"unproductive" poems
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of stone, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
an occasional liar just keepin' it real.
I am weird and lovely and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
You like to say love disappeared.
And I swear it never left, but she talk like Kanye "Ima let you finish"
shrug her shoulders; cut me off, Swift.
Drinks on the table it was no one else's business, Henny in my system there was no one else who witnessed how she never took a breath like a run on sentence so I'm in the club flexing working on my fitness; arms out stretched on my chest crucifixion.
I'm forgiven but could never get a word in not even one syllable I'm talking in synonyms I,
never
ever
nevermore, words with friends. Triple word how absurd you be trippin **** on my Instagram insecurity I'm tired of it I'm with my Boys chillin rarely smoked but might burn a spliff; ease the pain so insane major Payne fatigue is in.
I got a glimpse of future, I use to, try to hit you up reconnect, bluetooth, I'm in her ear lying for the *** I miss you, she on top giving me the truth: this all you. But **** it though I'm not trynna be your man, but when she leaving out for work I be sleepin in
and when she home I tax that *** like I'm Uncle Sam nothing ever change so after head she be at my neck
next
Flashback to the present
--and--
she still telling me how I don't get it
stressed
unproductive in her presence, you not even in front of me I'm still tasting lemons; Yo, my star player wants a trade should I let her go? cut too deep for bandaids should I let it flow.
Throwback to the past vampire clothes but the blood different I'm a sucker for that red though: she was floating 6 inches from the earth floor, you's a victim baby true blood, spoil us! Show Me What You Got lil mama let your "Kingdom Come" dressed in all black spending money black republican? Awesome and some; I was sliding home she was catching, clamping; say I turn her on like a touch screen, Samsung; with a touch of color you would disobey your mother as I slid under your covers
mid-day massages
"Midnight Maunders"
at least that's how it use to be, now Award Tour got her trippin almost frequently
we use to fight for love she said now she a causality!
"and how you gonna make this bout you it's about me, phone ringing since 1am it's about 3
thought you was slick huh,
thought I was sleep, you **** right love disappeared"
but she never leaves.
She's still waiting to exhale, but she never breaths.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime
Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies
Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time
Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....
Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood
Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation
Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *************
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression
Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks
Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ************* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines
In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo
Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
Strap on a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men
The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
1 4
she offers me, a spot of dust
she raises me under the couch,
on platitudes and warm bread I know it’s
in return for my devotion there
she loves me like the boats today, I start spring-cleaning,
she keeps out on the ocean (this alone
she loves me to be molded, should receive
not to be unfolded more recognition than it will)
I pull out the couch
she bore me bones the vacuum doesn’t quite
the lacrimal bone reach the dust lying
the breastbone on unused carpet,
all the cervical vertebrae the head
I use them to simulate keeps hitting the wall
her expectations unproductive
I put the furniture back
2 in place
I have names, no one will see the lack
I wear them like badges of progress
inspired by something not quite
earned yet 5
while lucid dreaming
I assigned constellations were on
each name my skin
a compartment and freckles in
of me the night sky
If I name them maybe
they will become pollution drowned out
real, not just necessary two thirds
even if most imploded
before they were seen
3 6
with enough necessity were it not for shadows
anyone can tell a lie I would surely learn to
hate the light
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
I told you I love winter,
and you thought that will change
when the cold numbs my feet
but it didn't
I told you I love vacations
and you thought that will change
when long vacations leave me unproductive
but it didn't
I told you I love you
and you thought that will change
when you break my heart
but it didn't
Loving you was like loving winter
a constant in my equation
and although I was never really great at math
I learned how to make a system of two equations
you are not a constant in my life's equation
but you are a constant in my heart's equation
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
I no longer believe you've left my head, I mean,
the idea of your fingers interlocked with my own
echoes at me in the most unproductive ways.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
***1. Thou shall not worry, for worry is the most unproductive of all
human activities.
2. Thou shall not be fearful, for most of the things we fear never
come to pass.
3. Thou shall not cross bridges before you come to them, for no one
yet has succeeded in accomplishing this.
4. Thou shall face each problem as it comes. You can only handle
one at a time anyway.
5. Thou shall not take problems to bed with you, for they make very
poor bedfellows.
6. Thou shall not borrow other people’s problems. They can better
care for them than you can.
7. Thou shall not try to relive yesterday for good or ill, it is
forever gone. Concentrate on what is happening in your life and be
happy now!
8. Thou shall be a good listener, for only when you listen do you
hear ideas different from your own. It is hard to learn something
new when you are talking, and some people do know more than you do.
