"uninspired" poems
Unloved and undesired
Felt like the universe conspired
Unfocused and uninspired
Tell me, will I ever get tired?
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Don't approach a dog unknown to you
Holding out your hand, making eye contact
You may frighten him
Let him come to you
Don't write a poem uninspired
It won't work out
In good time
Let it come to you
Don't go out there seeking love
Like a child with a butterfly net
Live your life
Let it come to you
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
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Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 9:30 AM UTC
There’s no point in *********** today,
Because I’m not looking for skin...
Today it’s cosmic electricity.
Because I can’t smell the screen's pheromones,
And there’s something to be said for chemistry.
Because I can touch my own *******
But familiarity is hard-pressed to impress.
Because the only scraping and biting here
Is far from raunchy; my teeth are restless.
Because people have **** opinions and nuances,
And today I see caricatures but no people.
Because it’s all poor, uninspired acting,
And the only singular thing I want is truth.
The only singular thing I want.
Is truth.
Nothing against ***********
Today or ever.
But there are some lonely stretches
When I’m perched on the edge of the world,
Aroused to adventure,
And Life is buzzing past me
And I desperately want to rip into it
And savor and lick and **** out its seed
And reach into its hair and pull hard
As we bruise and break each other
And SCREAM OUT
-- LIFE!
Where redtube just won’t cut it.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 4:50 AM UTC
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
i’m sorry i cried when you touched me
i wasn’t used to fingers
feeling like feathers
and hands holding me
like a kind of ripe fruit.
lovers before you
were a bit more heavy handed
hard headed
tossing me around like some old toy
that they were tired of
uninspired and
wringing me like
i somehow had the answers
tucked so far in deep.
i am not used to being handled
gently.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
"I knew this girl once,
she had long hair, so long it whispered tiny kisses along her hips and waist
she had the oddest bluest eyes i'd ever seen, the color of the sky right before it gets completely dark
her thick, long eyelashes framed those eyes, and freckles formed constellations across her cheeks
i could almost draw the big dipper and Orion's belt on her milky white face.
She didn't know i existed but i admired her from afar. I could tell she was educated- She always had some form of poetry in her hand. But of all the things i could have noticed about her i noticed her bookmarks. She would lose them all the time, i would see her chasing after the scraps of paper as they flew through the wind down the street. She'd stick anything in between those pages, wrappers of all sorts, leaves, pennies, shoelaces, once i even saw a page ripped from a different book. It became my favorite game to guess what the next bookmark would be. After awhile she stopped chasing the various bookmarks across the city and she cut all that long hair off, then awhile after that she started using unoriginal, uninspired plain old bookmarks.Then even awhile that she stopped bringing books altogether, until one day she didn't show up. Nobody knew that beautiful, mysterious, bookmark making girl was locked up inside her own mind. Nobody knew she hated her long hair and her freckles and even those baby blues. Nobody knew that she couldn't stand to live in her skin anymore so much that she swallowed a couple pills one night to ease away the pain. Even worse was she didn't know i watched her for so long and thought she was the most interesting human being i'd ever encountered. That girl committed suicide because she hated herself learn from her mistake, my mistake, everyone who ever noticed her bookmarks mistake, and don't do this, don't off yourself with a .45 before you've even had a chance to live" he's desperate now
"please please you don't have to do this" he sputters
I answer simply " I never was much of a bookmark girl, i always dog-eared my pages"
bang
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
What do you do when you feel uninspired??
It’s been so long since I last wrote a piece. I don’t consider myself a poet. I consider myself an inspirational writer. I write about what I feel and though I feel a lot of things I’m just not the same. I haven’t felt inspired to write. I haven’t felt the urge. I haven’t been moved. Words elude me. I feel like I’m blocked and I’m unhappy. How did you overcome and grasp your inspiration when it left?
To tell you a bit about me and my struggles. I have a double personality. One person is Jon. The other is Dom. Hence my username. I am Jon. A quiet, introvert. Mostly keep to myself. Dom is extroverted and into some aspects of the **** lifestyle. Dom went through a rough time feeling betrayed by the one he loved and still loves, to be honest. My family never understood me and they ravaged what beautiful thing I once held in my arms. I was still writing until I suddenly wasn’t anymore.
I want to write. I need to write but the words just don’t flow. Please help! I’m slowly dying inside.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies
Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair
As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised
To the jesters unequivocally blasphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards
And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
I wish I could give you people something of substance
But the fact of the matter is I just feel so uninspired
And that leaves me to think,
What the hell happened to this world?
There should never be a moment
In any poets life where they can't draw some inspiration
where they can't paint the sky burnt orange on a snowy day
With their words as a brush
With our words as a brush
And All of our stories as our color palate
I think we could paint the universe together
In a fantastic mural of culture, and love
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Uninspired
Unemployed
Need something to fill the void
Be it love or be it peace
It’s too high up, where I can’t reach
I wish I could say I’ve tried and failed
Only God knows that my ship has sailed
I’m way off course, I ride the waves
Hoping that, I’ll be saved
A hand to grab me and pull me in
A new life waiting to begin
I take a step to a sight unseen
I’ve lost my drive and have no dreams
Nothing for me to seek
It appears my ship has sprung a leak
I make promises that I can’t keep
The days give way while I’m fast asleep
I find a land where trees can speak
A guiding whisper in the leaves
The land provides all that I need
On solid ground the ocean deep
The mountains high up at its peak
A single tear runs down my cheek
The void’s now filled and I’m complete
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
I've been tired and so uninspired.
It's as if the world is moving,
but I'm stuck in place.
Everyone is moving forward
as I'm falling backward.
I can't find the light to look to.
My inspiration has run dry,
creativity a bleak blip on the radar.
I need a kick to start back up.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
Your sentences were gated,
And locked within your lungs -
Your words forbidden fruit to me,
The apple of your tongue.
The uninspired oft’ find it hard
To leave another’s song unsung.
So I harvested your phrases -
I burglarized your breath,
And nurtured all your laden words
‘Till there was nothing left.
And living with your hollowed words,
I died a stolen death.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
The clouds are boring now
as I exist in a realm outside reason and romance.
These clouds are aimlessly
splattered on a dull blue sky
by a tried Artist
feeling uninspired…unrealized.
Is there any hope
for the Artist
and our world he tries to paint?
Why must the artwork continue
to destroy itself!
I destroy me
by staying stagnant and unamused.
Perhaps sometimes art
must be boring to soothe the soul
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:42 AM UTC
I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that
I possess countless poetic ideas.
Because at the end of the day,
I see only failures in every attempt.
And I'm not about to lie by saying that
each setback helps me along.
Because no matter what,
I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.
And I am in no position to believe that
true inspiration dwells within me.
For even in my darkest musings,
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
I am not what you expected
A paradox in locomotion
A pendulum marking out its own time
An uninspired
Overachiever
Who refuses to write in words that sound similiar
And I too will leave you wanting
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
Life is ambient colours,
We are shades in the spectrum
The light bends around us,
We are aura upon life
Brightness,
Transparency,
Illuminated
Are we upon the world, we are
But like a prism, moods can change
From one to another, a less bleak
Aura can blend with situations
And once vibrant can
Diminish
Subside
Uninspired
Life can drag you down,
Became a shadow of our
Former self,
Our ambient colours of life
Can brighten up others days,
Or drag others down, We have
Auras of colours that
Can be as illuminated as any day,
Or swallow us in the gloom,
We are easel, a mixture of colours,
Each slightly changing to the moods life plays..
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
I am defeated
The day was dark grey
Cold and windy
Cemetery
Blue flapping tent
Ready to fall over
And the Preacher
Droning on and on
Today I am tired and hungry
Trying not to eat the junk
That my friends put in front of me
Grateful for the plateful
Two hundred and seventy pounds
And I just want to eat then fall sleep
Today I am defeated
Both sides find no reason
A killer left unindicted
The marginalized left enraged
Sets the stage for more violence
And violence begets violence
Today I am defeated
So it’s no surprise
That the poetry is uninspired
Rage and melancholy
Are like spiraling lovers
Dancing in and out
Of each other’s arms
Today I am defeated
All the kind words are needed
But they only lighten the load slightly
My chest still stings tightly
The tears still fall lightly
Maybe tomorrow will shine
A little more brightly
But I cannot say for certain
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I've ran out of poems to write
Cannot dedicate another i love you
Or kiss another good night
Is love still worth the fight?
I've ran out of tears to cry
Cannot hear another sorry
My emotions had run dry
Is love still worth the try?
I've ran out of chances to take
Cannot take another no
Or risk another mistake
Is love still worth the heartbreak?
I've ran out of ***** to give
Cannot see another one leave
My heart now refuses to believe
Is love stil worth to relive?
I've ran out of faith
Cannot take another date
My heart refuses to cooperate
Is love still worth the wait?
My heart is tired and empty
My heart ran out of poetry
This is the irony
An uninspired poet's poetry
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
just bored tired and uninspired
maybe i'll become a liar
pretend i'm a tire
or runaway to join a band of thieves
for now i'll stick to ******* at bottles
and hope for answers at the bottoms
breathing in the smell of autumn
and try to forget it's just rotting leaves
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
When I found out that you found someone else,
My heart sank deep into my chest;
As an anchor sinks into the sand.
I've never felt so heartbroken before,
So hopeless, so useless,
so uninspired, so much sorrow in my soul.
I never expected you to fall for me,
but why does it have to hurt so much?
Isn't love supposed to be a joyous feeling?
Then why does it leave me so breathless,
so empty, so tired,
so worthless, so heartbroken?
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Naked bodies are meant for each other
To hold and to touch and to bother
I've spent some time not caring
but my anticipation is blaring
I left a good soul in good torment
He had video games on his mind
It was easy to see, we let love ferment
I was no one but a ***** bind
I said, enough.
Twenty five years
I've grown
I've slipped
I've been torn apart
Three years
I've wasted
Uninspired
Aching for
Inspiration
He came to me from the mines
His hard, rough hands
used to be so soft, when he was a boy
Boy has he grown
He holds me with a grip
As if I've slipped before
He came to me in the night,
unable to sleep
I heard his plight
My heart was buried deep
But I let him touch me
and look at me
and want me
These are not empowering feelings
A woman was meant for a man
A man, with primeval notions
A woman, with cultured devotions
We succumb to our basic human desires
It either feeds us
Or destroys us
Everyone wants to be the object
of the other's deviant subject
We look for distractions
something for attraction
Life is not a reality
It is a fiction
With every step
a new direction
I am free now
to love
to play
to dance
It gives me immense pleasure
to go back to previous measure
I don't care if I'm alone
I can choose to be used
I asked if he missed this
"Yes."
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
The cloudy nightmares,
Images of pasts, repressed
Forever dying
Their tombs are destroyed,
Gateways to the collections
Violently *****
Given a **** or
Second thought to understand
Tragic endeavors
Numbness overcomes
And overshadows, under
Dark circumstances
Sly, insidious,
Uninspired, and flawless
Miracles occur
Alone in my world
Stoicism has benefits
No one else matters
Dreaming, believing,
Living, thinking, and feeling,
But never kneeling
Twelve, thirty-seven,
Six-million ways to die, but
One to stay alive
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 11:24 AM UTC
No poem came to me this morning
as I walked for an hour
in the snowmelt mist
threading my boots through
the brown salt muck and flotsam
winter's junk food wrappers
the city just stared
at its own face in the ice
as uninspired as me
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC