"unrelatable" poems
I sit here alone with this craving for him.
A thirst that can not be quenched.
My whole body aches, but my heart really explodes.
I'm losing my breath and the whole world is about to see how weak, incomplete, vulnerable and lost I truly am as a single functioning unit.
The "other half" that you all claim to meet does not have definition when not one bond on Earth compared to this sacred PASSION for each other we both shared.
No one has it. No one knows it. It is not even fair to talk about due to its unrelatable nature.
It is not something we should toss away.
I was stupid, I lied. I was everything inhumanly.
Most of all I lost you. And I let you lose something simply beautiful. I ruined it for you and I am sorry, SO SORRY, and I cry for you, and for me. I love you, I love you, I ******* LOVE YOU, and I'll do anything to be with you. I will **** for it. **** for you. Please, please, PLEASE!!!
I don't want to cry anymore,
I can't be without you anymore.
Here I go.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 9:42 AM UTC
Joy alike to mine residest in the wet smile of that granddad with
whose son every stranger wishest to play with and giggle with
Joy alike to mine residest in the eyes of that goon whom approached thee
with a wish of disappearing his misery
Joy alike to mine residest in those
those sculptures who were freed after the perennial to get broken
Joy alike to mine residest in those drizzles departest who from the cloud,their master for good
A joy,brought to me by thee,unrelatable and unreasonable,
when showest understanding and trust,
there assures though no tyrst,
something that blooms out of broken pieces,
drenched in love
ever and ever
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
Armed with vocal thoughts,
"I" speaks to "You;"
"I" being myself, a rebel-revolutionary,
and "You" being a like-minded individual.
This is a call to arms, my brethren of the pen,
a call to non-violent, passive-aggressive action.
As poets, as shapers of culture,
as heathen warriors of ink and paper,
we are, by unwritten definition, radicals.
We are master isolationists, visionaries,
unwitting weavers of the immense tapestry of time.
Each word, each thought, each image that is
translated from mind to word and deed,
is an instance of your exemplary credentials
in the world of genuine thoughtfulness
and uncomfortably candid philosophy.
"I," as a symbol of myself,
encourages "You," a like-minded individual,
to pick up your threads of thought and
tie comforting commonality into knots
of free thought and controversial honesty
that takes effort to unravel and understand.
"I," a wildfire, challenges "You," standing trees,
to wield your casually intense influence
towards the betterment of our scattered communities.
Draw on historical records,
on embarrassingly personal experience,
on relatable and unrelatable tails
of second-hand hearsay.
Draw on the words of our predecessors,
the ones who waxed lyrical
and the ones who rambled on a tangent.
Draw on the empathetic, mental-link
between "I" and "You" and "Everybody Else."
Take the whole of creation in your hands,
twist and mold it into a new shape,
then plant it in the ground to grow anew.
The words of "I" and the words of "You"
are a seismic catalyst.
All we have to do is trust,
trust in the thought of "You" and
trust in the thought of "I,"
and the poetry in the pages of your notebooks
will take their first, living breath.
h.f.m.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC
maybe i'm missing out on something
but i can't seem to associate myself with these characters
who have fallen in and out of love
i feel like an unwritten persona who's buried underneath
all of these repetitive girls shown on screen
i read books to search for truth and meaning
maybe something a little more realistic
but i find myself speaking such words like
"who am i really?"
i try to search for that one person
to prove if there are things as meant to be's
but it feels as if i'm looking at the wrong directions
or maybe i haven't even started searching to begin with
so here's to everyone who's ever felt lonely
and can't put themselves in their shoes
here's to unrelatable first kisses
and missed opportunities,
secluded activities and muttered words
you and i are worth more than wasted virginities,
frustrating in betweens and cluttered beings
we are made separately for reasons
that make us question our existence
our worth surpasses those of fairy tales
and unrealistic love stories
we are definitions of life itself
we are our own characters
who seek for unconventional journeys
and unscripted settings
maybe we won't fall in love today or tomorrow
or the weeks to come
maybe we will stop to consider that what we have
is not equivalent to heartfelt experiences
maybe we look for something more profound and complex
a cathartic release worth feeling
maybe we are lost at the thought of love
and can't seem to find our way back into it
what i know for sure is that
i am not that girl you will hear from books
i am nothing like them nor the movies
that everyone's gullible enough to believe in
and so are you
we are what's unique and true
and no one can force us to fall in love
no one can tell us when or where
because they will never have the privilege,
to compile and secure mediocre scenes
we will eventually fall into place with our own stories
but i guess for now we're just missing out
n.j.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
Dear momma
All things I've ever wanted to say
I never did
And I'm sorry
Countless times I've wished
You were here
Once again
In the artist's apron
A paintbrush in your hand
"I'm going to paint a portrait of myself."
It was never completed
Unfinished
Like my words
I never did complete them
"I love you"
So hard to say
An unnatural force turned into a barrier
Choked me
Even till
When all oxygen left you
When it became past tense
Your lovely eyes turning soulless
Lips that couldn't utter anymore
The word mother
Was suddenly unrelatable
So many nights
I curled up and sobbed
Wishing I had said something
Anything
In everything
I'm waiting for that day again
Mom
For the day I'll be able to say
"I love you so much and I'm sorry."
x
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
Temperatures drop inside my organic pump
and my rising sun
Has shed its last smile
Is it save out there?
Can I ignore their stares?
Is this my final goodbye?
Am I too unkind to eyes for social communication?
The day my lover died
I lost my will to breathe
For she was the only one
Who could ever relate to me
Like I said
Is it safe out there?
But who am I talking to?
I'm so glad I met you
I could never forget you
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
It's funny. The way I feel when I see fresh line paper. Untouched and calling to me. I love it. So many possiblilities. So many beautiful things to be written. What's funnier is that when I get a new notebook, it sits there for weeks. And so it stays untouched. The funniest thing is I love to write and get things out so I can look at them in proof that these words exist. In some way. Some form. I don't know why it's so difficult. I know enough metaphors and hyperboles. All the contents to make my writing swell. Readable. But I honestly think what throws me off is that no one is reading. No one is connecting with my writings like I do to Chibosky and O'Hara. No one is waiting to love my next chapter because they haven't even seen the first. I am uninspired with endless suroundings of inspiration. And no one falls in love with a bore.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
we’ve been lifted up by a legacy and we’ve crashed straight back down
unaware
wading through the heavy dust and the layers of blackened ash, kicking aside the smooth, curved pale shards which lay dormant like pieces of broken china
damaged and cracked through the ages
what was once a fellow human with the same thoughts, feelings, desires, wishes
we’ve been prematurely predisposed
to a society where it’s all okay to feel indifferent to this, pay no attention to the heroes of the past
to ignore all of the things we’ve ever been taught
it feels so distant and unrelatable
we’re blank and basically, bored
all we care about is how many drugs we can afford
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Advance rhetoric/
<<<<<---- \ backwards penmenship.
Eccentric.
/ Time traveler. \
Stone cutter / Lone brother self educator this burgeoning is unrelatable/
Owls are known 2 meet secretly/
Oh how they rush to copy this Animal behavior/
how does one mark a dead carcass?
I'm being watched by Star ships as they zero in on this location/
I told them WHEN instead of WHERE/
/The knowledge I've shared./
Helped those slay the BEAR !
Recognize.
/Take control of the petrified.
Remember there's TRUTH in all lies.
How is it that one can doubt me?
A slave owner to those who touch the concrete.
No discrimination. I have All The Time to wait.
They've sealed their fate. On a plate next to their mate Because these stains just won't stick to me..
The World has NO mystery.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Lived long, misunderstood
I search for understanding in excess
To compensate, what has come so late
To drive me out of my sadness
I appreciate those who listen
Those who seek to understand
I worried being unrelatable
Would distance me more from them
Because how can you love
Something you don't understand
How can you accept
Something less than human
Sometimes I don't understand myself
So I don't expect for you to try
Though I wish for someone to decipher me
Who knows me better than I
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
It’s that time of life when….
Your friends’ deaths didn’t come too soon
Your body is no longer as reliable as it was
Your dog dies and you wonder if it’s fair to adopt another
You smile at the first timers asking for senior discounts
You concern yourself far more with comfort than fashion
Words like cantankerous and curmudgeon fit much more snugly
Events in your lifetime appear with increasing frequency on the History Channel
Popular culture is completely unrelatable
All of the food choices you make contain the words “Low” and “Reduced”
Your energy is more potential than kinetic
Teenagers refer to your friends as Nana and Grandpa
Actuarial tables are not your friends
Your investments transition from growth to preservation
Your bucket list takes on a genuine sense of urgency
Because every experience may be the last
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC
It seems I haven't written a poem in years.
I believe it was the multiple fears that steered my mind.
My heart died and rejuvenated back alive,
In time I've been discovered as one of a
Kind,
And in the future I'll be the one that's in everyone's mind.
The love and hate,
The confusion and debate of;
Unrelatable lashes, with head gashes,
And multiple hard tasks
Will leave me fearless to an open grave.
I feel I'm the one rapping,
Taking in the devil tapping's
With the mysterious consciousness of my mind
That's overlapping,
And now I sit contemplating as
My poem writes me.
Define me.
And master me.
The bells of heaven will ring
As I've been set free.
-Marci H.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC