"untruthful" poems
I dream about writing you a love poem
One that is not misted over.
One that is not about him
But you, my beloved,
Because you are the only thing that I have ever wanted and I am tired of being so shy.
But this is hard.
This is even harder than I thought it would be.
I am staring at the her at the end of my first sentence and trying to figure out how it will sound when it finally breaks free from lips.
I imagine it will coat my tongue in a strange new liberation and we will both rejoice.
I refuse to write of you equivocally
And blend you into a neutral they
Or let yet another poem fall to chagrin.
I will not let shame cast shadows on our glorious love
No declararion of the truth could ever be an aberration.
So I write this love poem to you.
I do not scribble you deep into the binding or dust you lightly across my untruthful words.
I want to stain these pages with the red ink with our love.
You are not my secret to keep anymore.
You are the color I want to paint the sky.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
This world, that we live in,
Is not at all less.
It is full of lies
And a lot of mess.
The innocent being abducted,
The honest being convicted,
There’s no ray of hope,
In this world,
Of untruthful, slimy slope.
It is so not possible,
To climb back up,
Because the world,
Is constantly trying,
To pull you back down,
In this ditch,
So that alone they do not drown.
This is what
You have to watch out for.
Everybody is selfish;
Nobody is yours,
Except your family.
Who is always there;
Even in wars.
People are bad,
And will always be,
You have to survive,
With dear ones to your support,
You have to thrive.
Go on, who stops you?
But watch out for these traitors:
That will always be near you.
Looking for a potential prey,
Every single day.
They will treat you nicely at first,
On cloud nine,
They will make you fly,
But what comes later,
Is something impalpable.
Falling through a canopy,
Into a trench that is
Unfathomable.
Come on! You have to get up:
Be strong,
You have to catch up!
This not the end,
But the beginning,
Of your story.
A story,
That will one day be exemplary,
For all,
In this howsoever bad world.
Success will follow you,
If you follow struggle;
This struggle will become obsession;
Obsession, your passion.
And passion is unstoppable.
That very day,
When you know your goal very evidently,
And the journey is your pal,
Nobody can stop you,
From being on top of the world.
And this time,
Nobody’s going to push you
Because on top,
You will be
All alone.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
I find it interesting,
The way we mold ourselves to the given situation
Different faces means new spaces
to fill liquid in, intoxicate, and ultimately change them.
So we need our weapons clasped in our grip
catch a bad intention, make sure they're the ones who slip...
No! We've been doing this all wrong.
Keeping the walls up inhibits growth to be strong
Even if it takes, "far, too long."
Inevitably we exclaim pitches that reside in the same song.
The color-changing, tree-walkers are said to blend into their environment.
This is actually not true.
They change based on light intensity, temperature, and mood.
The personality-changing, free-walkers change based,
On the type of reaction they want to get out of you.
After all you could be the ***** to hold together the whole scheme
Caught in a feverish nightmare, when it seemed to be a sweet dream
Solitary work is needed, now, to avoid a potential sting
And so I take the time to rhyme this,
Evaluating the nature of everything.
The mouth can be, but the eyes are not untruthful
They precipitate pictures, from the scary to the downright beautiful
Look deep within yourself, and see your own array of colors.
We may be blind to the importance of some priorities, but I feel we're all lovers.
"Hurt people hurt people," In my life it's a fact.
But remember you can only be responsible for how you act.
No offense or defensive tactics,
Throw the whole playbook out.
Conducting this vessel requires much practice,
Reflect needs of warmth for the seeds to sprout
Make sure you don't love someone, just for what they can give to you.
Highlight their radiance, for making you feel the way you do
The cycle, is only as vicious as one portrays it
The choice is ours, and I choose to change it.
Right here,
right now
Breathe in,
Feel the oxygen go down
Hold it,
For a moment
Every exhale reminds us,
That life's color is golden.
So fold up the clothes,
And walk out the door.
So many illuminated pigmentations to see,
~Everybody's a new world to explore~
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
Acidic fury is exactly what I'm feeling, towards you.
The tactics that you've caused me to go through are so painful
I do not understand why you would be so untruthful.
It's almost as if I am floating upon this drift that is full of words you had said in the sweetest of voices.
"I love you."
"You're my stars, my suns, my galaxies."
I keep repeating these sentences thoroughly through-out my mind, every single night.
Remembering the tone, the beat, the eye contact you had made.
Trying to take in the truth, that it was always fake.
Your undying ability to lie straight to my face, was so horrid.
I am feeling betrayed as this 'Caraphernelia' settles in.
I am unaware of the day when my memory of you will fade away.
I hope it's soon.
Your voice is still ringing in my ears as I am dizzily spinning around in my mind,
Trying and trying to just get by this heart breaking of stages.
If only it were easier to forget your name.
Your name.
I will not repeat.
I do not want to say it, I will not cry screaming for you again.
I cannot.
There it is.
The words that you had said to me.
"I love you."
"You are my stars, my suns, my galaxies."
Now I'm crying.
I keep repeating these sentences thoroughly through-out my mind, every single night.
Remembering the tone, the beat, the eye contact you had made.
Trying to take in the truth, that it was fake.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
Quack Doctor
Fake Supervisor
Bogus Professor
Deceitful Color
Common Denominator.
Bomb Inventor
Rifle Creator
Device Innovator
Reigning Terror
Common Denominator.
Untruthful Suitor
Promiscuous Actor
Love Collector
Artificial Amour
Common Denominator.
Abusive Creditor
Illegal Investor
Unlawful Director
Greed Factor
Common Denominator.
Rogue Investigator
Friendly Assassinator
Double Conspirator
Backstab Traitor
Common Denominator.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
Zombie or Monster?
Zombie's thrive for flesh
Monster's thrive to ****
Zombie's are created
Monster's are born.
The night is the time for the hunt
Day is for the epic hunter
Hunting in the public is tricky
Mobs are easily spotted
Single target's is twisted in shadows
Zombie or Monster is my question
I fall under monster
I might appear to be sane
But in reality i'm just purple.
My soul gathers the blood that spills
My heart gathers the chills
My mind filled with thrills.
The body is like a bomb
Once pushed to the limit it explodes
This is not a lethal explosion
Just the force of Truth.
Those who don't get this are UNTRUTHFUL.
A monster might ****
But the **** might just be about spoken words not humans
Zombies are the instigators watching and not reacting
They do without knowing the consequences they expose to others.
I might be a monster
But all I do is **** the silence and shred them with truth
Truth which should be spoken but is dormant within one's self.
Zombie's show no emotion
While Monsters are the Motivators towards a solution.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
You say one thing
But mean another
I feign a nod
Because I know
What you aspire
You keep by the rules
I use all the right tools
We play it carefully
Though we already
Share this affinity
We do not have
To pretend
By now
We are on the same
Wavelength
We say one thing
But we mean another
Such a farce
Because we both know
We are untruthful
However
The beauty of
This deceit
Is that we are
Aware
Of the truth
Behind it
It is a lie
That we need not
Demystify
The truth about
You and I
Being coy is that
You are crazy
About me
And the other way
Around
We say one thing
But our eyes intend
Another
And the heavenly feeling
If
We are both liars;
The two of us
Telling the same fib
To one another
Then quite frankly,
At the core of the
Conversation
Were we not telling
The truth
All along?
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
So To See That You Are That One That Has Me In The Lies Of Your Perfection
I Am Falling Each Day More For You,
And It Hurts More As We Grow Stronger
You Keep Reapeating You Wont Hurt Me
Wont **** And Wont Lie To Me
But So You Are Lying To Me When You Say You Wont
I Know So Much Of You Not To Believe Anything
So Yes I Am The One Blind And Deaf
But The Heart Has Me That Way
Because As You Lie Those Words Keep Reapting The Sweetness
Of Your Soul. You Drive Me Crazy And I Am Enchanted.
Dont Lie My Untruthful Liar Because I Need You With Me.
I Love You And I Will Give Anyting For You,
Your Touches Are The Best And Your Lips Are The Softest Of All.
Yes, I Am Inlove With You And I Know I Am Getting Hurt...Tonight.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
I've been going to a Kingdom Hall and I've become a Jehovah's Witness.
The people are very friendly to each other which means we are blessed.
The Kingdom Halls have different preachers on each Sunday and Tuesday.
Unlike other Denominations, our preachers never receive pay.
At the Kingdom Halls, we are taught that Jehovah is God's name.
Some people tell lies about Jehovah Witnesses and it's a shame.
One lie that people tell is that we don't believe in Jesus.
We are good people, I hope that you'll come to see us.
Unlike other churches, we don't pass around a collection plate.
People at the Kingdom Halls are treated like family, it is great.
Besides listening to the preachers sermons, we study the Bible as well.
When people are untruthful about us, please ignore the lies that they tell.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
To love and be loved
We all crave the same fiery temptation
To feel and to be numb
We contrast the beauty of love
To be broken and to be rebuilt
We have all seen an illusion of love
To smile and to cry
We fear love because sometimes love hurts
To drown and to float
We sink in despair, waiting to be rescued
To be confident and to be insecure
We weren’t born the same
Most of us hate ourselves
Wishing to be remade
Or maybe wishing to never exist at all
To be heard and to be ignored
We hold everything inside because everyone on the outside is too busy to listen
To be untruthful or to be truthful?
Truthfully. .
We are blinded by our fears
So far deep in our tears
We run from love because we never been chased by love
We accept less because we think that’s all we deserve
We reject love because we are tired of getting hurt
We feel like we are ugly because he or she is more appealing
We camouflage ourselves because we feel like society will judge us
We die inside because we never felt alive
We limit love because we never experienced it’s measures
To love and be loved ?
We will never understand it’s depth
Why?
Because first we have to love ourselves
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
Did you know what I felt
When you spoke an untruthful truth
Did you see my happiness melt
When you thought you were trying to prove
Can you look out at the mountains
And see where the ridges formed
Can you look at the many fountains
And see their designed forms
What do you define as perfect
And what do you believe is worth it
Is it the reefs in the ocean
Or is it the truth you consider worthless
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
Entering the void with rainy eyes induced by the manipulating agent who was undercover under her covers. And as the rush came this lush dame was soon abandon in the emptiness which were her hopes and dreams/ she could not cope but scream in the darkness that now became her home. She graps at truth but it eludes her, only the false promises that were pumped into her heart remain. They whisper to her constantly, spewing poison in a fading mind, eviserated spirit; body laying in twisted sheets staring at a pitch black celling that reminds her of the heart that was cruely tricked and abandoned longing for the simpler times, but is now choked by the thorns of lost love. Faith fades, confusion takes hold of once unshakable consciencness of oneself, paradise is lost; a dystopia now surrounds a once blissful secure island of Elysian splendor. Left alone, scorned; this furious angel is being driven maddingly insane by the cold silence that has taken the place of a loving embrace. A million thoughts and questions flood her mind but only one replays itself, "why"? And each time a tiny piece of her heart falls into her hand and slips out of the cracks like grains of sand. But this once radiant muse that would make even the mighty aphrodite envious must pull herself together for the burning light of reality is shining through the darkness cutting through revealing the vacancy which she did not think was possible and face the truth that her thoughts were not her own, but a well contructed fairy tale told from the parasitic snake that fed off her passionate trusting heart. She cries for release to come soon, but alas a new day is steady approaching and now she must hide that pain with a untruthful smile to take attention from the empty void left in her chest; as for the rest? That is unknown......
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
I drink in moonlight
like the lemonade hours of sun
that leak in through
broken windowpanes
wasted hours
like honey droplets of time
sink in bones and tint them yellow.
Hands so big they could swallow me whole
wrap around my waist
and lick swollen elbows with fire.
Rotted fruit with
sickly sweet perfume
penetrate my
memories
and imaginary kisses.
I used to think I liked melodic voices
and soft leather jackets
winks like untruthful sweet medicine
melancholic lies and performances.
Conversations stretch like
curly cords of telephones
glowing screens wash rooms
with blue light
and sink in mattresses for future dreams
Jeans laced with smoke
and signals
questions and confusion
the sound of my heels on pavement
all little love songs
singing your name.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
I have dealt with this before,
This feeling...
I am dealing with it again,
This feeling...
The outer look matters
Rather the taste of inner
The shape and color of a bottle
Looks fancy and appealing
Rather its contents, so bitter
Beauty on face, complexion
So beautiful
Inside a dark, deep infested nest
Ugly and untruthful
Painted figures, expensive makeup
Lucious lips
Pleasing to ones eyes
Caring heart, kind soul, unpleasant appearance
Yet, doubtful cries
Whatever is beautiful, matters!
Regardless to the consequences
Most see the outer appearance and judge
Hardly see the innocent smile,
...of the less fortunate
©sim
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
I have been depressed. I will not say am. This is a six year ongoing illness that is formed itself into a personality trait, and now an uncomfortable, casual day to day topic.
I wish I could take the heaviness out of the words “I want to **** myself.” because they have never felt like a heavy sentence to me. They are words that string themselves through my brain at least twice a day and occasionally can be formulated into joke at my expense.
I tried to **** myself when I was twelve. It was a two week long ordeal. I was a hospital project for a week, an out of home charity case for a week, and after that, it became a running joke.
“Do you still have a few screws loose?”
“Are you still a basket case?”
“How many pills you think you could swallow?”
Over six years, I have become a great actor. I am best at holding my tongue, swallowing my spit when my throat is closing, and pretending like I am breathing steady. I often laugh in the face of my problems and I distance myself from people when I feel rocks sitting on my chest so they don’t smell the rot of a dying conscious. I have never been untruthful either. Just honest in a way that wears a theatrical mask and relinquishes an audience from an awkward state of “wow, I’m really sorry.”
But some nights are the farthest things from jokes.
Some nights are all choking up on words that don’t make any sense and some days are “nobody actually likes you.” Some days are not having enough energy to do laundry or dishes and then hating yourself because how could you, you’re so lazy. Most nights are complete self hatred and manic heaving into a wet pillow while your brother sleeps quietly in the next room.
The worst thing about depression is that it’s so uncomfortable. It’s become such an awkward conversation to me. It’s like coming out as something that nobody has ever seen before until it’s living in front of you. It taints everything I do with a feeling of disbelonging with the people that love me because I don’t believe that my depressed presence is comfortable enough for others.
But I am trying. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up to a sun that still shines, even if it is covered by clouds and I will still be depressed. I will pick up a book that I haven’t started, and wait in a sitting room full of other people who are emotionally sick. I will be the same person that I am, and have been. And I will know that right now, I am also trying very hard to become so much more.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
All these whinging intellectual poetic wankers,
scribbling Conditional Love "poems"that boringly
lament why they are such obvious failures
at the game of life and self realisation.
Spewing out weasel words of poetic hypocracy while
wrapped in navel gazing infantile emotions.
Writing degenerate untruthful words about a love
they'll never know or never have known,
as if unconditional love can be bought
at the local Walmart.
Voluntarily assisting the machinations of mind and groupmind,
since their birth into a lifetime of Conditioned Identity,
in the servitude of the Amerikan Oligarchy .
Strings of meaningless associated words,
lines of lies about life and love that are ever popular with "poets".
Starting with every one of the so-called "holy" books
from millennia past--calling for suicide bombers
and child killers to strut the world stage
spewing religious racism and sexism like enlightened beings..
After all words have NO SHAME
nor have poets..
Sin Verguensa.
Words have NO GUILT
nor have poets.
Words have NO EMBARASSMENT
nor have poets.
You cannot hide behind your lies from me.
I see you--I have nous.
Your beard is transparent.
Your unceasing lies deny to others information
to which they are entitled,
"poets" are the worst LIARS of all,
so easily spottable .
Read these pages--see for yourself,
through my eyes .
See the silly shit-fed children of the Amerikan Oligarchy,
wrapped in spangles and colours --posturing like super-heroes.
Vomiting verbal diahorea in lifes gutters,
appealing for just one more chance
to play at love and humiliation.
People with low IQs and lower morals
pretending ,as always, to be mature and human,
characters moulded like products of talk show hosts .
No integrity.
No truthfulness.
No honour.
No decency.
No morals except those learned from Readers Digest.
No to these escapees from the gallows of decency,
torture instruments dangling round their necks,
their prophet validated by being nailed and denied.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I saw the hawk,
Steady, awaiting, eager.
Violence await the clouds,
You can see it in the sky.
Earth drums beat loudly.
Thunder clashes,
Like symbols from afar.
The eagle at a set pace,
Laughs at his friend.
For he has nothing
To worry about.
Happiness the evidence,
Of untruthful love.
For what is real,
In the hawks eyes?
Willing to pretend,
The seagull comes,
And glides over the sea.
Only to be eaten,
By the shark that awaited,
It’s loving peaceful return.
The hawk stares,
There is no way out.
Captivated by love and lust,
Which door shall be,
The way out?
The eagle sees the confusion,
But the owl seemed wise.
In his delight,
He ate the rat with pride.
The hawk decided it was time.
So he flew,
Through three doors,
And behind the seagull,
He waited in line.
©
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 6:24 AM UTC
It is all in me yet seeping out.
Spilling onto the thick, clammy ground.
My motives gain no ambition
and I will toss my untruthful tactics into the abyss.
Exhausted, worn-out, pale and quick.
First sighted, then gone.
And again and again.
My fists are coming back to me torn and beaten.
My soul is attempting to return to me.
Torn and beaten.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:58 AM UTC
Am I in Love?
At night, laying sleepless,
I bemoan the treacheries of life
with my love
and appreciation....
And though,
in my dark,
and cavernous foundations;
Roar the pillars of stone,
and shake them.
Waked,
by curiosity,
and interest,
I stare intently at you,
and though I cannot see,
You are there.
Tangible,
by my creativity,
and invisible,
by my negativity.
And through the secret game
that to many, has forbidden name
we speak.
Fear,
and pride,
my greatest hatreds,
now run through me,
though the game of
Predator, and Prey.
I am the prey,
of myself,
in the black vapors
of my confusion,
you two rought me
with confusion
elaborate,
and woe,
despicable.
My thoughts now strand
off into many divisions,
all joining together,
to reveal my fear,
of disappointing you.
The thing we connect through bings,
and so we remain in contact, it seems.
But ever, we thought beautiful
I am marred, and proved untruthful.
You do not deserve me,
but somehow
in this void-feeling heart of mine,
I sense you care.
I care.
Am i in love?
My Mind craves you,
and I put much emphasis on that,
for that, might,
just might,
be my undoing.
Should I look to the East,
to find you, riding, in
shining, and metallic armor,
And see only dust clouds
roam aimlessly from North to South.
But I hear banners, in the West,
all risen high,
as high hopes,
and high spirits,
to guide them.
This, is what I've waited for,
for years,
as do we all.
But my misinterpretations,
now lead the banners,
with silver swords,
bearing the name of hate.
with this,
I deserve only
to lay my head down,
lamely, for you to hew it
from me, and call it,
Victory.
This, I forsee,
this unsensible
and crazed
sight,
that passes through me,
and guides me
to all darker paths of light.
So that I may be dimmed,
and in a cycle refrained,
I should, as a doomsayer,
say my doom,
and I, as a fool,
should subconciously make that true.
This is what I see.
I fear, for you,
and fear,
for me.
I burden all, though a child
and my will is heavy, upon you,
and wild, is my desires
and should you penetrate my curtains,
you should see,
the cold bitterness, of my truth.
But all the while,
mind and soul crave you,
and body revives,
slowly,
but surely.
I sense love,
and my stomach churns,
knowing I shall hang my head
in Guilt.
Am I In Love?
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
Surrender proceeds jingling bones
A path remained unfound
In it's place stands
No option but up
Or down, or any other way possible
Protection comes from
Ambiance; choked on the woes of wooing branches
What have they seen? Who will they touch?
What corpulent feelings protrude
From a vacant, verdant lung
How now will screams fall?
Like the buoyancy of oak, suckling
Syrup, sweet, from
Distressed veins of age
When air stands taller
Untruthful containers, thoughts swell
She never may know of her inevitable bliss
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 1:57 PM UTC
i confess, i started hiding.
fake words with fake meaning.
i feel pain and real emotion in reality. i will be ok.
i need to let out the real.
real me.
pain, emotion, fear and prickly sensations running down my arm.
i need to really feel now.
i thought maybe if i was witty fake me, that would be enough to bridge my self-loathing and fear......
...on to me. real me.
forgive me for my lie, the untruthful self i now expose.
i am me, i really feel.
i am .
KT May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
In a dark place
where everything use to feel so perfect
Lips are Silenced
where words held meaning and use to be spoken
Two of us we gathered
where the world may have thought we could've been broken
but ......
here's where deception came
and disappointed the both of us.
Forgiveness was given
Promises were in order
Until they became broken again
How could I trust thee untruthful
or look in the eye of someone who cant look into mine (Thee Cowardly)
My mental thought of you as mine everything but NOTHING'S TAKEN for one day you won't just see you shall understand what this could have been
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
(tripping gracefully over her gory visage,
she bashfully, covertly unveils her
untruthful veracity,
invisible in all things seen)
her phantom form surrounds me and
slides her arm between my lips, into my mouth
finger - after - finger;
i slowly swallow her whole
(she leaves me no other choice)
the quick fog forming in my eyes
threatens to spill
(i think it does)
i choke, my teeth grazing her entangled marble limbs.
my once untarnished tower of a neck
now a blemished python, bruised by suffocation
finger-painting, hand-print impressionism in
russian red and prussian blue and palatinate purple
my angry lungs drink her in
the space between my thoughts and veins becomes considerably smaller.
(i am crowded,
i am
o
ver
whelmed.)
exhausted, i gasp for words
but those too have left me a while ago,
when her impact carved that permanent indent on my chest:
i can never rest.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
you
will
get
better
when
you
stop
convincing
yourself
of
what
isn't
real
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC