"unwarranted" poems
An artist,
I’m scared to be left to my thinking atoms and nuclear cells
Why solder my raining thoughts to reality
In my head I can’t trust these clockworks
Rusted gears precariously tricking forward
Tensions unbalance on a pinched nerve ending
Hesitate I retract to others knowing what I don’t know
That once I start I might fail
I don’t do what I want to
I don’t speak when I want to
When I so desperately need to
Before I explode
Violently, into a void
Void of emotionless urges
An artist like me if I so believe I am
Doubtfully attempts to act in the face of thunder
Only to cowardly hide in a cat’s whisker
Inner bricking delays outer progress
Progress I provocatively flaunt to the alive bodies
While knowing the fallacious congrats is unwarranted
I don’t believe in magical rainbow kitten surprise wishes
But I won’t also hide my love
With the internal flame dimming
I want to act the part by flipping over the stones
For the mysteries hidden away
To see them crawling out
My untapped desires
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
One moment we laugh, the next we cry
Invigorating this emotional rollercoaster ride
So slow going up, so fast coming down
Young hearts breaking at the speed of sound
Slapped in the face by the experience of life
Unwarranted emotions of hatred and strife
Roundabout the station we begin to ascend
Straight down then curve as our minds warp and bend
Terror overpowers and tortures our souls
As we reach our ****** of out of control
Attached to life’s rails we’re moving so fast
How long can we expect this passion to last
But nobody wants this ride to be over
It’s all so intoxicatingly sober
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
An imaginary but desirable sense of control
Created by the bully in my head
Screaming at me, pressuring me, hurting me
Encapsulating my mind as a second meninges.
Impossible to separate my true thoughts
From what it tells me,
My conscious mind is tied to a cinder block
And left to drown in its enticingly rough waves.
My physical being constantly changing with the tide
Unpredictable but regular,
Shallow but deep.
****** into its infinite black hole,
I am left feeling disgusted and ashamed
Of all that is me.
No longer am I able to decide the way in which
My needs are met-if in fact they are met.
As though I have DID, I am constantly bouncing
From alter to alter
Body to body.
Blinded from looking directly into its sun,
I am warmed and comforted by its rays
While reassured that my doubts are unwarranted.
If ever defied, it scolds and whips me,
Like a master to his slave,
A father to his child.
The welts and cuts, gratefully rip into my
Skin, muscle and bone –
Punishment for my wrongdoings and self.
I, immediately silenced
Remove myself from society,
Restricting contact, nourishment and emotions
To nil.
It is not until someone notices
The beginnings of an eternal invisibility,
That I am released and
Able to breathe in
The salty air of life.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
Walking in a circle is, in the fondest sense, going absolutely nowhere, even though it feels better than walking completely backwards. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I have never even been face to face with you and mine grows weaker and weaker with the length of time between the moments I get to touch you. The strange thing is that, prior to meeting you, I have a hard time describing what it was I was even doing - the storms you have hurled into my quiet life is all I know now, and I never realized just how flimsy my own infrastructure was. I have seeped into the walls you throw dishes in and the floors you roll around on, and I feel everything your fists do equally, if not more. Who knows my body better than you? The places I dip and divide and slope and bend; who has held me down with nothing but words and sweaty silence that lay thick enough for us to cut with butcher knives? My stomach is trained to clench is desperation when your name is mentioned and I am nervous around anyone who shares with you; a picture is worth a thousand words, but your name is worth one million, and you've never spoken mine aloud but I have murmured yours, like a mantra, repeatedly, groaning in the way wounded animals do and trembling with that same fear. I can't count on my fingers how many nights I traded sleep for a reason to talk to you, and all too well do I know how many lifetimes are crammed into the seconds before an anticipated phone call. People might wonder how I even survive when you aren't around, but how many ways can a dog entertain himself when the master is away? Oftentimes, in a state of unwarranted panic, I claw at my clothes as though you are lurking underneath, and only rarely are you there, metaphysically. I am not the only person the rain falls on; I understand that there are plenty of others who are lulled by the charm of someone who knows nature of a human being in the way that otherworldly creatures might, but in this instance I know that everyone is haunted in their own exclusive way, and you are always flickering in the periphery of my blurry vision when my bedroom lights are out.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
What brief utterance this, the color of time
That gives more meaning than language can hold
To force a confrontation between unresolvable contradictions
Such as make malleable a gracious hospitality to ******
And sound trumpets of unwarranted discord
That lie and lament the reputation and experience of damage
Hold forth the envious clouds of displacement
To provide for the vicious energies of hate
Those oppressive weights of past problems
That enactment of intense and exhausting experience
Which embalms the tears of fresh bleeding
Without impediment dictates the human existence
Where the mistress of aggressive thought finds
Extremity of dire mishap a strenuous protest
Leads to well meaning certainty of illusion
And asks, art thou so in love with masks that you
Would transform thyself and as such
Bind a loyalty of angers to thy touch
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Early.
I became the bottom of a shoe. Worthless, unwarranted, but there, needed.
Rubber and worn, worn away to the thinnest part, and still used.
Hands became words, and hugs became extinct, tears became invisible, the 'childhood' was erased.
Diabetes became my mother, known as rejection, and depression, her twin, known as rage.
Insulin and Fluoxetine became my equally demanding toddlers; I was feeding a family of 6 at the age of 8.
Later.
I watched my brother become a tortured child, in his sleep - the sound of his waterproof sheets would keep me awake, as i lay worried that his screams were words he could not utter at his age.
I watched my sister grow cold as she watch her house burning down around her, and crying tears at the loss of her childhood, her eyes burned at me.
As i looked in the mirror, when i cried, i would flush the toilet just to hear what it feels like to be washed away.
Disappeared down the drain.
I shrunk 4 inches in 4 years, one inch for each bottle of poison, that said 'drink me'.
I shrunk 4 inches in another 4 years for every word that said 'eat me'.
I shrunk so that I could not grow, up.
Later still.
I became broken, hard to 'fix'.
I became lost, without a cause.
I became the rebel, odd-one-out.
Family grew fractured, broken mirrors lay on all our floors, that we skirted around, lest we should bled it all out, what had happened.
Relationships broke, one after another, after, another, after, another, after....
Faces lost feeling, words became laws, feelings became problems, love became, raw and unused.
We dissipated, dissolved, into a million pieces of broken, into the world, held together by very thin words of 'family'
Now.
I am not a child anymore.
It's time to be heard.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
I watched the old
gray haired
son of a *****
approach my fence
in the back yard
today,
he - looking up at the
beautiful work of art,
a brilliant Magnolia
that had just flowered
like a proud yawning
lioness at sunset,
his gilded tool
with it’s dangling rope
to hang a miracle
because it had spilled
into his yard
like pink paper leftovers
everywhere,
he decided to repress it
bordering the fence
it was annoying him
and his domain
Rousseau was dead-on
about my chained freedom
the manacles were dangling
and I could hear
him severing and slicing
her arms
it somehow made him
feel better
and he moaned
his wretched realm
on his side of the trellis
and he walked away
after the limbs had fallen
to the ground
to make his cheap ***
ground chuck on rye –
it smelled like ****
the amputated Magnolia
and grease spinning
around my head
I stood there, quietly
thinking how this was
so unwarranted
and what a waste of time
this was,
the tree crying out to me
and somewhere else on earth
another yawning
with laughter.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Nights pass and I pick away at my skin.
Supine in this hallowed hollow of unwashed bedsheets and detritus
Spending my time, the most precious currency to date, trudging through virtual stacks of head shots of those I've known or half-known.
A healthy reminder that you are alone.
You are behind.
You ****** up early, kid.
You are behind in some sense, even if half the acquaintances pleasant or otherwise in your class are working jobs not much better than yours.
What I really hate is seeing joy.
Seeing these people and their ****** happiness, it's great.
Really strengthens the misanthropic beast I've been feeding all week
And it feels good, anger
Especially when the only other things I'm used to feeling are
worried or
bored
So its nice to indulge, I guess
I don't have to look for something to fuel my complaints, my bitter unwarranted jealousy –
that's an annoying component –
the awareness –
this would all be much more enjoyable if I didn't notice these things about myself
but noticing is a habit I've nourished
for years far exceeding
the time spent with a cigarette between my fingers
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
There we were
In the midst of an oriental expose
More like a permanent museum display
The history of our foundation here in the West
Build on the backs of the yellow and black
Only I prefer to keep clear of the festering beast that is Oakland at high noon
No
This was someplace stranger
Chinatown, San Francisco
A soy canker in the greasy mouth of America
In some circles this was the closest thing to an escape
Or the closest thing to internment
It’s all about perception
A pompous soccer mom/beast attempting culture meanders through the local chaos
Green beans or shallots tonight?
A psychedelic mess with an unwarranted response
Could she handle the absurdity?
I care not, choose the latter sweetheart
“Shallots”
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
Who gives a ****
If I live or die?
I have become the one forgotten
And I have fallen into some peculiar space
Now no one remembers the girl who once stood
In my place
She is changed, she has become something unexpected and unforgiving.
Is there a reason to believe in myself anymore?
I have been deemed, by many,
Unlovable.
Perhaps the worst damnation of all
Has come from my inner self.
But how does the rest of the world see me?
My views have been clouded over the years
By some unwarranted opinions
Of hypocrites and bigots
Bullies and ex-boyfriends
Daddy.
Calling me names to this day
Even after some bouts of depression
Cutting
Eating disorders
Even a suicide attempt.
Although these are all in the past
I still fail to hold myself in high regard.
Did they make me hate myself?
No, but they had a weighted hand in its development.
So who could love a creature like me?
A person, or rather, a shell of one,
Plagued by habit
Submerged in guilt
Crippled by a question that has never ceased.
Does being forced into a protective armor,
Being ridiculed
Being unloved
Make someone truly
Unlovable?
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Why attempt to claim the moral high ground
When your pathetic argument holds no sway
Why march to war with the rebel bound
In the uncommon disposition of yesterday
Why hold pretentious personality
When acceptance is based on adaptation
A pyramid scheme brings fatality
To your pseudo-martyr nation
Unwarranted non cooperation
With the voices of the future
Speak without brainwashed sedation
And unravel your poisoned sutures
Your self proclaimed image of authority
Is unwanted within the confines of freedom
You back a mentality of all encompassing conformities
When the generation of today can't see them
Your hubris lacks the willingness to act
Yet you call yourself Ole-Times-Hardened
And the simple depressing fact
Is that your ignorance cannot be pardoned
Leave while you hold a handful of passion
Before it is lost in the folds of time
Because dignity with age is not everlasting
You are but another one track mind
Whether or not you care to move forward
The world turns on an invisible axis
There is always a new world order
And living life requires emotional taxes
So be willing to express and voice opinions wholly
But like many lost souls before you say
Wander unknown territories carefully
Because the past is lost with today
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
I had only offered Madrynne a *** of
Shikokianum and a Herb Robert,
but before long, the calm of the "maiden grass"
had over-reacted
their crown lain a heavy price,
for not only had I rattled their jealousy
but a subsequent breeze
scorched the floral bract,
of my prize "laidlaw" Bougainvillea
a cankerous deed -
cleft from veins,
like a storm brood
will there be such rashes again ?
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
I am sun and you are moon.
Caressing countlessly
Cranes and Starlings swoon
With love effortlessly.
I paint the daybreak flawless
with color sinking in
Moon is gathering the waves
while Mantas sink and swim.
You wrap yourself in darkness
with holes and craters deep,
Orbiting a world that has you
shackled at your feet.
I can see it spinning, with
everything it holds.
And I'm afraid that one dark day,
it might just steal your soul.
I can't control your presence
parading atmosphere,
And must not always worry
That the waves will disappear.
Nor reminisce on memories
so many "moons" ago,
That orbit other planets,
of which we'll never know.
And maybe all this warmth
inside my soul so bright,
is overtaking judgment
and misjudging moon at night.
The heat within me rising
might be unwarranted.
So I will just shine brighter
and make flowers bloom instead.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
I never was occupied with the essence of patriotism
The altruism of the conscription of the young, to later express gratitude for their service, for their heroism
The sensationalism of singing of the anthems, and the so-called 'civil defence'
But really, it's all merely an excuse to justify unwarranted offence
It's a weapon wielded as a subterfuge for the ethical codes transgressed
For capital, people become national and subsequently irrational
Due to patriotism, all the decisions of the government are infallible
And anyone who opposes said verdicts is radical
To continue reading about patriotism, please subscribe it's only $120 per annum. Fees are taxable
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
Infectious laugh,
Untamable anger,
Excitable stories,
Well-hidden anxiety.
Misdirected blame,
Unwarranted shame.
Blue eyes.
Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints.
Smiling...
After work.
In the middle of the night.
In the mornings.
Saturday afternoons.
Rushed calls or
A day’s worth of together.
Nightmares as dreams,
Nights without sleep.
Coffee, drugs, caffeine.
Scars.
Hopelessness.
Grief.
Aspirations.
Full of life.
Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart.
An eye for nature’s beauty.
An eye for art.
One for me, occasionally.
Insecurity. Arrogance.
Compassion. Detachment.
Weak yet enduring.
Unmoving yet learning.
Intoxicating.
Aggravating.
A liar struggling to lie.
A suicide debating to die.
Lustful gaze.
Manipulative ways.
Who were you
And why couldn’t you stay?
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
the Hello Poetry portrait gallery
is becoming full of empty frames
what individuals had a hand
in these harassment games
we've been deprived of many
talented written contributions
the villainous mob most adroit
with their unwarranted executions
blank boxes tell of an almighty
mischief being awfully made
by they who are wanting
to garner every accolade
under a serious threat our
fraternity of poets are thus far
and of seeing unfilled cubes
there leaves a permanent scar
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
Spending intangible dollars at the mercy of my ever growing appetite,
Instead of buying my ticket out of this perfectly advantageous country,
Which focuses solely on my beauty and money.
I neglect my inner advice telling me to drop it all and run,
To where I can breathe and focus on God,
Promoting a healthier way of living and improving humanity.
Momentary hope that unrealistically characterizes perfection
As a quality that I can mentally download and miraculously make the above, true,
Never seems to linger long enough to actually induce action,
Which leads to disappointment draining the motivation essential to recover my missing pieces,
Which pushes me to crave cash I don’t have, to pick up that dose,
That hushes the unwarranted guilt that seduces me into thinking that I’m not incredibly blessed,
And that I can’t handle what I’ve been dealt,
Blurs the doubts I have about my abilities, my self- worth,
Forcing me into a state of content that awakens my creativity,
While vaguely being able to make out memories of let down led by myself and my mother,
Who was a part of what was never good enough for my idea of a perfect family.
I’ve wrongly accepted that a mediocre life-performance is to be had while following the crowd,
While obsessing over flaws that are negligible to my true purpose in life,
And with that I’ve become stifled by the decision to remain effortlessly stuck.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
There's a way in which I break for beauties like you. It's a performance piece, not of the egoistic sort, but rather a birthed love-child of servility and altruism. Here's my recipe, if you ever wanted to scrutinise my path to death.
First, i stare. And marvel in awe at the carved beauty of you and wonder how many cities you've inspired.
Second is initiation. A delicate dance to either be executed from a carnal desire or a romantic want. I choose one or another, seldom do I pick both; tho they end the same way.
Third is the burning period. I will saturate myself with unwarranted loyalty at this point. I morph to their warmth and this is where it gets sick.
Fourth: obsession. If you look into my eyes you will see a longing to drown and to go back to the ocean that is you. It's potent enough to drive me insane. Consuming.
Fifth, i surrender. I'd ask you to take off that fire. I want you to still exist but to go burn somewhere else. To be a forest-fire that inspires rather than to maim me insolently.
Sixth is penance dressed masochistically. I torture myself for reasons he wouldn't understand or is justified, but I somehow think it's salubrious.
Seventh concerns with the cycle of death. I die for you, over and over again. I choose to do this.
Eighth is where my pain becomes stagnant and transition into ghosts with names.
Ninth better itself to be the point of moving on and building graves on reverence for even having a taste of perfection.
Tenth, I repeat this whole process.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Your thoughts can cage you or release you
Mind can give you a new realization
Or sweep you under a deep spell of hallucination
Imaginary demons can seize your thoughts
Depends on what our thoughts are
Repeated thoughts can become a reality
Facing at fine surprises or rude awakenings
Feed the mind with right thoughts
Let not unwarranted thoughts sneak in
Mind is powerful, subconscious a powerhouse
Thoughts in slumber suddenly becomes a reality
Choose your reality, for it depends on the thoughts
A sparkling and clear mind harbors positivity
Positive thoughts will steer you towards your destination
Such is the power of thoughts; we delve not much into them
Mind the thoughts and you will celebrate life
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
MEMO
FROM: Mr Phil Indifrence, Strategy Chess Insurgency Corps.
Space Headquarters, Castleview Avenue, Dunstable XY10
TO: Ms Petal Dontrun, Crimson Chess Federation.
De la Wigan Headquarters, Wigan, United Kingdom, SM00
Dear Ms Dontrun,
Please accept my greetings. I write to clarify my stance on our
outstanding matters and hopefully to deter further speculation,
gossips, rumours, distortions, misinformation and sensationalism by the media.
As you are aware I contacted you on the day as arranged only to
be confronted with a response that was astoundingly unethical, un-
professional, rude, inconsiderate and totally uncalled-for. It was
so below expected standard that it raised doubt about your suit-
ability to be seen as a matured adult much less an intelligent being.
Still in the reverberations of this seismic occurrence I called again in
the hope it was a momentary loss of composure and yet again I was
subjected to a deluxe version of the first onslaught. To say I was
flabbergasted is putting things mildly, most especially as it was
totally unwarranted and underserved. It was obvious you lacked
any sense of decorum and had become an affront to common human decency and an embarrassment to your status.
In all fairness you did call some weeks later, but it had become
apparent that the ethos, protocol and cordiality that my Organi-
sation works within may not be relevant to your Organisation,
hence my unavailability to your contact.
I write to primarily reiterate that my position on this matter and
the present status quo is not based on some immature Ego play,
stubbornness, power-play or pride, rather it's in all truthfulness it's a belief in upholding standards in ethical considerations. I do not believe that bad manners, ill-considered behaviour, ill-judgement and a lack of sensitivity and good grace are matured and progressive trends to interact cooperatively within.
In conclusion, this is my stance on this matter and I hope it helps
your understanding. I believe a formal Apology from you and your
Organisation is appropriate in this regard and will instigate a
return to cordiality between our Organisation.
If you however feel this is unnecessary I will respect your decision
and the situation will remain unresolved.
I thank you for your attention.
Regards,
Phil Indifrence. C.E.O.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
Euphoric visions
Frantic envisions
Body collisions
Heavy prescriptions
Enlightened by a muse that I was happily given
Unwarranted treasures on the paper was written
Psychadelic notions
Underminded by twitches
Glares of green lights flashing
In the artists’ painted trenches
Heavy prescriptions
Doses of living
Binded by ink from a tie-dye fitting
Zones flowing in and out
Lying down for the feeling
Eyes looking up
At the neon-colored ceiling
Ah, is this living
A euphoric disposition?
Defying immortality by a psychedelic existence
Back under...
To the trenches
And the heavy prescriptions
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
the tears began to flow when you least expected them, making an unwanted, unwarranted appearance. they caught in your eyelashes faster than you could blink them away, glistening silently like dew drops on daisies or rain on the roses your grandfather planted in his garden when you were just a little girl. they flowed in steady, shimmering lines down your face; tiny hands seeking to wash away the makeup left on your cheeks after a long day of battling the world. they connected each freckle and finally settled into a crystalline pool on your knees. weak. vulnerable. nothing.
accept those tears with grace. smile, though you can taste the salt on your lips. you are worthy of more and worthy of much. you are a daisy, nodding its head to the sky, fed from the dew drops that laid so heavily on your petals. you are a rose, reverently tended to by a worn set of kind hands. you are a flower, created to bloom for no one less than the sun. wipe your tears and begin your journey.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
There's a part of me that has a hard time believing that the things I've done actually ever happened.
But every now and then,
my past actions come crumbling down on my head like a ton of bricks.
I don't have anyone to blame but myself for these seemingly unwarranted guilt trips.
Self-induced punishment.
Don't be surprised when I end up hating myself for it.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
This will be the best poem
I will ever write.
Who's to say if it will be my last, but one thing it is not is a first attempt at finding the right words to convey to you.
And finding the right words
has never been a challenge for me,
but ********* if you aren't giving me a run for my money presently, insufferable me with bleeding
tongue resentfully.
I say that word with an intrepid disposition, because I do not resent the person, but the action: The act of unwarranted silence.
I'd like to think you have a limpid conscience of the beautiful woman you are, at peace with yourself, when at the present time you are consumed with future maybes and counting seconds. So maybe adding myself to your equation was selfish, and brought complications when thinking about anything linear, considering all of the variables.
There was only intention to
rhapsodize the zealot I met on a mutual wavelength, a double helix we all share that some of us forget about, yet here is the reversion, the Neanderthal, the ******* who grew a beard to expose himself, looking at this whole experience all wrong.
Instead, there is Royal Purple Prose to look as extravagant as you are stunning.
Now all that's left is cognitive dissonance to later become
addictive retribution.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC