"unwrite" poems
How can I unlove you?
Shall I unsee the luminescent smile you make?
Shall I unfeel the heavy breaths I take?
Shall I undraw your image inside my head?
Shall I unhold our memories instead?
Shall I unwrite the song I made for you?
Shall I untell my heart to stop beating too?
Shall I uncling to my tiny sliver of forever?
Shall I undream of what we can become together?
Shall I unremember the light on your face?
Shall I unrecall my saving grace?
Shall I ungrasp this love I know true,
But the question is...
Is it possible to unlove you?
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Moon drags her silver stylus—waves engrave sand.
Our bodies, hourglass, ride its sand.
Hungry tides carve sand.
Sighs press our secrets in the sand
Tidal pools whisper vows in sand,
then retreating waves unwrite sand.
Our love, rewritten as sand.
Dawn erases nothing.
Mar 24, 2025
Mar 24, 2025 at 7:08 PM UTC
I craft my love
From words and dreams,
Forgotten, bygone memories.
And of this life, Real Love knows not.
I am to him a Time Forgot.
He left me picking pieces, changed
He lives in my mind, I lie deranged
Sobbing and writing all over the floor
You left too soon, Love. I need more.
I resurrect you from the dead
And spill my heart to the you in my head.
So I wrote you
But perilously;
For you, in your brilliance,
Unwrite me.
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 3:04 AM UTC
Sugar
A thousand colours combine
in a war, a rage against darkness
and nothingness, the evils and goods of this anaesthetised numbness
residing within me,
blinding with the promise of the blank canvas
the porcelain wrist before the cancer takes hold.
For that is what I am, a Cancer.
A breath of hot air against your innocent flesh,
suffocating, intoxicating.
You yearn for me in all I am
from the moment dark hands drag me from life
til your lips close around my scent,
an envelope of love letters
you never sent.
I am your addiction
(let me be the sugar within you)
your infatuation
(stir me into your tea)
your drug.
Let me in.
Let me in
and I will **** you from the inside out,
I will ignite your eyes with flames
and the world will marvel at your beauty,
like acid at the back of your throat
tears burning
like fireflies
like embers dancing
none but me will see the ashes fall inside you.
A black snow,
drifting slowly down inside you
A black snow,
nothingness has won; the war is over
as your speech becomes slurred
A black snow,
come
to make me grey
as I watch your mind unravel
like the wire of an old cassette tape
and wind around my neck.
You thought it made sense,
this story.
Like the words had an order
Like your footsteps had an order
as you danced across the ballroom of my flesh.
one two three
two two three
engraving your history
into my skin.
As though it cannot be undone,
Like the letters cannot unwrite themselves
Like you cannot find yourself
in a snare of black cassette wire
screaming
as it winds itself around the tree trunks and branches that scatter your mind;
piecing me back together.
Like the letters cannot unwrite themselves
the snow cannot fall upwards
the ashes cannot fall upwards
Like you cannot find yourself lost in the forest of this story you found yourself in
and retake
retake
your very last breath.
You thought it made sense,
this story
J.S.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
even with a hardened Armour cynic
grown by all understandings so futile
men worldly you numb me hard still
make my heart full,burst sadly,blur my
eyes,humanity remnant drowned in tears.
i sit silent zombied tonight,feeling violated,
building rages awaiting that dawn patient
for thoughts new, an action unprecedented.
but for now,you have killed me dishonorably.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
I will drink loneliness in my
coffee. The sweet is turned to
sorrow, the cream is the stir
of tears.
I will not last this.
The table was set when you
strode into darkness.
I will pin loneliness on the board.
The same letters unwrite.
Half a century is not enough
to unbelieve. The scattered
seconded invitation is
laid green and turbulent.
I leave loneliness a song
to the unbeliever.
You fold my intention like
a glove broken in.
Winter is always the last
cry in the dark sound
under the stairs.
I leave the sounds of the
wheel under my
shoes, in Winter unsounds
tears that dry in eyes
of the unbeliever,
you, walk like steel cleats
over my poems.
Caroline Shank
Nov 21, 2022
Nov 21, 2022 at 10:09 PM UTC
Blood permeated the snow,
Manifesting grief to bestow.
Articulating to the people a tragedy
Heavier than even gravity.
The wizened, elderly woman lay slack,
Eyes open, staring endlessly, snow upon her back.
A small bible peeked from under her hands;
She had not listened to their demands.
She had spoken for those abused,
Attacked by the church that confused,
The purpose it originated upon with hate,
Preaching they'd never get to the gate.
Now I might not believe in God,
But let this portray to you;
People who stick up for the different,
Are often put to death too.
Understand that it takes a great deal,
To unwrite a person's beliefs;
And it is a journey
We must be ready to meet.
Those who have grown with hateful laws,
Often fear persecution from others;
In the process they turn away
Their godly sisters and brothers.
We must be patient,
But know when enough is enough;
We must endeavor to understand,
To not be too rough.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
I know that I want to unwrite you from my past, (or at least I should),
but when it comes down to it, I don't know if I would.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Silhouettes and shadows
live in your mind
there is no colour
just porous charcoals
swallowed into the void
where the darkness seeps inside
the night is long and dark
and the silence stretches on
for an eternity
Corridors of sorrow
each door opens to the next
closets wide and full
where your misery hangs
a new suit for everyday
you talk in an undertone
muting all supplication
whispering no forgiveness
I am forever in torment
And here lies the devastation
from a time long past
and there is blood on the walls
blood on your hands
you enjoy it's colour
holding it up to the light
it tastes like mine
screams of sadness
echos of tears
shadows of time
if you would only but abandon me
for I am not here
and the shadows..
they are not mine
not mine I tell you
not my shadows
not my blood
please.. don't let them be mine
they cannot be mine...
but they are
I beg of you
let me be
unbind me from your dreams
open your eyes
and see
So silently I lay
among the eggshells
the barbed wire
and the books of memories
but I beg of you
if you would only but unwrite me
then I will be on my way
I will never look back..
I promise
Searching for a way out
I know that I have died
I know it now
I feel my death
it is in the air
my love
but a festering corpse
my laughter
tolls the end of time
my happiness
an unmarked grave
I lay in Sheol
and in hades you have lain me
but I do not sleep
This is where I reside
and I cannot escape your oblivion
the cage of torment
that you keep me in
you are easily amused
please hear me
just one more time
if you would only but forget me
and let me truly be dead
please
just let me be
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Inspiration has left me lying in the gutter
This forced write is all I have to console me
The reverberating hum running through my fingertips seems numb.
Not one insight, not one iota of a wordly crumb.
This desire to write nothing is a dark stain I'm bleaching
Poetically ironic that my own desolation has conspired
To unwrite me from my pages
Even the gutter has a view of this ****** ****
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Find my waltz to dance with you my Romeo
A dark symphony breaks the silent night
within the souls you have no any escrow
still you've took a risk not too bright
Hold my hand we'll swing 'til it hurts
There's no horizon to this final view
To you, my heart is pouring blue spurts
Let's disappear a while unwrite every cue
Crawl into my thoughts, the thin line of sanity
grab my head and drown me into your love
hey dear, please hang up the wire to reality
and honey, we're the ones dancing above
Don't be afraid of losing all the floor
I may say goodbye just for a while
but tonight I'll wait outside your door
ans for sure i'll kiss your stupid smile
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Why even consider this a poem?
Unwrite it.
Take it back,
but it's too late.
Ink scribbled on rustic pages,
or pages made to look rustic.
Let's face it: you bought this notebook at a bookstore.
It's got to look special for all your elaborate gifts to the world.
You're that special snowflake, yeah?
Your writing against the world of oppressive darkness
surrounding your poor brain, boy.
Write your way out.
****** Toons the wall, and make sure your escape.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
I don't unwrite words from my pen, my skin, or my heart
nor will I ever unsay something I once said
sometimes I think maybe I should, but I don't
partly because I can't and partly because
I am who I was and who I am now, together
and I will not unwrite poems that breathed
"I love you" out of my soul, I will also not unsay
all the **** you's" that flew out of my lips
driving alone in my car. I will not take back
those words. They are mine as much as any words.
If anything, more. I have been thinking a lot about
privacy: when something is too special to write about
when a moment should be kept to myself. And I've
worked on keeping more things to myself. It doesn't
mean they don't exist. It doesn't mean they aren't real.
If anything, it means that now, I am more real.
I have more of me to myself now. Less of me has been
pirated, parodied, and talked about- I belong to God
who sees all and knows all, and to myself, who bears witness
to words I've spoken in folly and words I've concealed in folly.
I can't guarantee I'll be perfect or always happy
or never **** up again. I can't hardly promise anything.
All I know is that I'm growing up, and Friday night
means books and songs and baths and studying, and I feel
sadder, yes, and also happier, in deeper ways,
I don't quite know who I am and I feel rather lost but
as one grows lost, one finds themselves, and I hope that
it happens for me. After all, I'm turning seventeen soon.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
For love we seek to unwrite the laws of nature
To wash our hands of old wisdom
To fight through to innovative truths
Discover new perspectives
Challenge the old ways
Decimate dogmas
Devour godly decrees
To set our world free
From the tyranny
Of the stagnant mind
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
i.
i carve the sadness out of my ribs like well-soaked marrows;
they fall off like a drunken secret —
a poem within a poem within a night-long quietude
that i disturb
like a child's stomping feet among the prairie dusk.
ii.
i carve a poem,
whole and out of my tightened throat
like a reverse magic trick,
but my hands break in casual irony.
i carve a word out of my tongue
but all it does is bleed.
iii.
i carve a feeling out of a callus but
my paper-skin is left too long under a lavender storm
to still write letters like these.
iv.
the sky cries to a drunken oblivion
as i unwrite this poem in indifference.
i let myself go, like that
dead houseplant drooping in corner of my room
and cheerless, quiescent sheets
watch to pass time.
Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 9:06 PM UTC
The hurt and sadness coming from your voice is ripping at my heart like a jagged knife ripping through flesh
You are mine to protect and nurture and that box made of steel that you are caged in remains my every nightmare as I sleep and my weakness in my thoughts while I’m awake
A young man with eyes that glisten and a beautiful face of an angel, the heart that’s pure and giving
Yet you made some wrong choices but not deserving to be slammed behind bars in a cold cell and treated like a beast of rage
My expression of fury at my fingertips for if I was evil as they, surely I would cast every sinful spell across their beings and make them feel your pain
**** those that pass yet judgement yet hold no crown of thorns upon their head
For He that cast the first stone let him stand in judgement free of sin
For the Laws of this wicked world all turned to the evils of bribery and political gain as there is no longer a man that sits to hold true to the laws that are written for of the greater the judge feels as though he himself can unwrite and interfere with the laws of our God and pick which laws and sentence for the same crime yet treat them different
Stand with your armor as it isn’t seen my son for is the coming of our dear Lord and savior to be the punishers And the Judge of the wickedness that per-trays to call themself some part of Law and Order as Our God is so much Greater as they will soon see.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
I was born on the twelfth day of the year
Just in time to be the last disciple but not soon enough that you'll remember my name
I'm the third of four children
Which is to say, I'm 75% sure that I know what I'm doing
I prefer even numbers and odd people
My ideal date is public people watching
Because if two people can unwrite a strangers life story then maybe they can use that to write their own
I'm an extremely picky eater
The only green things I like are cucumbers and money
And I'm far pickier than my personality permits
I've been told I'm quiet
But I'm the kind of quiet you should be afraid of
The kind of quiet that is observant enough to unmake you
The kind of quiet that does so to himself
I've got a poker face you wouldn't believe because I don't always either
I keep my cards close to the chest, sometimes too close to read
I believe that the best people tell the worst jokes
So you'll understand when I tell you that I only wear black ankle cut socks, gray if I'm feeling frisky
My best dream is finding someone to be alone with
My worst nightmare is that I never do
I was born a dozen days into 1996
Like being the last donut in the box and make no mistake I'm a sweet treat you'll have trouble working off
I guess what I'm saying is: my name is Braden
Will you remember that?
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
i’ll fixate on you
til my time is due
the waves we swam
and all we’ve been through
is never enough
to unwrite our glue
seasons may shift but I stay the same
through autumn's loss
and winter’s claim
spring may call
and summer too
Yet nothing can pull me
away
from
you.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 12:21 AM UTC
Not superficial,
real inside,
something was ruined.
Tonight I will walk out in dark
beyond me.
Creased,
under tyranny of love,
wanted to unwrite the script
in the stampede of sins.
Impeachment
throws up the shock syndrome.
No wish to swim back.
Drowning, clutching my truth.
A mystic paradox?
Million faces of yes or no.
Wrinkles are getting larger.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:19 PM UTC
Zinnias were stalking.
The fading moon hangs upside down
from the massive Ficus tree.
Ultimately the grace withdraws.
Now you sit under the bo-tree
becoming a wet Buddha.
Unthinking, unblinking
falling out of thoughts,
and start supervising the barren landscape.
The dawn sets free, the white
pegions to become prey of ravens.
Would you talk about peace?
The evil touches every next door.
I will write a long letter
to me, to unwrite the sermons.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC