, of the utmost unimportance,
Vexed and vulnerable,
Without a widow in the world,
Xenon exemplifying,
Yellow bellied,
Anti-zenith czar.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC