"upturn" poems
You don’t decide who
Will make your heart race.
The corners of your lips just
Upturn so suddenly
That you only notice your smile
When you step forward and feel
The cement pieces
Of a shattered frown
On the ground beneath your feet.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Depression isn't always hidden cuts underneath sweaters. It's not always sad music & rainy days. It's sometimes the girl who's always smiling with the sad eyes. It's your friend who always has a joke for you. It's the thin line between insanity and being too sane. The slope of your mouth that doesn't curve all the way into a smile when your thoughts become to heavy for even the hundred of muscles in your mouth to upturn. It's driving a car at 130 miles per hour and wondering how it felt to hug a tree, a numb pain that you can't feel, buts it's everything you feel. It's alcohol going down, down, down until your feelings are higher. It's medication, it comes and goes, always lingering like your allergies on the first day of spring
It's dedicated to you, seeping into your bones like the poison you take up your nose to drown out the inner demons
It's toxins slowly spreading and dissolving your strength and making you wish you weren't you
Depression isn't always black and white.
It's the brightest of teeth that flash the friendliest smiles; sunshine and birds. Because depression doesn't discriminate appearances, she doesn't care who she overcomes and overthrows. Her victims are her best friends and she's patient and she'll wait until your very worst day to come throw her arm over your shoulders and pretend she's there for you, feeding herself with the way your feeding into her shadows.
Depression is everywhere
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
she waited for him to erase her
as he put his pencil to paper
and created her
he traced the upturn of her smile
precisely picturing the laugh that proceeded
he sketched out the smoothness of her legs
intentionally illustrating the eagerness inside
he outlined the curve of her shoulders
carefully capturing the sadness contained
he shaded in the color of her hair
deliberately detailing her fallen darkness
in his eyes
she was more beautiful
than she could ever see herself
but with every stroke
she flinched
fearing that only inches away
from his creation
was her demise
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
I really want to thank you.
Whether I'm being sarcastic or not,
You'll never know.
I feel like every time I write something,
It's for someone to read.
Spooky government guys,
Or girls who really like fries.
But sometimes it feels like I don't want to.
I don't want you to read about
Who or what affects me.
Sometimes I worry because my friends can read these things.
My friends, they enjoy poetry too.
My English teacher's on here.
She says she approves.
It's weird, isn't it?
How small the world is.
Yet I never see who I really want to.
I see uncles and aunts
And really long lost cousins.
I see my grandma's friends everywhere.
At weddings and all affairs.
But the only way I can see
Who I really want to.
Is through writing and pictures,
And trust me,
I do.
But it feels like it can't be real,
not yet.
I have eight months to go,
And I fret and I fret.
I can't wait to see those
Amazing blue eyes.
The upturn of blond hair,
And your shirts like the skies.
Your sense of adventure keeps me going.
It's weird,
I know,
how these words keep flowing.
You'll never read them.
But if you do,
Hi,
I suppose.
I miss you.
With your laugh,
So infrequent,
And your entrances.
Through fire escapes?
That's perfectly normal to me.
From under a table?
That's pretty normal to see.
To scare me on a staircase?
Of course, why not?
Hanging off a balcony?
Fine, but keep your thoughts.
But the one entrance you have yet to make.
Is the one I want you to most.
The one that leads you back into my world.
The one that makes the legend unfurl.
I have documents upon documents
I'd love you to read.
But you never really will,
It's not hard to believe.
Poems and lists,
Monologues galore.
But wait and look,
Here's one more.
And you ask,
What is it truly for?
A thank you,
Dear friend
For being who you are.
And simply to ask you to look up at the stars.
For I can see the moon,
And so can you.
And I just wish,
I could see you too.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
When the rains fall from the sky,
I upturn my face,
embracing every drop.
Let the clouds cleanse me, reverse today. Erase
the blood, the sweat -
may the Heavens cry for me
so that I don't have to.
Let the thunder clap above me,
the lightning strike beside me,
charge me,
for I am drained of the day.
Bring me back to life because the day has weighted me and I am tired.
I am broken.
Let the rain melt me,
break me down until I am nothing left
but another puddle
among other puddles,
pooled upon the ground.
And after the storm is through, let me rest.
When the ripples have subsided,
and when the sun returns,
I will rise.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
8AM strikes like a *****
And romping the losing street -
The engineered reptile stalks the hound we are.
The soldiered army, oozing molten pride,
Spike me in the side with their knees
Lifted to caution, so-so below the chin
The cold, dead breath bullies like a child
Never been taught, never have they ought;
I give them pity like spit, the drool reared.
The glands of my sodden state are nucleic
They spark and fizz and pop at the slightest fix
And they mount the green turf as they say the things they say
They say them in spite
Their eyes to register a flat-line, the pulse of my eyelid
Froths staring into their granite granules, you call them eyes
I do despise, I do despise,
The heartless range of those hunter-deers,
The wet pathos that criminals invoke
And then, I woke, the rage, the rage!
A mountainous affair, cracked into your skin
You wished I were dead so you could be thin.
And when I am not hot,
Risen, aired by the microwaved Monday dawning,
I can almost laugh about the spaces between your eyes
The slight disgust, the frozen musk
Awns over me, little fist tight of pink
Ears rabbited off -- a sharp, twisted empale
And then, you are there--
Frozen and dominating, your coffin spooks to me
A spoken longing and then all we know wilts
A running red cloak of tartan regrets
Jades the illicit wail bespoken after the instrumental twist
The torture device you call your words is broken out
I ask for one thing, beg for it, screech it
To the solars like I am owed.
Knowing Death, if not heed, the spited greed--
Give me strength, for the thoughts
The thoughts, that blow through me
Windswept, gliding the dead human ash through my marsh
Do not upturn the limped greyed grass
And blow through, a harmless storm,
With nothing to say about how I carry my day.
Move on to your homeward-bound, your
Concentration plantation, reeling off dead spinners
Like your words, your cold ******* words.
You slimy ******* you ****
I have spoken, one million syllables,
For your satisfaction.
You lord it over me like a raw-meat hand
Of the disciples. Well, well, Judas, Judas --
I bite my tongue. I bite it so it jades.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Therapy is a hospital gown
one that doesn't quite close
leaving your *** rather
perpetually exposed
and your extremities
pink and cold.
These turn of the century revelations
oh- don't misinterpret me
they're grand, they really are,
early childhood trauma
chronic necessity for control
attachment issues, oh yes?
One week, I'd like to buy seven consecutive days
Where all the ships are turned back to the Caspian
With their dead-weight cargo of clean-cut
shining golden bars
To add to the mortar
of muddled fucked-upness.
"Looks like we made some breakthroughs today!"
Don't break eye contact. Bare teeth. Upturn pink lips. Happy Face!
"Breakthrough. Yes. Great. I feel great!"
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
I guess
The biggest
Thing is that
I wish I knew
You better.
Because, let’s face
It: You’ve already got the looks
Down pat. I mean, where to
Begin? The eyes, the luminescently soft
Marbles, the most beautiful paradox I’ve
Seen? The sly, wry raise of your eyebrow
Or the clever upturn at the corner of
Your mouth? Maybe the smile as
A whole, white teeth happily exposed?
Or possibly your skin, a warm, golden
Invitation to be touched? Or
Should I start with the whole
Shape of you: strong lines in your face, in
Contrast with the curves elsewhere?
I guess
It really doesn’t matter without
The biggest
Thing. Yes, there is a
Foundation, but there should be more.
All it takes is to talk to you,
Or you to talk to me.
Maybe when I’m
Stronger
(as if it actually matters)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
There once was a girl named Suzzie.
I guess you could say Suzzie
was missing some vital screws in her younger years.
All day and all night, Suzzie would amuse to enthuse,
until the point of misuse.
Before finding herself reusing.
Relapsing into that old familiar abuse.
You could say, Suzzie wasn't content in her life.
Hell-bent on the decent into torment.
*** violence... drugs...*
And to what extent...
Consenting to the need?
Proceeding to only concede?
The black bead...
The devilish ****
A seed to heed warning too.
All day and all night, Suzzie would churn.
Yearning for her upturn,
for the point of no return.
Instead Suzzie turned her life around.
A full 360.
She learned, to earn.
Spurred by her yearning and churning,
of a childhood induced coma.
Kindness; rightness...
The mere brightness all from Suzzie's mindset.
A guidance from the righteous highness.
She's won her inner crisis at last!
"Bye, bye Black Tar, Suzzie!"
"Hello, the newer better you!"
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
more than I want to forget
I want to remember
you are a quiet calm
that I want to detail as you sleep
the tint and shade of your eyelids
as you inhale
exhale
illuminated by a soft glow
I want to remember
your voice was a river
when whispering about love
rushing, returning
in a rhythm
that matched
the slight upturn
of the corners of your lips
as if you just remembered I'm next to you
I want to remember
the small noises of your nature
your body ticks
like a grandfather clock waiting for the sunrise
you make tiny noises in the bottom of your throat
as you move
you have told me you love me thousands of times
without opening your mouth
I wish to touch you
but I am afraid that if I do I will disturb your surface
as if you were water
ripples running over your skin
more than I want to forget
I want to remember
every piece
of you
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
#
*Praise not the barren, praise the rich consummate flower,
Fair only to those without sight, so full of internal power.
None nobler with an unlimiting petaled command,
Given by the earth’s love to all the native land.
Given a successive name, tall, short, light or dark,
Drawn from those once hidden away in the human Ark.
It is now, as when on the holiest of land
No less joyful as it spreads around my willful gland.
Covering the breach, and lengthening the strand
Rising like the Prince of Consummation’s imagined height,
Coming tumbling downward with diminished fight.
To unbetray the plot free of public scorn,
For this is our only blessing until his blest return.
To all those heaps which one petal does nigh bind,
Blown off, and scattered like tumble weeds that unwind.
What strength can you or your designs propose
With naked friends who round you upturn their toes?
If the flower is doubtful of how it should you use,
A foreign object would more satisfy its queenly news.
The proud stamen would assemble a friendship ring,
Foment the battle, and support the coming King.
Nor would this royal party ever unite
When in the flower’s arms, it strains to set it right.
Or if understood, the gripping interest soon shall break,
And by odious aid, make the reed return to the weak.
All sorts of vessels, by their successful arts,
Abhorring the panting, encountering their altered hearts.
From love’s incandescent rule, and a heart beats nature’s cry,
Thought, passion, common-wealth and health all belie
As the flower is the champion of all the public good.
As into her arms falls another chief of royal blood,
What may not the suitor hope, and to what applause
Might such a King regain by the flower’s cause.*
#
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
I had you in a dream once,
it wasn't very long.
The details escape me,
but your taste,
remembered longingly.
It was all that I got,
A slight brushing of lips,
not a real kiss.
Not even a full dream,
that's as far as we got.
Before we both turned away
and reality interrupted.
Two years ago that fantasy was,
but the play of dreamlight,
the subtle upturn of your
lips is still fresh in my mind.
The familiar fit of
your hand in mine.
Familiar fit?
But it's never happened,
not in reality.
Probably not even
as a thought
of yours
playing across
an unknown destiny.
No impossible thoughts
for you to sink in.
Drown in.
So if this is so far
from real
then why is it
a preoccupation,
obsession,
that takes my every moment?
A long infected **** of blue,
that's covering,
conquering,
every facet of my mind?
I pride myself a strong
detached man.
Society begs it,
but who am I kidding?
When thoughts turn to you
my flesh is no good,
it only ***** around,
like so much cloth.
It realizes futility,
and refuses direction.
It disobeys me.
It betrays me.
It begins with convulsions,
a wracking of shoulders,
It ends with subtle gesture,
a trail of new tears.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
I wish that we’d never found it now,
I wish that we’d stayed away,
Avoided the twisted mansion that
Was fashioned in Cromwell’s day,
But we were just a couple of lads
Out there, and having fun,
We wouldn’t have thought to change the world,
Nor hurt just anyone.
The place sat deep in a bluebell wood
Surrounded by a marsh,
I said, ‘Should we?’ and he said we should,
My friend was a little harsh,
We waded up to our knees out there
Until we reached the porch,
The rooms within were as dark as sin
Till Joe took out his torch.
The house had once been a splendid place
Though the floors were deep in mud,
Of fetes and ***** there was still a trace
Then the fields submerged in flood,
The house sank on its foundations then
No doubt, to cries and tears,
Its noble crew had deserted it
For all of two hundred years.
I raced my friend to the stairway that
Led up from the central hall,
Half of the rail had fallen away,
Was resting against the wall,
When up above in a tiny room
Stood a bureau, finely made,
Inlaid with delicate parquetry
That lay concealed in the shade.
But over the lintel of the door
Was the carving of a man,
His wings spread wide, with the sharpest claw,
He was from some evil clan,
His teeth protruded over his lip
And his eyes were fierce and black,
I caught at Joe and he almost tripped
But he shrugged, and turned his back.
And on the dust of the bureau lay
A long, fine feather quill,
I knew I shouldn’t disturb it there
But I thought, ‘I can, I will!’
And beside the quill was a manuscript
In an old and faded hand,
Calling for the death of a king
That I couldn’t understand.
I knew, I’d read in my history books
That a cruel, evil one,
A man called Oliver Cromwell had
Caused pain for everyone,
He’d raised a citizens’ army and
Had thought to **** the king,
But fell to the King’s Own Cavaliers,
Was beheaded in the spring.
I knew this, yet I still signed my name
With that awesome feather quill,
It seemed to have me so hypnotised
That I quite had lost my will,
So then when a roll of thunder shook
The house right through to the floor,
The man in black that was carved, alack,
Came bursting in through the door.
He snatched at the parchment manuscript
And let out a howl of glee,
Then screamed, ‘I’ve waited forever just
To play with your history.’
I know that you think the civil war
Took the head of a rightful King,
But how could I know the power of a quill
That could upturn everything?
David Lewis Paget
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
To the depths I went
Always brand in fist
To find what made these paths
I thought I freely trod
What illusions waited there
To upturn the ship of tranquillity
What machine within worked
To hide the shadows
What lies came in dreams
To veil the truth
And the soul’s guardian, to protect me
Stayed loyal to false master
When it should to my ambition alone cleave
And my song venerate
An ocean lays at my heart
It is still or stormy
Of its own wild freedom
But now I can sail it
For I am bound
To the friends of true depth
Who understand what I truly am
The illusions in me, games of the mind
Shocked for years, shaken in fear
Of harsh words, of the street, of night
The evidence now piles against it.
I have earned my honours
In the heart of the woods
And was always of bliss
And was always of bliss
Gentleness is I, peace is I
Merriness is I, truthseeker am I.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 3:17 AM UTC
How can one even think to gaze skyward
When it is you upon the horizon?
Why bother with the dull words of songbirds
When your laugh causes their songs to wizen?
Why! A solar flare could only hope to
Compare to a small upturn of your lips;
I should be so lucky to lift the blue
From your warm heart with my fatuous quips.
You’re an ocean’s breath - salty and wild,
And I am nothing more than Springtime air;
How is it you make me feel less mild
With nothing more than a brush of your hair?
I would count my lucky stars for your light,
Instead I count your freckles in my sight.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Hello, hello old friend!
How's the weather up there on thy lofty perch?
Does it neither thunder nor rain?
Do you too not experience unexpected storms that toss and tumble things about just so?
Does your upturn nose not itch from the stench of your own narcissism?
Do you not fear the arbitrary nature of your own will, that it should grow a life of its own and tumble you down like a potted plant from a high rise window sill ?
Does your *** not hurt from how stiffly you sit? Fixed in your stance, relying solely on your own crooked opinions?
Hello, hello old friend!
Do your ears belie the sound of the condescension in your voice
And your eyes blinded by your own pretence to hide you from yourself?
Oh,
no wonder you cannot see further than your nose.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
Oh, how I do love you!
a better spirit I will never know
her name, her name is desire!
spending all her day and nights
in my mind, tying my tongue in knots
numb from toe to finger
when I picture her
humbles me on a corner selling wooden
pencils, I see when cast her light upon me.
Oh, how fair can fair be,
how much beauty can the day portray?
No, none more than her fair eyes
turning once to gaze at me, here,
a slight upturn to the corner
of her perfect lips. At me!
If you love away, love me,
once , smile at me again, even from afar ,
desire, desire.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
I have examined the concept of eternity
It does and does not go
Put more plainly
A battle of tos and fros
***** headed cosmos
***** strings strung into dark matter
Woven wormholes
Like to have seen you all here before
Forgive me if I'm not surprised
Forgive me if I'm not moved
By anything but the struggle to comprehend
The actual effort to collide with thoughts
The manifestation of compassion
When there is so much blackness
******* on blackness
It's a miracle anything survives at all
It's a god **** error of probability
That a few muscles can upturn lips
To a smile or a kiss
A ******* travesty of galactic proportions
That light was allowed to break the curve
Speed into my eyes
Blasphemous tears
So beautiful
Wretched waste of a soul
Touch your forehead
And be blessed
Touch your heart
And be God
Touch the earth
And be gone
Blahblahblah
Bah baggum gom baggum
Waste of waggum wu
Shocckou ta cocmutu
Quasaratus ben voyutan
Vesu ta eturnas u ves obsidas
Obsidas yet obsidas
That's what she said.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
This is not how I planned to spend my evening.
All I end up feeling is the equivalent of being punched in the face for two hours straight.
And at the end of the day, that’s not something I want to do.
Yet here I am, sitting here with a big, stupid grin on my face.
And all you give me is one word answers
And eventually silence.
Music to my ears.
My hand twitches on the edge of the table
Because all I want to do is upturn the already stale dinner
And scream while you pull noodles off that over worn dress.
But instead I just stare
And grin politely
While you silently slurp your soup
And leer once in a while.
I have no appetite.
Later, you’ll refuse to take off your jacket
As you press your hips towards mine
And my mind will drift to thoughts of the schoolyard
When I used to run from trailing girls
Afraid of imaginary diseases and unaware of real ones
All the while you’ll keep your arms at your sides
And my whispers of adoration go unanswered, or unheard
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
Oh the seductiveness
Of that deep dark abyss
Keeps calling,
Saying my name,
Come hither,
You know you want it,
You know you love it.
NO!
I don’t love it
And I don’t want it.
I recognise it now for what it is.
My uncomfortable comfort zone.
It’s there to keep me playing small,
To hold me back,
To imprison me
With its sticky tentacles
Of negative thinking
And victim mentality.
Bit by bit,
Moment by moment,
Hour by hour,
Day by day,
I learn to do things differently,
To change a habit of a lifetime,
To feel joy,
To seek pleasure in what I do,
To see good in those around me,
Quite simply, to live.
But vigilance my friend,
For it will always be lurking in the shadows,
To catch you unawares.
When your mind starts to fog,
Loses clarity of thinking,
Your emotions start to boil over,
Stop. Pause. Breathe.
Move your body,
Dance to an upturn beat,
Sing choirs of angels,
Jump for joy.
Change the stagnant energy
To one of the highest vibration,
To one of love
For you
And all.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 3:22 AM UTC
there aren’t any tears
as I watch the days slip by;
commitments made
disappearing
alarm bells fading into luscious sleep.
there aren’t any tears
as I feel myself turn inside-out;
pain ripping through
raw like open wounds -
try to hold myself together.
there aren’t any tears
as gentle corners on my face
upturn and I swallow bitter
spite as it rises in my throat:
unfair:
there are no tears
the river’s flow has ceased;
but still I hear the rush of
blood beneath my skin.
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
funny how I reach for every shadow
as if we were walking side by side
making silly faces in the windows
loving your upturn smile
another sip won't cure anything
numbing myself is fruitless agony
wondering what your doing tonight
pouring over those pictures again?
rearrange them from left to right
remind yourself that was then
another sip won't cure anything
numbing myself is fruitless agony
now you confirm, you were'nt too sure
if your choice was forever
you found out late there was no cure
as you move on for something better
my self pity, this drowning sea
wondering were it went wrong
questioning everything but me
realize its forever, and forever is long
another sip won't cure anything
stop numbing myself would be the beginng
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
You're in my thoughts
And in my speech
The corners of my mouth
Upturn in the delight
Of imprint on my soul
Apart in distance
No day is ordinary
Each moment is bliss
Never let go
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC