"unsteadiness" poems
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.
I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******
The perky *******
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
I know you won't read this
Your eyes will meet my name and take on the role of ignoring
They will do their best to avoid its presence
And eventually it will be a skill done almost subconsciously,
Forgetting me
I know you won't respond
If I ask you what happened
If I were to wonder aloud what changed enough to make you do the same
I'm not quite sure you even know the answer
And I'm quite sure I'll never pose the question
I wonder how it is that no one ever told you not to love a writer
Or worse than that, pretend to
These word-wringing hands belong to a body with a heart made of glue
Attachment forms if you get too close,
I am telling you that you did
It's clear that no one ever taught you caution
To be careful with the girl who cares much more than she should,
Who will love you more than you ever asked for
You crossed a line written in red and the footprints are still there
I know you won't remember
The way your lips met my forehead when you said goodnight or how the same ones told me I was beautiful
Your hands formed craters in my back and now I don't know how to fill all of the empty
I am used to an excess of space,
Of vacant but this
Is just too much
I know you won't understand why it is that
People like me always let strangers inside
We open the door without looking through the peephole
And take in whatever the wind blows with open arms
It is a mistake I am not sorry for repeating
You were just one of many
I know you won't read this
I know you won't try to
You will probably see my name and move on the way I probably should have already
You will laugh at my vulnerability like being bare isn't something that takes strength
You will remember my thighs, the unsteadiness of my laugh, the freckle I pointed out above my cheek, my warmth
You will hear my voice in the title
You will see the word poetry and immediately say no thank you
And I will continue keeping the idea of you alive in a language you don't care to comprehend
I know you won't read this
I know you won't try to
But if you do,
Know more than anything else,
I didn't write this for you
I wrote it for myself.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to hate yourself
The first time you tripped over your own fault lines
And started taking caution in every step
When did it happen?
Was it at 10?
When your shaking hands couldn't hold still
And the shame of them drove you into isolation
Maybe it's because others noticed
Or because they did their best to make it clear you were different
I don't think you know
That the rhythm you had and still have
Is unlike the rest
It is crooked and uneven but beautiful nonetheless
You didn't know it then
And accepting unsteadiness is easier said than done
Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to hurt yourself
Could it have been at 13?
When the weight of too much pressure motivated you to lose it
To the point where bones stuck out more than your voice
Loud girl became quiet that year
And then even more so the next
When your changing body didn't morph the way you would have liked it to
Left you shaped uncomfortably
A little too top heavy
The kind that drew unwanted attention
At a time when standing out was the last thing you desired
You turned skin into a battlefield into remnants from too many losses
Wrists became front lines, then hips, then neck until
You became too much destruction to keep the war going
You learned that it is impossible to win in a fight against yourself
Tell me when it was
The first time you learned to forget yourself
Was it at 15?
When the sacrifice of your body wasn't enough
To make a careless boy love you
It was a silly thing to give it all away
When you barely had enough of you for yourself
Your efforts changed after that
Trying too hard turned into not trying at all
Feeling too much turned into feeling nothing at all
You learned to repress and erase
And start over in the morning
You have been heavy from trying to hide away for so long
Tell me when it is
The first time you learn to love yourself
Will finally be after all of the years of disappointment?
Of self-deprecation?
When you realize you deserve more
Than to be the dust swept off to the side
Deserve better than to be an ashed out version of your potential
You were not meant to be wasted
You were not meant to be washed out and pushed down
You were meant to stand tall
The first time you learn to love yourself
Will be when you realize flaw is inevitable
When your skin turns itself different colors
And nothing can be done to change it
You will then learn acceptance
The first time you learn to love yourself
Will be when you stop comparing
When you look in the mirror and see only yourself in the reflection
Nobody else
You were meant to be here
You were meant to embrace it all
This body
This skin
This image
The only one you will ever have
The same one you will have to love
And eventually you will,
You'll learn how to.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
He veers to the left when he walks
in and out of lives
up and down city streets.
His gait clumsy
and haphazard
bumping passersby
and knocking glasses off tables.
Slack jawed stares and
excited whispers;
unphased
unwavering
steady in his unsteadiness.
He meanders down alleyways;
breaking hearts
and preconceived notions about
what a vagabond should
or shouldn’t be.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
We are crashing together with a clatter of sounds,
mumbling our last words of love.
The bed becomes colder and colder, along with our hearts.
We're caught between Dreamland and reality,
falling asleep to the painful sound of the rain,
with our lungs filled with all the things we never said.
In the infinite Universe, we flow like stardust,
dividing into atoms,
with Bob Dylan as the soundtrack of our distructive love.
Tears well up in your big, hazel eyes as you mutter the lyrics.
And suddenly, my body started to feel the loneliness again.
I couldn't hear a thing and I was drowning in regrets.
Maybe my unsteadiness destroyed your passion or maybe it was just an illusion.
You said "Is love supposed to hurt like this?"
I didn't know what to say.
You took your clothes and left for the last time.
All I can say now is that my heart is too heavy for you to lift and the music of my soul could never be heard by you.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 10:58 AM UTC
Love and hate are blind,
But the truth is engulfed in every heart,
Envy or jealousy can poison the purest mind,
A green eyed monster, rampaging from the inside,
Grudges, destroying the sweet, humble and even the kind,
This malice attacks in the dark of the night, slowly taking over waiting for you to get down, get weak and give up without a fight,
Unsteadiness and despair are it's fuel, insecurity and vexation its light
This green eyed monster is invisible, how will you fight something you can't even see, hear or smell but only feel, strongly within ?
The purity of friendship overcomes even such evil as envy,
Before it leads to your own demise find some help, even if its hard
even if these horrible feelings are weighing down on you heavily,
But for those who have nobody, and those who are lonely,
Is a simple solution, even harder to bear with,
Cut off whatever made you feel this curse,
Do it before it gets even worse,
Face the coming morning.
~ Umi
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
-*If I were ***** who would I choose?*
The lovely Edmund treated her kind
Indeed, kind he was in her mind
He was protective of her
His words were of comfort
She doted on him so much
That seeing him with another depressed her
The charming Henry grew fond of her
On her gentleness and modesty he dwelled
In her modest and elegant manners, he found charm
There was a sweetness to her which felt warm
And Henry was seduced by such gentleness
He found her timidity so delightful
That for her, he harboured feelings so soon
Yet in Fanny’s innocent eyes
Crawford’s flirtations led to his own demise
Not indifferent to what seemed to be sincere efforts
He forcing his love on her however proved just worse
She was too much convinced of his pretence
In his endeavour, she found not grace but nonsense
His unsteadiness
Her ineffable kindness
They were too much different
On such belief, she wouldn’t be bent
On the other hand
There stood Edmund, oh dear Edmund
He cared about her so deeply
But his attachment was merely brotherly
Knowing such truth saddened her immensely
Yet she’d rather be with him as a sister
Than not be with him at all
He was too virtuous to be deceived
The goodness of her heart dictated to choose none
Poor Edmund was blinded by Mary’s doings
As calculated as they were, they promised sufferings
Edmund could think of no woman but Mary to be his wife
His idea of her was exceedingly flattering; what a plight
A hurt ***** could not change his mind
Her unwavering support never left his side
And the proud Henry Crawford
What to say of his ardent courtship?
At some point, vulnerable ***** could fall for him
But she never did, not even once
He changed for her in manners and words
But to defy one’s true nature would be to lie to oneself
Temptations so strong
In the presence of an interested Mrs Rushworth
Needless to say; his true colours showed, infidelity ensued
In the end, who to choose?
If I were in Fanny’s shoes
It certainly wouldn’t be Henry
Such a **** doesn’t deserve a pure soul like *****
Though I don’t doubt that he truly fell for her
He ruined all chances of being with her
His incessant words of love were received with pain
He tried to win her affection in vain
But to try to gain a girl’s heart with flowery talks
This is an unwise move, it is too much
Thank God, Edmund realised his error in the end
But can he redeem himself when he showed so poor a judgement?
I doubt so; and I dare question his change of heart
His infatuation for Mary faded, and his love for ***** grew so fast
Does it even make sense to have one’s eyes opened that fast?
I dare answer in the negative
This said, none of them deserve *****
If I were ***** I’d choose none...
-15/05/10
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 7:11 AM UTC
If I finally find a single fact I’m sure of.
Before my time is up and my mind fully spent.
I’ll cling to it.
Dig my nails into it.
Till it or I break; ****** and bruised
And I'll work for it,
Till my knees buckle and my back bends from straining.
I'll sweat for it.
Lose my breath for it.
Till Death yanks me away from it.
Till then.
I'll have to make do.
I'll search for it.
Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 4:02 PM UTC
to be you is to leave a life
painted with regret in twitchy
strokes that reveal unsteadiness
in every movement of the brush
i work in certainty more often
than not, seeing the colors before
they splatter on canvass, a predetermined
image fixed in my mind's eye
my palette has changed, no longer
faded and full of sadness, now there
is a luster to the tones splayed before me,
a freedom to the movements i make
i am becoming the you, the me, my
art had always dreamed it would one
day be, i am unveiling my greatest work
yet, effortlessly beautiful in it's simplicity
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
I used to laugh in my sleep, the giggles would resonate like church bells during a funeral, hopeful despite the dreariness. I slept so that I could hear myself laugh again.
This went on for weeks, then one day the laughing halted altogether. No more symphonies of hazy laughter and crinkled eyes. Why did something so altering and harmless have to end?
It was a lesson, never become dependent on other people for your happiness. They can give but they can also take.
I found my laughter again in the unsteadiness of the ocean, the moodiness of the current. How the rip tide could carry you away but only if you let it. The sun tasted like serenity and that was where I found my purity.
I found my laughter again in the words that appeared in the steam of my tea. Cinnamon was the flavor I drank when I knew you but I’ve moved onto blueberry now. They whisper look at this, look at her, look at the world. I drink up their simmering advice.
I found my laughter again in the patience of clouds. How they absorb everything for a little bit, let it all out for a day and then move on. I try not to lock all my worries up inside myself anymore, but when I do I always make sure I have an umbrella handy.
I thought I found my laughter in you but turns out you were only a hiccup that interrupted it.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
I love the simple things in life....
The heart rending bird-call just before dawn,
Crunching footsteps across frost-bitten grass,
Scudding clouds across an engorged full moon,
The reverberation of waves as they hit the cliffs below,
The unsteadiness of new-born legs,
The sensation of snow on rose-heated cheeks,
The diaphragm throbbing bass of an orchestra,
The taste of salt when a storm riles the sea,
The feel of grass between my toes,
Sensual music oozing through my veins,
Getting caught in a shower of cherry blossom on a windy day,
Being dazzled by colour and artistic renditions,
Receiving a present that someone has made themselves,
Happy endings,
A seductive kiss in the rain,
Films that grab you by the short and curlies,
Books that invade and probe your imagination,
The feel of a butterfly landing on my skin,
A yearning to reach beyond our universe and visit the tantalising stars that I see on a clear night,
The unrestrained laughter of a child,
The mischievous glint in someone's eye,
A replete sigh, indicating good food, good wine and fantastic company,
A friend contacting me out of the blue,
Bare skin upon bare skin,
Cobwebs glistening with early morning dew,
Wood-smoke as it wafts up my nose,
Fulfilling the expectation in someone's eyes,
Snuggling against a beating heart,
The sensation of a cold mountain stream on a sweltering day,
People that make me think and laugh,
The rub of an unshaved cheek,
The quickening of my pulse at the thought of finding my soul-mate,
Rain clattering on a corrugated iron roof,
An unexpected hug or kiss,
The feel of polished marble or wood beneath my finger tips,
The unbridled intensity of a storm,
The first rays of a sun-rise and the diffused glow of a sunset,
Rustling through a carpet of leaves,
Someone snoring in my ear to send me to sleep,
Feeling the sun on my face after a cold snap,
The tactile feel of warm fur beneath my hands,
Waking up in someone's arms,
Singing along to my favourite songs without being self-conscious,
Making slow, sensual, all-encompassing love!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I'm an architect, it's true.
I make homes out of people,
more often than I should.
All it takes is a breath of fresh air
and a hundred nights
and twice as many days.
It starts with hello, or hi,
whichever is preferred.
Laying the foundation, slowly.
Then the layers,
peeling off old memories
of faces from a past I can barely remember.
I'll ponder on the materials,
and I'll begin.
Sometimes it doesn't work out
because the brickwork was all wrong.
Sometimes it falls a part
because the cement isn't strong.
Sometimes it holds, at least for awhile,
before crumbling into dust.
When I saw you, I drew up plans in my head,
blueprints,
everything was fixed in my head.
Then I tried building you.
It was the hardest **** thing
I've ever done,
it kept crumbling half way up.
A loose brick here,
unsteadiness there...
It was doomed from the start.
But I kept trying anyway.
Because when I was tired,
you told me stories.
And when I got hurt,
you cared for my wounds.
When I start to doubt,
you tell me it will be okay.
Come rain, come shine,
you stayed
and I built a home out of you.
I had a home because of you.
But the weather had its game face on,
and you tried to stay strong.
It started with small leaks,
just stray drops from the storm
then gaping holes in the roof...
The walls grew mould.
But I stayed.
And here I stay.
I make homes out of people,
more often than I should.
And for now, you'll be the last
one I try to fix even after
you've broken and left me for dead.
Maybe in a few months I'll try again.
I'll use someone else as inspiration.
And I'll make a home out of them,
just like I tried to with you.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
i cant just say
im good or bad
i cant just say
im tired or im mad
but thats what my feelings
must be reduced to
because im not sure you
would understand the chaos
and unsteadiness
my mind has gotten used to
when i cry
or cant catch my breath
i wont know how to talk to you
because i cannot describe
the hurricane
my mind has turned into
so im sorry
if i dont say anything
or if i say im fine when im not
but i really dont understand
where to begin
with untying this knot
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
If i had never found myself between
these incongruent curves of uncertainty
leading echoes with unsteadiness
i would have never seen the slight figures
dancing at the corner's eye
with such energetic impulse
to shoot at the night
running and leaving it all behind
when those blue circles then impregnated
it made the day last longer
the decision had been taken
already.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
As the music tantalises
something tricks the wick of my mind
through the pattern of the eruptive wind
besides the reeds of the adventure
in the swampy zones where I find the way
hiding the inner soul as peace partakes
As the sunshine gazes
the outer lights seems a hundred years
unreachable yet so lovely and visible
there is a pinch of it that never disappears
and it tears all the skin to the kins of bones
depths with the unpenetratable glass
The loneliness is so tasteful
away from any eventful unsteadiness
it scratches the ledge of the window sill
hoping to leap and fly to it’s freedom
and it’s shattered state is a sacrifice
unable to find it’s way home
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 6:49 AM UTC
Falling isn’t hard.
All that provokes falling, is imbalance.
Though you may be rooted, the possibility
of instability
is constant.
Saving yourself from falling is a different matter.
Hurry to scrape the weight in your unconfessed shadows.
Acknowledging such unsteadiness while
my heart’s beat grows closer I’ll
Attempt to alter my center of gravity.
Gravity,
is humanity’s ground opposed to religion
Thus proving every one of us has sinned tradition.
With failure follows triumph
And with sin comes resurrection.
Falling is inevitable, though rising is not.
-d.r. 11.21.15
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 4:36 AM UTC
How do you tell a girl that you want to hold her hand
How do I tell a girl that you love her hair
That she smells like the best kind of flowers
How do you show her off to your family
Call her baby and give her memories
Showering with someone is a really innocent thing
Your body caressing theirs
Every scar every bruise is in full view
Awkward silence and blushing cheeks
How do I tell a girl I want to kiss her forehead to ease her dark thoughts
To walk through fire to show her the calm
How do you prove that you are pure
That you are not who you once were
That you can be everything while being nothing
How do you lay in her bed
And listen to her slow breathing
You just want to be the bright blue sky
In the big great world
You would move mountains
Swim across vast seas
You see her when you close your eyes
And she's been racing through your mind all day
We are the sun
We are the rain
We are the dirt
We are the wind
When you are with her, you can't breathe
You hold your breath as to not disturb her with your unsteadiness
You are scared but you are not alone
You are here and I like you
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Such were evenings of the type too often marked as sultry,
But sometimes such descriptions are apt
And thus denoted as so;
We would be well into the bottles and cans
To such point as we were not wearing them particularly well,
And so we spoke of things
Which may or may not have mattered,
The relative merits of cinema femme fatales
Dead four, perhaps five decades,
The notion of such women who had it,
(Followed by the de rigeur toasts to Chrissy Hynde,
And long may she wail)
Various things which disappeared with the fog and dew
Once sunrise made its unhappy presence known,
And when the old boiler suggested that sleep and abstinence
Constituted the prudent route to follow,
I excused myself for a walk,
(Nodding to my brother-in-law as he nodded,
Possibly but not invariably still awake)
Undertaken in various shambling states of unsteadiness
Back to my mother-in-law's house
Muttering silent regrets for the lack of bread crumbs
Mixed with somewhat less than sotto voce snippets
Of songs sung earlier with considerable gusto
And nearly adequate fidelity to sharps and flats,
And if I had maintained a relative judiciousness in my intake
(The alternative an unpleasant return to my domicile pro tem,
Usually marked with an entrance featuring mud and mayhem,
More or less forgiven the next morning)
I would, if the evening was clear and still,
Speculate upon the nature of the starlight,
Be it the distress calls of celestial bodies dark and listless
Or something in its salad days, so to speak,
And often it would strike me as somewhat less than fitting
That not a single glass had been raised to their health.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 8:39 PM UTC
My thoughts strike from within.
Anger, helplessness, then tenderness
crash against an invisible wall.
The helmsman has set a course
for unsteadiness—
in an hour, maybe two,
another wave of doubt will come.
The sum of scenarios
weighs more than yesterday,
tattooing my soul from within.
I’m waiting,
freezing my tired mind.
Forget?
I can't anymore –
The anchor sank deep.
His voice rests in my depths.
I don't want to sail alone,
even though words of assurance
sound like a childish game.
I divide my loneliness into two,
adding up the “what ifs” –
I forgot the order of operations,
still remembering that my heart
beats slower, then faster.
I take a calm breath.
An invisible pin
pierces the back of my head.
It hurts—physically hurts—
But I won't back down.
I don't want to sleep.
I'm waiting for dawn,
for the solution to the equation
of my life,
with two unknowns.
I'm waiting
for those hands,
for that gaze,
for that smile,
for that warmth.
Aug 10, 2025
Aug 10, 2025 at 11:38 PM UTC
Born into
unsteadiness,
hands sprinkled
with tremors
inspired by a crayon,
a pencil
then a brush
Now an artist steady,
paints with a wand
to seal his
magic touch
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 3:36 PM UTC