9. Thou shall not become “bogged down” by frustration, for 90% of
it is rooted in self-pity and will only interfere with positive
action.
10. Thou shall count thy blessings, never overlooking the small
ones, for a lot of small blessings add up to a big one.***
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
It’s five thirty in the mirror maze,
and you’re all standing still,
surrounding each other at every angle.
There’s a way out but do we deserve it?
And the answer is no, no we don’t.
So we don’t try it and then it’s just you
and you and you in the mirror maze,
making yourself claustrophobic.
It’s hard to stand yourself in here
and it makes it hard to move.
We spend so much time alone together
that we begin to loathe each other
and then how can we get out?
If we can’t tolerate our self,
how do we leave the mirror maze
and inflict our self on others?
See, it’s better to just stab yourself
in the back three times over.
Let’s call it penance.
Let’s call it a lazy sort of suffering,
a selfish sort of punishment,
a *sorry I’ve been such a bad person
but look at how much of my life
I’m wasting, look, I’m suffering now,
and I know I deserve this, I’m so sorry.
I understand I’m a terrible person.*
We make no attempt to escape the
mirror maze that we’ve made for our self
so the life outside goes rotten.
It withers or it outgrows us,
and still, we’re standing in the mirror maze.
*One day, I tell myself, I’m going to make it.
One day, things will be different.*
But you can’t see it in the mirrors.
See, you’ve tried happiness before
and each time you find that beautiful blue winter,
that purple evening, that wide ocean,
you blink and you’re back in the mirror maze.
In the happy spaces, the mirrors put themselves back up.
Each perfect place and each perfect moment
becomes another mirror maze because we’re so stuck here.
*You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this.
Why should you be happy? You don’t deserve this.*
I hate you, we tell each other and try to turn our backs
on our self but you can’t do that in the mirror maze.
We ought to be sad. Why aren’t we sad enough yet?
It’s unproductive, it’s toxic, it’s pathetic,
all this self-inflicted sadness, but aren’t we
all supposed to hate the girl in the book
who refuses to be sad? I don’t know what to do anymore,
so today’s yet another day gone, six o’clock in the mirror maze,
wearing yesterday’s bad feelings because new ones don’t feel right.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
who am i?
what am i?
Do I really exist?
What form of life Do I have here?
Is my identity really determined by my actions?
If so, that makes me someone who'd rather write than live.
But is that all i am?
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
As each day passes I can feel it,
I'm slowly losing a part of my identity.
My friends are all screaming;
"who are you!?!"
"is your mask anything like you!?!"
My head is hurting,
I don’t know how it’s still on.
I'm still aching,
After all the breaking that has been done.
© Copyright Tyler Atherton
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
To both of you
Your paranoia has taken
a totally new level.
By checking my phone,
or my email accounts
or my Facebook account
is not going to be doing you
* any form of good. *
My friends and I
called that conversation
a heart-to-heart
the kinds I've never had with
both of you.
There are overwhelming feelings
that need to be poured out
And with that someone you know you could trust
That's pretty much
good for my mind.
Academics come second or third
When you are having a mid-life crisis
I'm sorry sir
but
get
YOUR
priorities right.
The one hour that I would have
to spend with you on Sundays
is the most unproductive,
stupidest things
I've ever done in my entire life.
It's not helping me.
And if you haven't gotten the signs already,
you should just stop,
and not care too much about anything.
Yes, it may be your next-of-kin's future
That you're worrying about
And I'm worrying about the exact same thing
But there are some things i don't show or tell you
So please, keep quiet.
If you're going to be strict with me,
let me tell you one thing.
It's not going to go the way you want it to be.
Slashes of the cane may never leave their mark.
Well, both of you might as well keep quiet.
I probably wouldn't go to Harvard
And that's well none of my concerns
Because I know
Few years from now, I
will
try my best to get into a good uni.
But till then,
I beg of both of you
Just keep quiet.
Both your voices
Neither soothing nor reprimanding
Is what I don't what to hear.
So if you could just care on some important things
Maybe my health or my study?
I think I would study even more
And do better
Just help me clear my doubts once in a while
I don't need both of you.
All the time.
You might say,
Oh you are so ungrateful
But let me tell you,
deep inside
I still care, and I still worry about you.
So I'm not that ungrateful
Just care when it looks like if you have to
Until then, don't talk
keep quiet
Cuz' I only feel worse and worse
when you do.
Seriously sometimes my friends
would be able to empathize more
And they understand
And one more things,
if companies search through so much data,
they would be very very very
disappointed to know how many people
do it every single day.
In the inside,
I'm almost at breaking point.
There's so many things I don't tell you.
Problems only get worse
Your advice doesn't make much of a difference.
So just keep quiet.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
Her hands were busy making coffee
The cafe her home as much as her work place
Idle hands is a disastrous plan
Time unproductive is time wasted
This much, she understands
She is ever efficient in the kitchen
Wash, dry, put away, organise
A worker's favourite routine memorised
Her hands are making coffee for a patron
They take the coffee without saying hi
The honest hard work of the waitress
Gets ignored time after time
Sep 21, 2021
Sep 21, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
i always regret the nights i stay awake
for no reason at all
except to trace and retrace every fear
that lies awake on my chest
the evening grows closer to the sun
and more unproductive
c h o p p e d
into little bits where the light creeps in
a hazy glow, lost memories that are insignificant
and not much of a loss
down feathers scattered across an orange sunrise
and pillows piled on top of piercing silence
all i wish
is to be asleep
tucked into a dreamland
where nothing can excite me
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
It doesn't matter how so plain
Or rough the crust may be,
The kernel is what truly counts --
The part we cannot see.
A piece of land perceived as good
And ripe for human toil
May yet prove unproductive
Without the proper soil.
Can we appraise the saber
While still within its sheath,
Or comprehend the ocean
Unless we look beneath?
Sights we often fail to see
And thoughtlessly pass by
May be those that satisfy
The palate, not the eye.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
Entities of Reality stalk haunt humankind
Teasing unmercifully promising in person
A plain brown package; The Mind’s Eye; Pandora’s Box.
Desire disguised as a need, want, or a trophy.
Consciousness trying to escape the emptiness.
It doesn’t matter; How can we rise above, transcend it?
The tears won’t stop? Call them Tears of Joy; Gratitude.
Make promises to get what you want, then wait to see.
Pretend to be Happy; Joyful; Hide the Pain.
Make jokes! Laugh your way through the heartache! Look happy!
Want it? Take it! Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth!
Feeling guilty about it is unproductive.
Saving Grace; Just Passing Thru; Get Out of Jail Free!
It doesn’t matter; Unconditional Forgiveness.
It doesn’t matter; We’re all going to the same place someday.
It doesn’t matter; We’re all going to Heaven anyway.
Despair, Distress, Hopelessness; An Undeserved Mess!
What’s in it for You? Recognition? Salvation?
Generosity; Curiosity; Doesn’t Pay!
Return it! Get a Refund! Just use it, don’t buy!
Redemption; Reconciliation; Justified;
It doesn’t matter; Give it back: Return To Sender
It doesn’t matter; We’re all going to the same place someday.
It doesn’t matter; We’re all going to Heaven anyway.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
I woke up in the middle of night, last night, to an unfamiliar noise. It was a vibrating frequency coming from the floor underneath of me. I live in the third floor unit of my building which means there's second and first floor units. The noise is coming from the people underneath of me, probably. I heard it again and I was unsure of the location. Then I heard it a third time and this time it sounded like it was coming from my front door. I heard the **** make a noise. The sound of someone turning your locked doorknob or vending touching it in the middle of the night is not okay. I felt the adrenaline rush to all the muscles in my body and for a moment I was ready. I was still. I listened. My instinctual fighting abilities have evolved to this moment even though I have never been in a physical fight with anything except my boyfriends dog... After so many minutes, I began thinking about that very specific door **** noise and then trying to figure out what that vibrating rumble was. In my head I compared it to the Babadook which is a movie I had just watched recently. Even though still terrified hiding under the blankets, I found this moment comical. This would be the moment as a child when I would run into my parents bedroom night after night telling them about my nightmare and then continue sleeping in between them. In this moment I decided to let my mind wonder and listen for the first time in a long time. Through meditation I have learned to shut the unproductive doors in my mind. As I listened all I heard was the rushing vehicles on rt 76 across the river. The sounds created it's own river. I heard the breaks of the tracker trailers rumbling down the freeway to fade into the noise of the night. I heard nothing. I heard a car drive by on my street. It hit a *** whole. For awhile the noises became so repetitive that it became mundane and my thoughts started to creep in and I let them. Then I heard an emergency vehicle. My ears perked up as I listened to the sirens bounce off the buildings. I could visualize the architectural layout of each block the ambulance went down or approached. My mind had made a fuzzy map of my neighborhood. I eventually heard the sound of my alarm reminding me to get out of bed.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Yep.
I'm sitting behind my laptop and I HAVE TO ***
But I can't get up, due to my TOTALLY IRRATIONAL fear that my parents would think I've stopped "working".
So I sit.
And I try not to *** IN MY PANTS.
Just another normal day behind the screen.
Eventually I just can't hold it anymore.
So I eeaase myself out of my chair....
"Darling, where are you going?"
"Uhm, nowhere, Mom, just the bathroom."
"You don't have your phone with you, do you? You're not just going to sit in there and....
text?"
"No, Mom. Phone's on the table."
"Alright then. Be quick."
I shoot off to the loo with my mother's resounding laughter in the background.
And it pains me because I know that I will never tell her my secret fear,
And that generations to come will be sitting awkwardly behind computers or whatever devices they have at that time,
And they will have to ***
But they will be held back by the same IRRATIONAL fear that their parents will think they're being.....
unproductive.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 6:01 AM UTC
caffeine crutch
restless midnight rush
memorize words to pinpoint precision
leaning on a coffee cup
fuel for cognitive ignition
unproductive nocturnal emission
of restless sighs
and tears from tired eyes
mesmerized
hypnotized
out of mind
passing time
dreary dreamer
2am alpha wave fighter
front line gunner
of disappointment in the making
time wasting
consciousness fading
daylight breaking
clock resetting
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Loneliness worn on our sleeve
From opened wounds to
Thinned skinned scars
Lights out , Jealous again of
this deadbeat sin that has stolen
hours after hours to only leave us with an unproductive taste in our veins.
Sore shoulders sour with neck pains that has scratched our throats dry.
Weaved chest pains bled out,
Do we have to go over it again and again.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Chances are you've met your soul mate already
But if your soul's corrupted
Your unproductive
And you have to wait your turn
When your new soul is ready
You be met your soul's mate again
But maybe they've corrupted
But corruptives soul like the one that you used to be
So usually
That soul corrupts you
And unadjusted you
Until you see met your soul's mate again
3 times its been
4 times it will be
How many times until
The souls are in harmony
The law of attraction
Past lovers
Future friends
Wether it be mental
Spiritual
Emotional
Or physical
This attraction exist
And persist
In spite of loyalty
Face the fact that I could attract and be attract while keeping intact that if rather know you
Then not
Care for you
Then hate you
Or think indifferent
But this meaning is different if its differently expressed I digress
Can men and women be friends?
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 4:46 AM UTC
Today was a lazy day
Shameful play
Not working at all
Just shoveling ****
Down my throat
One unhealthy calorie
At a time
One thirty minute
Show at a time
One video game
To ease my mind
No books
Just sleeping
Not much thinking
Just peaceful dreaming
Ashamed
Because I was unproductive
But sometimes
People just need to veg out
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
pushing, pulling
stretching, contracting
so back and forth
almost as if
our relationship is
made of rubber bands
so I am trying
training myself
to be more flexible
but there's something
I can't seem to
accept; I can't
just let go and not
dwell on with
such unproductive
worry, worrying...
how long do I possess?
just how long until
this rubber band grows
brittle and snaps?
how long until
we're devoid of our
elasticity
and left with
only scrap bits
of ugly little pieces
repulsive grey shreds
scattered about randomly
- mere garbage, serving
as nothing more
than so much *******
littering our floors?
maybe I should
just ask this -
how much time
are you capable
of giving to me
without your being
within my presence
a forced effort?
and not a
personally desired
behavior of choice?
because, you see
although I will hold out
until the last
moment possible
I want to have
at the least, a
meager pathetic hint
warning me and
giving me time
to prepare
my mind and
my scar-riddled heart
for another lashing
so I won't be
entirely broken and
worthless when you
go and break it
break and shatter
chip another chunk away
from what little
I have left
that deformed glob
of an *****
pumping my blood
throughout my veins
and keeping me
a lost ******
I loathe this that
I am already
a weak, ugly
prisoner of my
own malicious
and traitorous
****** beating heart
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
January - the calender is flipped to.
with it, an image of red, bloated tomatoes
creeping in pregnant clusters across the page.
my books are sprawled across the desk
like nomads in search of a home.
the earpieces have cords that are entangled and
immersed in its messy and inextricable life.
my phone sits silently and unproductive
depleting its fruitless existence away.
and here too i sit under the whirring fan
watching these objects help tell my story.
even the tomatoes are productive this january.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:32 AM UTC
It's not that I've been unproductive
it's that there are things I should be doing
other than write about you
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
im doing it again
another late night
hidden behind tears and polyvore
another month has passed
7 more days and ill be 22
its no surprise
i am still in love with you
but here i am
still wondering why i am here
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC