"unrecognized" poems
In my shyness . . .
At times I retreat to my "shell,"
Clinging to the security of being alone.
In my shyness . . .
I may attempt to merge with my surroundings--
To be ignored, unnoticed, a silent voice rarely heard.
In my shyness . . .
I can feel completely alone,
Although surrounded by people.
In my shyness . . .
I'm perceived as having a padlocked soul--
And few try to gain entry into my realm.
In my shyness . . .
Few will dare venture to really know me--
To hear my quiet voice or to really try to understand.
In my shyness . . .
I can have a myriad of words to say,
Yet, my sealed lips will not release them.
In my shyness . . .
The words I do speak will at times be jumbled,
And I'll feel worse for having spoken them.
In my shyness . . .
I will be viewed as "stuck up" and unfriendly,
Labeled by the presumption of a troubled past.
Yet, despite my shyness . . .
I will at times emerge from my "shell,"
And you may catch a glimpse of who I am.
And despite my shyness . . .
I may put on a good "front,"
Disguising my innermost insecurities.
Despite my shyness . . .
A select few will manage to penetrate these "walls,"
With the sharing of time and the evolving of trust.
My shyness . . .
Frequently unrecognized, seldom understood--
A shackle, a haven, a veil.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
I am a man, this is so
I am tall, I am broad
I am seen as untouchable,
immune to hurt
This is not true
Under the muscle
Under the broad shoulders of this man
there sits a sensitive heart
It sits there unrecognized by many
Many that do not know,
that what they say hurts
"It will just glance off him" they think
But in truth, it strikes to the very core
They do not know of my tear stained pillow
They do not know of my heartbreak,
The isolation that welcomes me
They think they know me but they don't
They do not really know my manly but sensitive heart
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Let a man call misunderstanding bad luck.
God of Mercy, is it misunderstanding or bad luck.
Devil say is a bad luck and they trust.
I say is a misunderstanding but they do not trust.
Any training is a bad luck to you
Any tough moment is a bad luck to you
Is it not misunderstanding, this is misunderstanding.
Is it a bad luck or misunderstanding?
Is it fair for an unrecognized entrepreneur to search for a job?
If yes that is misunderstanding, pray for him/her to understand.
Is it fair for one man to get a Job and ten become jobless?
Is it fair for an unrecognized entrepreneur to search for a job?
If yes that is misunderstanding, pray for him/her to understand.
Is it fair for one man to get a Job and ten become jobless?
Written - undefined
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC
No we're not learning about inventors.
No we're not learning about scientists.
If we were, that would be great,
But we're not,
Instead we're learning about lying thieves,
And overrated ones at that.
We should be learning about real inventors,
That didn't steal ideas from others,
And were lucky enough not to have ideas stolen from them,
Like George Westinghouse.
We should be learning about real inventors,
And real scientists,
That sadly went unrecognized,
Because their ideas were stolen,
By so called inventors,
That were in reality total jerks,
Like Nikola Tesla,
And Rosalind Franklin.
However, instead of learning about true inventors like them,
We're learning about the likes of Thomas Edison,
Guglielmo Marconi,
James Watson,
And Francis Crick.
Here's a "fun fact" about Thomas Edison,
He promised Nikola Tesla 50 grand,
In exchange for fixing his machines.
However, when Nikola Tesla was finished,
Several months later,
He not only didn't pay Tesla,
He mocked him for asking,
He said that he was joking,
And according to some, he was offered a raise of 10 dollars
According to others, he asked for a raise, and was denied it,
Either way, Tesla quit.
Here's a "fun fact" about Guglielmo Marconi,
He didn't invent the radio,
Nikola Tesla did.
However, Marconi pulled an Edison,
And stole Tesla's invention from him.
Luckily, although sadly too late,
Tesla was rewarded the patent.
Here's a "fun fact" about James Watson and Francis Crick,
They took credit for Franklin's discovery.
Why do we have to sit in social studies,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And reading books,
And doing plays,
That people created for school kids,
About so called inventors.
When instead,
We could be reading books,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And doing plays,
That we created ourselves,
About real inventors.
I want to get a real education.
I want to learn about the truth,
Instead of lies.
So please teachers,
Principals,
Superintendents,
Common Core Professionals,
State Test Professionals,
Please let us learn about the truth,
Please don't make us learn about lies.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
She wears:
Skimpy dress.
Tight shirt.
Short skirt.
I say:
Women shouldn't have to.
I give:
Empowerment.
You say:
But men do too.
Bare chest.
V lines.
I say:
Yes but--
You say:
No but.
Society holds it's grip on women.
Suffocating us everyday.
Fitting us into boxes each day.
Telling me what to wear,
How to do my hair.
Forcing paint upon my face to give
Me a face unrecognized.
Rewrite my name to something seductive,
Marilyn.
Regina.
Not the name given to me,
Hard to pronounce and
Not found on a gift shop key chain.
So I tell society to take their standards
And shove them
Because I will not be like the girl on the bus
With scars and cuts across her arm.
"Fat *** carved into her porcelain skin.
Dear Society,
I am me. I am not you.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Mellow season rain slipping by the thunderstorm
oh you have come, unknown visitor,
unrecognized. Lone rose that bloomed in rain,
drenched always in tears, this morning
shaded beams of light and the song of birds
welcoming the respite bend past you.
This is the sea leading to Ithaca. Here I stand
on the shores of the land that was my home.
Who left with hundreds, alone I return like a thief.
The gentle hand that passed last from my sight
out of the multitudes that waved us bye,
A hundred whispers of chants and hymns
from shadows that rise from the corners where
I found refuge from pain in these years:
Whom do those fingers choose, honour-bound
whom I left alone those twenty years ago?
Years that rush like a river streaming past gorges.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 3:22 AM UTC
how does a dreamcatcher know which
dreams to catch?
what if it
swallows the good ones
and sneaks them off to another
reality?
what if it
holds the bad hostage
to share at the most dreadful
time?
what is time to a dream?
but just look at how it twists
and ties itself in knots so
beautifully
a community of individuality
cinching simplicity together to form
brilliance
a spiderweb of spirit trapped between threads
strung tight like the ties of
fate
showing me reality
far beyond
what we blindly
see
inspiration
appreciation
absorbing the vibes reflecting off
questions of whether a second
is time to a dream?
unrecognized reality
mind outside of body
sensory
overload
a breath of fresh
light
a taste of foreign
thoughts
the touch of a
music note
and a vision of
love
trickling quiet
tears down the
face of
time...to a dream
truth
can dance on the
edge of reality
so when i wake up screaming open my eyes and
see
my mind momentarily remains
tangled in a realm of
reality once removed
feathers floating softly
through worlds yet to be
unfurled
but shadows through breezy windows left ajar
blow my thoughts back to
now
and the sounds
and sliences
and the colors
and expressions
of my mind
are altered
by a bombardment
of influences
out of control
reality
can be difficult to
embrace
now and
again
we must
escape
to a dream
to contemplate the
impossibly
intertwined strings of
eternity
that
spiral
through
and through
tossing and
turning new leaves
as the seasons cycle
time remains immeasurable
lest by our mere
thoughts and ideas
so we
create
a geometrically
stunning display
of unspoken hope
to catch
a dream
and it hangs by the window
and if the
truth
teetering on a tightrope
between worlds
could speak it
would tell of
endless
possible
imagination
where
dreams
are
reality
and there is
no such thing as
time
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
The words will someday bury me, eternally, eventually
a specter that none can venture, or see
and yet, will always be
My ghost now in periphery, essentially, unequivocally
just some paranoid activity
spirits wild, and free
A presence, apparition, without material definition
no clarity from any position
a deteriorated condition
The doctor, from his elevated premonition
pumping me full, and mentally dull
with no chance in hell
of any recognition
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
His mouth puckers to the side,
his brow furrows when aware
an assumption crawls around
in the wormwood of his mind.
Every misconception,
unrecognized at first
swells within, until
his error bolts forth
like lighting on the prairie
breaks the swelter of
a summer day.
Meditations sooth his disquiet ,
perplexed by her perfection
he searches for scars in blossoms,
and defects in tree leaves. His mouth
grows dry as he mumbles
"there is no perfection."
If he finds a flaw
upon her cheek,
or a birthmark
on her shoulder
will his love fade?
Eyes staring ahead,
his mind in a trance,
he ruminates phrases
" stay open," "remain tolerant"
wait for flowers to bloom,
rains to come and
her to remain
incomprehensible.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
i sometimes think that my bones might break trying to support you
trying to hold on to something that you and I both know will never work
trying to convince you to not do the things I do
trying to dig my way through the abyss of neglect and unrecognized feelings
i often wish my hands were tied to balloons so they would be too far away to touch you
but that still wouldn't stop me
somehow your sharp words would send me back to you
nothing in this world has made me feel this way
i want to know what you mean when you tell me you love me
and why you want me to say it back
you stop yourself from feeling
so you tell me we're just friends
but
FRIENDS DON'T TOUCH EACH OTHER THE WAY WE DO.
I NEVER KNOW WHAT THE **** WE ARE BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW HARD WE TRY, WE COME BACK TO EACH OTHER.
my hands are shaking and I can't breathe
everyday I feel less like a buddy and more like a ****
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Because Instagram is my medium, and because somewhere deep down--in that place that no one talks about--it makes me feel immensely validated: putting out my ******** and receiving little bits of peer approval in return... Because I still smoke too fast when I want that short indulgent rush to last the most, so light another. Because the Itunes visualizer is an assured source of inspiration when I am feeling small about the universe, and about the 5-ish senses that I am confined to, and because there is too much of me to simply be kept quiet; because the things I want are wanted too completely to shut up about. Because I am doing excellent, and I want everybody in the world to applaud me for it--for my relentless and unyielding grasp of sanity, which often slips without my sureness be-ing lost along with it, and because the wreckage is a comfy place to lie when everything comes down to it...
Because admitting to yourself that you are addicted is the first step to recovery--or so I am told,,, and because denial is the first step one must fall from if they're itching to reach bottom... Because I am tired of climbing and have learned--among all else--how to enjoy the weightlessness of this long fall and the uncertainty it brings: uncertainty being my one true love, alongside mistress logic, who I truly LOVE returning to with open arms, seeking her comfort after a long long trip-- where I can walk winter without minding cold, and can enjoy seeing all the sights and all the Mad, Mad characters that wonderland contains. Because there is no 'character limit' nor is there censorship where I am concerned. Because I crave the criticism: that repetition is a cheaters way to write--and I want to cheat life's limitations and all social standards every chance I get. Because above all else, below all else, I want to clarify that--through every lesson I have taken-in since recently deceased December, and through all I have learned painfully, through the confusion and unrecognized irrelevance,
Because the greatest thing that I have learned thus far is: I am learning.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Like a fool, with an unrecognized devotion,
I loved him deeply yet I wasn’t loved in return.
I got fed with all our irrational argumentation,
Often gave up, yet still had doubts if I’d end such relation.
Then I asked myself, shall I give him a chance?
Must I endure this unrequited love?
Hear thy mournful cries of trepidation and doubt,
“Why can’t I find the remnants of thy piteous heart?”
They say, better leave him and make a new start
But intense emotions of ambiguity would thwart.
Thus I tell myself, give him a second chance.
You’ll be happy soon; hold on though it’s an unrequited love.
Tears would then fall to somehow ease the sorrow
And try to veil the truth that thy heart cometh hollow.
But even if all tears’ dried up today ‘til tomorrow,
When all rains would halt, still, no rainbow will follow.
But I tell myself, wait for another chance.
That time maybe, he’ll learn, and it won’t be an unrequited love.
Years after, I still loved him amidst the endless plights.
He drained my soul; brought me to a black hole in life.
Thoughts that ‘I don’t deserve this’ amassed to greater heights
Then a string cut loose, I faced the sightless sight.
Now, I begged myself, none more of these chances.
Please, I plead, quit enduring this unrequited love!
Beneath a thousand twinkling stars in my windowpane,
Lies the most perfect replica of wishful thinking in suffering and pain---
My self with an unrequited love.
~Danessa Jutba~
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
True love is blind, though it waits before your eyes on the outside you only see a disguise from the moment you need the attraction starts but true love is found in your soul and spirit infinitely sent from above trust your soul and feelings to sense true love not seen nor heard and often unrecognized do not insist on seeing it with your eyes. Looking into your eyes to see if I tell that love is combined together and not separate.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Alone with this desk,
And a notebook chock-fulled with paper;
Endless.. he chomp everything away.
Things truly aren’t easy,
The silence makes it harder.
Hey music, fill the air;
For not all truths,
But laughs of frauds may break out.
Just like the old days.
Just like the lady boss,
Just..maybe.
There should be dancing all around,
Where crowds should chip in
And take things in stern.
Errands were not decors –
Trespass! Like mini ciphers,
Digits, letters, they knock the drill out.
Only a couple more days left,
But in ignominy,
This generation may fall;
How pitiable..
With such marks and inkblots,
The source remains unrecognized.
They’re used to seize papers like that,
Although such are committing theft already.
Left were words,
Can’t spell it unerringly;
Yet the hearsays divulged its address,
So now, it’s time to slam this tome;
End the toil that has always been the crook!
Go outside,
For the sun’s rays are there!
Goodbye to this aged chair,
And to this notebook full of nicks,
With new freedom,
We shall embrace..
Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new,
‘Coz this is the real world!
Oh college days!
(7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
" Will you please pick up your dog's ****
"I would but I need you to think about this from my perspective. Think about dog **** think about what it equates to: to human life. Human life on this planet. The same way fresh dog **** ruins the soul of a shoe, so the human race ruins this planet. Are you against the human race? Against our existence on this planet? Our cosmic **** storm mess that we will some day succeed in tracking through the metaphorical universal living room? You see, to me, asking to pick up this dog **** is like asking to destroy the entire human race. Asking to destroy an ecosystem; is that what you're for? The death of mankind, the death of the unrecognized beauty that is this dog **** Are you an anarchist or just a man who can't appreciate beauty in all its forms, a man who hungers to destroy life?"
"Your crazy, **** it."
"Says the man who wants to destroy the entire human race, god help us."
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
Social Climbing
How many asks what is the way forward?
The lack of thought impregnates our air.
By thoughts and acts we pursue social achievements,
Exhibiting selfishness, chaos and insecurity.
We promote ourselves through groups and individuals,
Paving the way to social fame and glory.
All while our country rivers crest with blood,
Peaked by the sacrifices of those socially conscious.
Their protests to gain our freedoms unrecognized,
By those of us tied up in the hunt for fame.
Is it this the dream, we strive to gain?
Shamed am I that we have not addressed their demise.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Does a wish even mean anything anymore?
It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.
But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.
I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.
It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.
Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.
We wish, we wish, we wish.
In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.
We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”
I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.
Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.
Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.
Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.
And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.
And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.
Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.
I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.
I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.
I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,
But sadly, it’s now 11:12.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
I feel like a child's favorite toy.
The one thrown against a wall pretending it can fly.
The one whose button is pushed over and over to hear it's sound,
Until it can't talk anymore, hardly able to make a sound.
The toy cuddled and smashed under their small body every night.
"Protecting" them from the monsters under the bed.
The favorite toy they hold by the arm,
They drag it behind them wearing it out until the arm may fall off.
The one that is ***** but you can tell it was loved.
The toy that sits alone on a shelf for years on end.
Who collects dust untouched because the child has grown.
The one who has no purpose but to make people smile.
The toy that is so used and abused they say it has "character".
The toy no new child wants because it to worn.
They don't want it for it can't last much longer.
It needs new batteries, and a trip through the wash.
It needs to be stitched up in more places than one.
The toy that no longer has a purpose,
But that only makes it need more love.
Someone to love itself.
But who could love something so worn and mangled.
So it sits alone on that shelf.
Collecting dust, unseen, unrecognized.
I am that toy.
The one with no purpose.
The one on the shelf.
Unseen, unrecognized, unloved.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
A change of scenery, that's all they said I needed
Different faces and places to pick me up as I lay defeated
Somewhere new to erase the blue
Somewhere where the past is unrecognized and all I could see is truth
There are times when I miss the things I hated
All the things I wept about and the people who degraded
All the things that helped my heart fall apart
The things that watched me crumble right from the start
I want to let go
I want to breathe and let my spirit show
But letting go can only be so easy
Even if I am in a change of scenery
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Do I love you?
Do I,
Love...?
The words have stopped
doubled over on themselves
in pain
unrecognized
In truth
I wouldn't know--
you, Love?
But maybe from a picture
thinking--
"This is from where the poems come?"
Having never searched your eyes
with mine
nor heard your voice
invoke me
Known your thinking
in any given moment
Nor you, mine
Nor watched your hands
for hints
endear
affection
in expressions
Could you forgive my mess of moments?
the lame that years have left
so slow circles
the lonely artless?
socially inept
I fear
you could not forgive the fear
for so long
left behind
How can you say
you love me?
By what assurance do you
Speak into my void
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
The clock ticks away, little concerned of the absence of attention
The tender morning silence that was unaffected
By the sharp chirps of myriad little birds
Quivers a little as waves recede
In the wake of the first morning train
A soft smile acknowledges a nudge and nods for a kiss
Thoughts crowd the wakened mind like the returning
Waters of a receding tide; long does it take
For us to see: a highest joy is spread common
Before our eyes, yet unrecognized.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
Is it these petty imperfections that make us whole?
See forth the future, at which the past is unrecognized.
Steer clear of troubles and regrets and know you can only be humanistic.
A withered heart deals great with a deserving smile.
Take pride in yourself my friends for we have come too far not to.
Do not fill voids with downfalls and accusations, we were made whole for some reason worth searching for.
Now go find it.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC