"unimpressive" 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.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
As you can see,
I've never been a prodigy.
Always unimpressive, apparently.
Stressing is an everday thing.
But you wouldn't care,
You're just so unaware.
Depression has me ensnared,
But you couldn't handle my despair.
So keep your eyes closed.
And I'll do the same.
The things I think about are completely insane,
I wish the good times would never change.
But this isn't my dreamland.
It's a place where I don't want to stand.
Depression is the ocean,
Anxiety is the sand,
And I'm somewhere floating in between it all.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
This is not a poem.
This is a rant.
I will put on my rage face,
And paint the town red,
And "just go crazy, man"
With the company of myself
In the comfort of my own home
Because I can tear my shirt,
Or draw a knife
Or shout shakespear off a balcony
And I openly scream at the shadows
Who answer politely with silence
I can behave badly
And if I am my only witness
I can sleep at night
Without the peace and solitude that comes from iron bars
And padded cells
I can fight with myself and indulge in the guilty pleasures
That make me feel sullied and stupid
I can argue with a hundred dream girls
And when I sleep,
They are still there in my dreams
There is no loss or losing
I can spend three hundred dollars
Monthly on alcohol
If it saves me three thousand
Monthly on sanity
I can look in the mirror and see a hundred different faces
Each more honest to its emotion than the last
I can bite my tongue to spite my face and
Laugh that it was my reflection that drove me to do so,
You never know what that son of a ***** will say
When i am not looking
I dont spend the night on the town
Because I no longer need to surround myself with people.
I no longer need to go out to buy a hat
That suits me and makes me look interesting or meaningful
When I sit alone at the bar
I have no one to impress except myself
And myself already knows I am unimpressive.
There is no one to disappoint
And while this seems like a sad tale,
The truth is that it is the free-est I've ever felt.
In the sanctity of a space that is mine
Surrounded only by people I disagree with
My reflections
And shadows
And to be able to write this while wearing underpants.
Bukowski was right
God is dead
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
**** the good stuff
Let's talk about the bad stuff
In the end it's all fury and cotton…
There's a spider-web in my palm
The center is a smiley-face
With X'es for eyes
And I feel my tongue
Becoming numb and salty
Maybe potassium
And who are you
With your glasses
And your street smarts
I'm quite ok with being
Unimpressive an ignorant
To your standards
A mafia with some ****** mixed in
That's how you're perceived by me
No code, no guts, no loyalty
And you talk, and I listen
I even engage you, polite as I am
I don't bet, but I'd gamble
You have a barcode on your soul
And if I could explain, I bet you'd listen
A set of letters on your payroll
And your set of ways
Is equivalent to
Mistreatment of an animal
But your tactics and lack of tact
Suggest treatment of an alien
An I bet on the movies
You're not sheep, just orphans
Begging for a leader
A rite of passage
And here goes my empathy
Imaginary places and genes
And I don't bet, but I'd gamble
You have a barcode on your soul
And hell yes, I'm in it right now
**** the good stuff
Let's talk about the bad stuff
In the end it's all fury and cotton
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:21 PM UTC
Bethlehem,
so remarkably unimpressive
and yet so holy.
I long to visit you
Small and humble
but great and glorious.
Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est
an inscription reads
as I get to a grotto.
A fourteen-point silver star
embedded into the marble
is now indelibly embedded into my memory
scorching its way into my heart
burning the moment into my brain.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others
I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC
every poem i try to write
seems to have already been written.
the moon, the stars, the scars on her arms,
already done.
i want to be something new, something different.
describing the feeling of feeling complete, the feeling of youth, exchanging heat in the backseat,
already done.
this picture I have in my mind
comes out as stick figures on paper.
the anxiety, quietly trying to live,
rebel against society,
every rhyme seems cliche, the special depressed snowflake style that i try so hard to stray from.
oppressive, depressive, aggressive, but it’s unimpressive.
every word i write
has already been written.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
feels like i'm always throwing something out there
only to have it bounce back at me
untouched
obviously unimpressive
to anyone
why are some conceptions
notions
thoughts
acclamations
beliefs
disregarded as nothing
by so many
kinda makes me want to quit
kinda makes me want to chuck it all
give up
throw in the towel
raise my hands in surrender
and be done with it all
but i won't
i'll keep tossing
with stubborn determination
knowing that one day
i'll electrifyingly amaze
the right person!
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
The way that I know, you're knowing me.
Was the older me.
That old is over, see.
There's a few mistakes god needs to oversee.
I’ve done such bogus things.
I repent in the words of my poetry.
Refocusing.
The direction of a reflected
soulless me.
Misguided and couldn't hide it,
I wasn't fighting,
the vices holding me,
back
and whats sad is that these manic laughs,
as ecstatic as they come,
stem from the fact
that I'm feeling like crap
sad sap, too fast to play dumb
sad-sack ,
trapped rat
thats numb to the things that once would make me run.
Rock bottoms not a problem for my partna
who’s drug drama and habits are this fun.
These rhymes that I've designed inside my witty mind
redefine what is brand new.
The reflection of perfection,
the best is my profession,
and the rest belongs to you.
The professors teaching lessons,
of transgression in repressive,
unimpressive
back road routes
perspective is subjective but
effective in selection
and reflection of the truth.
Truth.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
As I ran out of air
And drowned in a sea
Which I've never known before
Starring in this unimpressive finale
I had this overwhelming
Unquenchable thirst
Desperate for a droplet
Preparing for the worst
Everyone's inability to hear
Matched with my absence
Of words to at least convey
To end this prolonged pretense
So I spoke with an unknown voice
And sang with an unheard tune
As if chanting spells and divinations
I created and casted my own rune
Surrounded by coldly fastidious eyes
I played and danced to a song
Which none has ever encountered
But felt and knew all along
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
In my dreams
I am too powerful to ignore.
I've learned a thing or two there.
I've got a flinty stare
And a chip on my shoulder
Things I hide beneath a meek smile
An unimpressive little girl voice,
And an eagerness to help.
But behind these eyes
Is a creature that craves power.
My only fear is that I know I have it.
Once I tip my hand,
Once everyone sees it
What will I have?
What's my ace in the hole
If everybody knows I know I'm strong?
In my dreams
They'd be everyone else's nightmares
In my dreams
I run through rainslicked streets
Chased by gunmen
And I feel alive.
I smile, feral,
And I laugh as I fight.
I want that in my body.
I want those bruises and that sureness,
I want my power.
In my dreams when I am set upon
I think
Finally
And I give it my all with a freed laugh
And a joy too wild for waking hours.
I am too powerful to ignore.
I am too powerful to stay hidden.
When I rip off this flimsy skin and step forward
I want to be naked and smug.
But I am afraid that I will have no power
If I don't hide mine.
If it is seen
Is it lessened by the viewers?
My secret
My secret
My secret is I am not
Afraid.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
We look past meaning, still blinded and dreaming of riches,
Which leads us toward track homes and condos, cruel chapels
While the hapless live in the world’s mansion: the most open convent
And what we don’t see is sometimes the crux of our content
The streets offer a morose array of the discarded
They, the wise and most wretched, who humbly suffer
Are perhaps the truest, comely Christian-hearted men and women
They bless the day as they pray to the ground
Where cracks become twisted crucifixes upon which
The most selfless are displayed for public derision.
Ironic is the formula written with precision on the tome of our existence
Iconic moments of pain bloom into the banks that loan out inspiration
Each electron is one thousand eight hundred thirty-sixth of its proton
And this proportion, though grandly and numbingly unimpressive
Is the basis upon which we live and whir and spin as matter does
Coincidence is a lie in the face of the certainties within what we cannot see
For, though one decade separated the births of Crockett and Bowie
And, though their names might conjure knives larger than pockets
And hats, stolen from conquered bandit-faced creatures’ tail ends
It was on the same 1836 day that they evolved from flesh into legend.
Joy is a strange element that seems to come and go without a plot
Yet some know how to wield their emotions with little thought
As if joy and love were as a hammer worn neatly at the belt
So, I yearn for one day to grasp a handle in a hand that has never felt
The shape of certainties, once discerned as chance and circumstance
And when the hammer falls, I hope it breaks a twisted crack into my heart
I hope to, from my reflections, thus bereft,
Find some perfection hidden deep in death
As one might decipher, through foreign language,
A light that warms within a sonnet
In a way, I think my life depends upon it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
When I pointed out the harvest moon to him,
as it hung in the sky, blurred yellow edges
hiding behind a fog,
he laughed at me.
And as the car pulled forward, I saw the shining yellow shell
of the Shell Gas Station shine over the street.
This moon is nothing like your’s.
I find
that when people try to impress me
it all becomes the more unimpressive.
Your talent and true skill
should speak for itself,
jump off the page of your notebook
and indulge my sights with the vision
of your gift.
So when you try
to oh-so-casually remove your shirt
and change as you walk by me
sitting on your bed, reading a text
on my phone and now starting to wish
that I was home,
leave your shirt on—
show me your love.
Don’t tell me about your award from the state.
Let me find the plaque as I wander around the room,
waiting for you to come back from the stove.
Your wallet is thin, but the food is most delicious
when it’s served at your kitchen’s round table.
And as the smells creep into your bedroom
from down the hall,
I slide my fingers along the bookshelves,
pulling out yearbooks and quickly searching for your picture,
hoping to find it before you can notice
I’m not there.
That’s when I’ll find the plaque, resting on a corner of the shelve,
not even hung up.
I’ll bring it up at dinner later, ask what honorable thing you did, good sir.
And then you’ll tell me the story,
And it will be love
ly.
But rather, I’ll sit on the edge of the bed,
nestle my jacket around me tighter
and reach for the intoxication.
I must make myself drunk with something other than love tonight.
I must find the part of me that only knows moonlight, reach her,
touch her, and pull her closer to me. Embrace this new me.
I’ll breathe in her breaths and then press them onto your lips.
And I will forget that this is not love and this is not safe
but I left that harvest moon in another state.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
it started with me alone in a field
it was somewhere in long island, I think
yeah, I know they don’t have fields
I was spinning real slow
well, more like normal speed but in slow motion
and my hands were ****** to the sky all dramatically
and I was wearing that white sun dress
and then there was thunder that was really quiet and lightning that was blue
and then I fell down to the ground
and the tall prickly grass felt soft and warm and I was going to stay there forever
I remember that part because I screamed it real loud
but then you come out of nowhere and just picked me up
and I was real mad cause I screamed I want to stay here forever and
don’t you know what forever means?
but apparently you didn’t cause you picked me up and carried me like Superman—
actually no, you dragged me by my left arm,
I don’t think it hurt that much;
at some point I looked up at you expecting caring & sympathetic eyes
but was startled by your ugly indifference—
yes, indifference can be ugly, you know that—
you dragged me for about an hour,
until finally we reached a lake and you let me look:
it was a ***** lake,
matching perfectly to the dark sky and unimpressive trees,
and it went on for infinity which I thought was weird for a lake;
you helped me stand up,
your touch delicate but so firm,
and as we held hands and looked together at this majestic lake,
the reflection of the cloud filled sky disappears,
and I bend to get a closer look and I see that this isn’t a lake at all—
it’s a cliff.
a cliff that stretches down for miles, no, light years,
and I look at you in astonishment,
and instead of seeing your non-caring & sympathetic eyes,
you have no face
and your expressionless faceless head ***** to the side a bit,
kind of pensive-looking,
and at the same time I feel your delicate but firm hand in the middle of my back,
and I feel myself falling forward in slow motion,
my feet slowly tearing away from ground,
and I take one last look back at you
and your face is back and looks caring & sympathetic at my body lifelessly freefalling
so I blow it a kiss and say I’ll see you soon
because I know when this is over you’ll be waiting at the other end
and I know it’ll be worth it to see your face one more time.
it was a pathetic dream.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
I didn't know "calling you beautiful" was considered invective.
"worshiping your body" was considered abusive.
"smiling in your direction" was considered repulsive.
"telling you the truth" was considered deceptive.
"saying I love you" was considered offensive.
"holding your hand" was considered aggressive.
"agreeing with you" was considered preemptive.
"my love for you" was considered subjective.
But...
I know now "your level of ignorance" is excessive.
"Your personality" is unimpressive.
"Your actions" are irrespective.
"Your feelings" are insensitive.
"Your loyalty" is selective.
"Your presence" is oppressive.
Also...
"Realizing, letting go and moving on" is redemptive, progressive and effective.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
favoring the limelight
but all bets are off tonight
build me a new empire
based on your words
be my mistake again
or prove me wrong
realize i am your loss
i am an improvement over your usual catch
unimpressive, bland
they'll design a lie, just to entice your eye
but i'm real
when will this end?
washing your placebos down
with a conviction that they work
is this the last cancelled reservation?
don't dial in till you know your line
play the boy for his voice
he'll decode in his sleep
preparing for the masses
to carry your message to all
till they become obsessed, too
our love for the heiress to my heart grows
complicated feelings that carry no reason
jealous eyes manipulate
corrupted and articulate demeanors that don't lack in style
exactly what she wants
she will have
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Why does no one hear my cries,
Sees the truth behind the lies.
I'm screaming, yet no one knows
That the aching pain within me grows.
I want to show the world my pain,
To shock the masses, change the sames.
I want my voice to touch the stars,
But my words are silenced, I hide the scars.
My bed is my comfort, but everyone knows,
With a partner to move with, seeds of loneliness grows.
And while the pain is unhinging and turning my smile,
Maybe fake love will buy peace for a while.
For while the game when played is always a thrill,
You feel the ache after when everything is still.
I try and fake it, saying, "I'm fine."
There's a darkness where my heart used to shine.
I'm tired of "okay", I'm tired of "fine".
I just want someone to see the pain inside.
Someone to pull you from the fake " I love you"'s
Because, let's be honest, when are they ever true?
And though I'm searching for someone to set me free,
To break the chains and comfort my screams.
Maybe the person I've been searching for
Hasn't been hiding like before.
Maybe the person to help me through,
To hold my hand, is coming soon.
Perhaps the person to sing my song
Has been there for me all along.
Though I find it hard to believe,
I mean, no one else believes in me...
The person to help me, to let my voice free,
Is simple, unimpressive... Me.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
As you can see,
I've never been a prodigy.
Always unimpressive, apparently.
Stressing is an everyday thing.
But you wouldn't care,
You're just so unaware.
Depression has me ensnared,
But you couldn't handle my despair.
So keep your eyes closed.
And I'll do the same.
The things I think about are completely insane,
I wish the good times would never change.
But this isn't my dreamland.
It's a place where I don't want to stand.
Depression is the ocean,
Anxiety is the sand,
And I'm somewhere floating in between it all.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
All the way to the back
Keep it cold
Mysteries move amidst the crowd
Wake of Leviathans
Pull through, who has your back?
grey friends, placeless, orbits askew
you are a perihelion, a vertigo of swarm technology, existing to exist,
why, why breathe, why currents running tracks, find the summer still, still here
She has blue eyes, is this the future. pulled from the past, so close to dead
one last shot.
Failed itch of v vs. w who wins, deflation, unimpressive
die for this or ever saved by the prince, is the glass coffin too battered?
Did the witch win after all these years, these fractured candy colored clouds,
even death may die
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
I'm trying on my bikini
so I keep the lights low
don't want to see everything
these bits aren't usually on show
They're whiter than the others
never see the light of day
I try to cover as much as possible
apparently a wet suit is not okay!
I'm actually dreading the thought
(and it's starting to make me sweat)
of bearing all my bits
it's like an intimidating threat!
I feel I'm seriously panicking
about all the crap I ate
wishing I had more willpower
but of course, now it's too late!
I tried to buy the 'fit'
to suit my pear shaped frame
which means the knickers are massive
and now I just feel shame :/
The lower half of my body
I try to cover up
but my unimpressive top half
needs extra padding in the cup!
None of this makes sense
and it's such a stressful time
I'm taking the bikini back
and I'm just gonna ****** hide.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
I lay down on the floor.
Solid, honest, dependable.
Comforting in the strangest of ways.
The floor is always there
To stop me from falling
To whatever lies beneath.
It's cold and so simple
But it's all that makes me comfortable
It's so real and unimpressive,
It is disguisedly refreshing.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
back home there is a garden ,
it is small & unimpressive & sits in front of my house.
i grow simple things
and send all the tenderness i can to their roots
(with a thumb that is steadily turning green)
sometimes insects come & gather round me
like a strange ritual, worship circles of ants & beetles
--antennae waving.
chanting in silent language.
there are some roses growing on the verge,
which lend rich reds & whites
to the arrangement of my plantings.
each morning as the dew rises fresh & hot
i pick the aphids from each flower
and they bloom in peace.
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
(2013)
my body is small
my ******* are unimpressive
my hair is without luster
my hips are not seductive
my eyes are not deep pools of mystery
my skin is flawed
my mind is addled
my voice is not lyrical
my walk is without grace
my words are not eloquent
my feet are scarred
my knees are bony
my piercings are skew
my nails varnish is chipped
my teeth are yellow
my nose is big
my wardrobe is uninspired
my job is meaningless
my libido is low
yet,
i love you more than i have words to declare.
is that not enough?
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC