"unwantedly" poems
*There are times when
you are not yourself.
You blend into something
unwantedly & unwillingly.
Something that is
too distant from your
psyche & guise.
The transfiguration makes
you a whole another person,
one beyond your bridle.
But you always hit back to
your archetypal persona.
The endeavor to recrudescence
is always tenacious,
summating unscrupulous inscriptions to your crasis.
People will judge you
on this substructure of your psyche.
But this is not who you are
& what you are!
It is mere an icky phase.
Your elucidation lies beyond
this transfigured self.
Never relinquish your
pristine pneuma.*
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
I never got to know who I would really be.
The day was pure, I went to play and lift me brown-eyed brave;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My cousin was not home, but his father was,
who offered to show curious me something;
I never got to know who I would really be.
Taking my hand, up we went into that shadowed bedroom;
I never got to know who I would really be.
There I cried and nearly died as breath and trust drained away,
and then he finished;
I never got to know who I would really be.
With all my four-year might, I barely stood,
trembling friendless for a lifetime,
waiting and wishing for the end of me that never came,
frozen by the echoes of his whistling;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My light and trust twisted numb, and I became,
in that sacrificial horror, unwantedly wise;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My nature heart and caring head left for other worlds,
replaced by unwanted imitations,
strange deliveries from the unknown;
I never got to know who I would really be.
The rest of my life unfolded in starker silence,
hidden tears, and lurking fears, later liberated
for short, surprised, and sublime times
by the fairest love of two women,
safe children, their adoring little ones,
and a few determined adventures now and then,
hinting of the lost;
I never got to know who I would really be.
But now I write it all, and from my defiant and disobedient depth
consider, when I can, what imagining did for me
and never came true,
to stand and say and show
who I have become anyway.
This is my private anthem to my beloved self,
though
I never got to know
who that boy might really be.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Sleep for 5 weeks
and tell me what you feel
I slept for 5 weeks
and I'll tell what I felt
Can I tell you about how unlucky bears are
to hibernate
Maybe I tell you that it's like cardiac arrest
an abrupt darkness to revival
Perhaps it's what Haley's Comet experiences
a forever cycle of nothing, that's glorious
That isn't what I felt
Congenital Insensitivity?
That is what I felt
Something that thrives then sleeps--dies, but comes back to life--something forever fleeting--Never feeling that fatal touch.
I hibernated
I had cardiac arrest
I was something that shows beauty, but never gets drawn all the way in
I was consumed with being unwantedly numb
What do you feel in 5 weeks?
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
After the false promises, disappointment...
I am finally starting..
This Unwantedly feeling..
No girl can be princess...
But only a warrior!
Struggling Or not
She must fight her own battles!
And perhaps never waltz
with her true Prince Charming.
11:06 pm.Tuesday, 5th , July, 2016.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Old age hit me
like a fist
I was planting roses
carelessly, never anxiously
avoiding their thorns
my teeth were my own,
I could bite into a hard, green
apple easily
there was no consequence,
no fear of an explosion of
false enamel
vegetables grow into
something beautiful over time
if you treat them right.
unlike the shell of a woman
bleached, oversaturated,
badly composed, framed
by misery.
A seventeen year old girl
bending into the hands of
a childlike man
unaware of the flames
she was igniting,
her body slamming
into the kitchen floor
you will cry in the morning,
weep for the innocence
you lost, the shock of
surviving your own
******
unwantedly.
I was thirty before
I tried to disappear
back into the oblivion
of filthy London streets
thirty pills, one for
each year, a litre
of ***** and a
badly written
death note
I survived. Just long
enough to paint a
picture of adulthood
a husband, a wife
a son, a daughter
I was everything
and nothing all
at once
old age hit me
like a fist
a rattle of dust
in an urn
and a hundred of
the flowers I have
always hated
they cry, thinking I am lost,
I smile, knowing that I
was never found
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
it's been a while since i last wrote something.
it's been a while since i last felt anything.
NOW I AM FEELING EVERY SINGLE EMOTION I HAVE EVER KEPT BOTTLED UP INSIDE ME ALL AT THE SAME TIME & IT'S TEARING ME UP ALL I WANT TO DO IS SIT IN THE DARKEST CORNER RESEMBLING MY EMPTINESS & THE DARK DAYS & CRY MY EYES ALL OUT.
it's been a while since anyone asked me how i was feeling.
it's been a while since i last said "i'm fine," not because i actually felt fine, but because i was used to say "i'm fine" just to avoid having to explain myself even though nobody wouldn't understand.
i don't really know how much time has it been since anyone asked me how i was feeling, because they think of me as an emotionless person, BUT RIGHT NOW ALL I NEED IS SOMEONE TO ASK ME HOW AM I FEELING SO I COULD EXPLAIN MYSELF EVEN THOUGH THEY WON'T UNDERSTAND BECAUSE I DON'T NEED THEM TO UNDERSTAND I JUST WANT TO LET EVERYTHING OUT BECAUSE IT'S EATING MY SOUL WELL NOT MY SOUL BECAUSE IT WAS EATEN LONG AGO BEFORE I COULD EVEN REMEMBER I COULD FEEL ANYTHING AT ALL I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO HOLD ME & ASK ME HOW AM I FEELING & LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY BUT NOBODY EVER DOES BECAUSE THEY THINK OF ME AS AN EMOTIONLESS PERSON THEY THINK I'M JUST LIVING LIFE TO THE FULLEST JUST BECAUSE THEY SEE A SMILE ON MY FACE BUT WHAT THEY DON'T SEE IS THAT MY SMILE IS SHATTERED I AM BROKEN INSIDE & I CAN'T FIX MYSELF NOBODY CAN FIX ME I CAN'T FIX WHAT I AM MADE OF I CAN'T FIX THE ONLY THING I HAVE EVER KNOWN & I DON'T NEED TO FIX IT I JUST NEED SOMEONE TO LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY & TELL ME EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY EVEN THOUGH I KNOW NOTHING WILL EVER BE OKAY BECAUSE NOTHING EVER GOES OKAY I AM SHATTERED I AM BROKEN THIS IS WHO I AM DON'T FIX ME JUST LISTEN TO ME.
it's been a while since someone hugged me.
it's been a while since i last felt someone else's touch.
it's been a while since i last let someone hug me.
it's been a while since i last let someone touch me.
it's been a while since i last let someone get close enough to even whisper my name.
it's been a while since i last let someone BECAUSE THAT MEANS THEY GET TO HUG ME & TOUCH ME & WHISPER MY NAME & GET CLOSE & THE ONLY THING I HAVE EVER LET HUG ME OR FEEL ME OR TOUCH ME OR WHISPER MY NAME OR GET CLOSE ENOUGH IS MY DEPRESSION & EVERYTIME MY DEPRESSION COMES AROUND I FEEL UNWANTEDLY TOUCH I FEEL MY DEPRESSION HUGGING ME BACK TO MY BED KEEPING ME THERE WHISPERING MY NAME EVERYTIME MY DEPRESSION COMES AROUND I LET IT CLOSE ENOUGH I CAN FEEL THE SOUL INSIDE OF ME DYING OVER & OVER AGAIN & I CAN LISTEN TO THE VOICES IN MY HEAD WHISPERING MY NAME SINGING LULLABIES TELLING ME I'LL BE OKAY IF I STAY IN BED BUT WE ALL KNOW STAYING IN BED WILL ONLY MAKE IT WORSE BECAUSE I WILL DETERIORATE MYSELF BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT BECAUSE DEPRESSION KEEPS ME IN MY BED & IT KEEPS ME COMPANY IT MAKES ME FEEL SOMETHING IT TELLS ME EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE OKAY IT TELLS ME EVERYTHING I NEED TO HEAR EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IS NOT TRUE MY DEPPRESION IS THE ONLY THING ASKING ME HOW I FEEL WHEN IN REALITY IT'S THE ONE KILLING ME BUT I RATHER DIE SAYING HOW I FEEL THAN NOT SAYING OR FEELING ANYTHING AT ALL I AM SO FULL OF EMOTIONS RIGHT NOW & ALL I WANT TO DO IS SING LULLABIES WITH THE SOUND OF MY CRY & LET THE TEARS TOUCH MY SKIN I WANT TO FEEL OKAY FOR A WHILE BECAUSE I KNOW THE EMPTINESS WILL COME BACK TO ME BECAUSE IT ALWAYS DOES BUT I RATHER DIE WITH COMPANY THAN DIE BY MYSELF & UNHEARD.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Plough your heart,
I am going to rain tears,
Don’t keep it barren,
I don’t want my rains,
To grow plants of sympathy,
That’s not special,
Plants of sympathy,
Can grow on any heart,
Any land,
Like weeds grow;
Unwantedly
But,
Make it special,
Plough your land,
Your heart,
Let plants of love,
Respect, grow
Like crops;
Which grow with purpose
Now do what i say,
Or succumb,
To draughts of hatred!
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
Its 11 pm , my body quivers as your holding my hand to your room ,
the empty air in there ... enchanted with your perfume .
ive dressed the best i could , i inhale deep so that you could slip deep into my mind and kiss me all ova , (theres a tiny giggle in the throat ).
im suddenly shaken outta my thoughtful slumber to realize that youve ****** in my lips holding them in a deep wet kiss.....
though i pulled back unwantedly , ive harboured this habit of returning favours ....
So i entwine my tongue wid yours , you moving deeper and deeperas i grip your hair.
you look at my bare body wid lust as if to find a treasure,
cupping them gently youve learnt the art to mould them as you wish.
No sooner i realize youre breathing hot and smearing me with kisses while suddenly you ****** deeper...
the empty hollow inside my heart feels like it was neva there,
Ive spread wide again aligning myself to yours as a composed and sensous smile dances on your as well as my lips ...
an assuring serenity youve bought me ... always ..as i only desire to lie beneath ur warm chest ...
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC