"urging" poems
I have this theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum.
When I was a kid, my tongue was a permanent shade of bright pink. Shoving as many pieces of BubbleYum into my mouth as I could fit was the epitome of happiness, and when I could fit an entire package at once I knew there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.
And I’m sure that right now if you cut me open my stomach would be a fluorescent pink, because
when I see your face in my mind as I’m sitting in class or
when your name is on my tongue before I fall asleep,
that’s what it tastes like.
Bubblegum.
But please don’t cut me open. My dissection would be too ****** anyway, and far too colorful to detect butterflies…
Because my blood runs red, white, and blue.
When I was younger my mom would always tell me that as I grew older my tastes would change. Of course, she meant that eventually I would grow to like peas, but even though that still hasn’t happened, she was right.
Back then red, white and blue tasted like
hamburgers
and apple pie
and baseball.
But just recently I cut my finger –
and as I brought it to my lips I tasted
lingonberries
and fish and
skiing.
Have you ever wondered why blood tastes like metal? It is the
SWORDS and SHIELDS
that flow through my veins,
passed down from ancestors of millennia past. And every time I am injured it pours out in protest, those ancient warriors urging me to fight against this strange land and this strange culture.
I was born away from home, as were my parents and grandparents before me. And as I feel the shapes of foreign words in my mouth they taste like meeting an old friend. Because I’ve come to realize that my blood never ran red, white and blue.
It runs rødt, hvitt og blått.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
I am aware as the colors of my aura
fade from vibrant to mute
A spiraling sense of self grasps at false promises of hope or help
Each face that shows itself as an ally is simply mirage or ghost
Or wisps of nothingness I probably hallucinated to cope
I am an anchor in a rushing tide
Life floods by with no more than a glance over the shoulder
Some collide from behind urging me to move on, frustrated when I don’t align with their idea of time
I need to be unapologetically ‘not ok’
Imagine my electric shock when I find that’s not an option
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
There’s a gun upon my bed
Not the kind made of metal
A vivid tattoo color
Above my lover’s
Secret devil
And that gun is like a demon
Aimed toward her pleasure zone
Urging hunters to take a shot
And take the trophy
Home
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******** she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
I feel the gun blazing
As she ***** my breath away
I’m a hostage to her body
In the mayhem
She purveys
In the middle of the night
I’ll make my escape
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
In the middle of the night
When her back is turned
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
There’s a gun upon my bed
It belongs to my baby
Burned deep inside her
On a night she went
Crazy
And every time I think
I’ll flee
Her dangerous painted gun
She draws it against me
And I feel myself succumb
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******** she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
Save me from her gun
She’ll never let me go
Save me from drowning
In her young and wanton soul
I’ve got to run
But there’s a gun
My baby won’t let me go.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
The fatigue flows through me
As if it has invaded the marrow of my bones
Leaking out into the flesh
Rendering me paralyzed in an unfocused state
I sleep to live and wish only to end the dulled mind set
It’s crushing to find that shard of thought
Urging me to get up
Do not sleep, it whispers
There is too much to do, the insidious trails of ideas speak
The words taken down seek to undo the restlessness
The blurred vision of the time slipping past in red numbers
Sleep, my body cries
Wait a minute more, my mind calls back
Sleep deprived with burning eyes
A single tear breaks the tie
I cannot go on
Sleep calls me back
Pulling me down to the place I cannot ignore anymore
Sleep, my body whispers
Sleep, my mind sighs
cc111911
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Teresa climbs on the bus
before the sun, if she has
the fare
to get there, where she
makes the bread; she's been at this
two of her nineteen years
yet she has fears, they will
come for her--green card or not;
though they like her rolls
she kneads the big ***** pulls,
pinches, a sculpting of dough, a laying
of trays, one after another
then, from the Iglesias,
they come, decked in their finery
though she does not see
she only hears the litany
of language she can't comprehend,
a clanging of trays, laughter
the urging of the jefe to work
faster, bake the bread; the communion
wafers did not fill them
now they are here, breaking fast,
forgetting the words they just heard
the songs they sang
Teresa does not complain; she
is glad to feed the worshipers, though
they will never know her name
nor will they stop for
her in the pouring rain,
the blistering sun
Teresa never wavers
next Sabbath will be the same:
dawn, the dough, the oven
it is the work--her hands
which make the bread others break,
the grace granted to serve
holy, holy, holy...
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Listening to these depressing songs.
It's ironically giving me the will to be strong,
And I don't mind if they're being played for long.
They're making the oceans of my heart rift,
Letting my soul drift in the cold water.
Staring up into the sun,
Ironically it seems fun.
Dipping in my own sorrow,
Urging me to press play,
Again and again,
Making me feel a little bit insane.
I'm enjoying dwelling in my inexplicable pain,
Making me realize,
That maybe,
Sometimes,
One can be happy by just being sad.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC
You have seen those cheerful kids
Flying kites high up above
Bearing a happy heart, lighter than a feather
No worries, just innocent thoughts.
The kites feel like they've conquered the silver clouds
Though they fly many many layers beneath 'em
Their abstract vanity and enduring pride
got them strangled over tree tops.
You have seen those sulking self-haters
Flying kites high up above
With a hope to escape memories of the ghosts
To forget the evil they long ago bore.
The kites, they seem to refuse to speak
Owning souls too heavy to fly,
Urging to die.
You have seen those random kites
Stringless, wandering in the sky up above
Lost their way trying to discover themselves
Ending up somewhere and falling in love.
The kites, they feel they are way too different
To survive with the other ones in a normal world
Hungry souls, creative eyes
In a clear blue sky, they don't know where to hide.
Tangled strings, tired wings
Irritating distractions, infinite other things
Restless kites, not even sparing the dark nights
Worthy ones and unworthy ones
We all know one thing
Kites are meant to fly.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
What is going on with this ****** up superiority?
Discriminating because I am some kind of cultural minority
Acting like you trust me when the two of us are together
But when your friends come around you run off to something better
To all of society you pretend you're not smoking your ****
When you roll your joint you're high just like me
Eating dinner with your parents you talk like a ******
On the weekends, though, you give in to teenage urging
If only you would take off that mask and see,
That when it comes down to it you're no different than me.
We breathe the same air,
though yours may cost more
And when we go to school
we walk through the same doors
Maybe your hair is more blond
And your nails are a little cleaner,
Or you play fancy sports,
So you look a little leaner
I don't have a credit card,
or hang out at the country club
I work for what I want
And am proud of my pay stubs
So, have some consideration, it's not really that tough
We all know your life is easy, but some people have it rough.
If only we could learn that empathy is the goal
Maybe you could act like you actually have a soul.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
An earth sized boulder
dislodged with the thunder
Unleashing catacombs
of terrestrial darkness
lay compressed beneath it
for a thousand years
The hidden ancients
heard its soul hold forth;
their rumbling silence
― laid bare ―
They heard its voice
rises up with the ears
of a new-born fawn
Beguiling roots,
solid as a rock,
hold together
like dark matter
A soul weight
beyond measure
shouldering the torn
of a divided heart
Heaviness ...
O' the heaviness ―
just a platitude for
what you feel
when it all comes
tumbling down
to the ground
Venerable
times immemorial:
an urging silence
pushing down
to the grave,
trying to unlearn
the things
never known
about the hearts
we leave behind
Jesse Stillwater
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
The first love was fearfulness,
Draped in a deceiving cloak.
Leaving nothing but a mess,
Every time he spoke.
Always urging towards the choice,
That left him unscathed and alone.
Trapped by his wound soul's voice,
Telling him "Your heart can't be shown!"
One day he awoke
With the sun in his eyes
And he took off that cloak
To remove his disguise
He never again tried to justify
Neither his words nor his actions.
He just opened his heart deep inside,
And filled the air with compassion.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?
I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.
The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.
I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.
I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?
With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
"In all the celestial bodies out there whose love story is your favorite?" She asks him.
He looks at her with curiosity, urging her to continue talking.
"*Mine is the earth and the moon and I think yours is the sun and the earth. I just think it's amazing for the moon to stay in the Earth's orbit despite being just an extended light. The only thing that keeps the moon holding on is the mutual gravitational attraction. And if that's gone the moon will probably fall and break. It's a one sided love not much of a love story but for the moon it is. The moon is so strong for it to stay knowing she's just a cheaper version of something, knowing she gives the earth light only when the sun is out.*"
"Why do I feel like the moon envies the sun?" He chuckled and as he continues to speak the facade of his face now turning more serious.
"Don't you think it's the sun who should be envious? For it's the moon who's more in control of the earth. Tides are caused by the moon and the sun, but it has always been more influenced by the moon for it is much closer. The moon has more influenced to whatever the earth feels if it's high or low, it all depends on her."
She does not know how to respond to his surprising reply but she finally says,
"But the moon just confuses the Earth."
"How could you possibly know are you "Earth"?"
"No..."
"But i know for I am the moon and I wish that mutual gravitational attraction will never be gone just so no matter how far you wander you will always end up in my arms, because I will always be here" she thought to herself but instead of saying it out loud she just smiled and pointed out the kid who just fell and suddenly it was just another day.
(K.Cross)
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
And should you lose,
Or should you win,
Your victory is heard
by only two ears.
These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
\ \ \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.
This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.
Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.
And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
Because|
-You know exactly what you're
Missing
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
The full moon caught a glimpse
where the billowed clouds parted
Saucer size Dogwood blossoms
echoed an urging reflection
through wide open window ;
the diffused moonlight reached in
touching the open palms
enduring in an empty void
lay down beside
Softly burnished reflections
lighten blanched flesh petals
swaying in the wakened
spring cadence
Rhinestone memories
tethered from somewhere above ;
as if manipulating puppet strings
dangling down through
the seesaw cloud gap ―
scattering candlelit sequins
like unmapped constellations
brushed by the moonlight
in the dale of your leafless *******
The fragrant breeze
of your memory
gathers a sweetest taste,
teasing wishful thirsty lips
into a gentle smile ...
Tracing unbounded memories
with wandering fingertips
upon your intimate
canvas oasis in my mind
Fallen petals floating gently
across still waters
induced by whispered breeze ;
quiet reminders that ripple
the mesmerizing silence
with the lonely breath
an unheard evanescent sigh
The open window
let the moonlight in,
illuminating lingering
shadows of the past ...
you feel the waft
of spring breathe ...
but you just can't help
where the wind blows
Jesse e. Stillwater
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
behold
mine guilt be carved
'pon this furrowed brow
plainly writ
for all to see
i pray thee now
speak softly
fair an' sweet
an' brook no lie
to pass thine ruby lips
those serpent fangs
venom filled
'twould pierce an'
wi' their poison still
this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where mid-night forest
darkly flows
this raging torrent
swiftly feeds
black rivers
writhing coldly
thru my soul
as faceless voices
darkly speak
urging chaos
mindless screams
nightshades tearing
rending eat
the broken pieces
of this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where the sun
is but a myth
deep within this
dark abyss
an' the moon
faithless
fades
from memory
alas
speak softly
fair an' sweet
release me from
this dark abyss
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
at thy feet
.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/29kvqs8.jpg
.
.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
I wouldn't simply flick the brush
in regards of painting you;
You're more than that to me.
I'd stare up high looking at the real ones
and use them as reference,
to at least be able to paint you in the same league...
You've captivated me
unlike any other nebula I've seen.
To the point, that urging myself to look away
and move on comes to the scene—
Because my mum told me
to never look at the sun directly.
Funny, how I never listen
knowing I got blinded by you.
However,
I also think of you as the moon.
Cold and very far away,
Unable to reach you.
I'm no astronaut,
But if I could—I would.
You've got me wishing for you,
Like lovers longing for each other.
But you are a star,
and I am but a man.
I'm nowhere near
the level of other women,
I'm mediocre at best.
But, I would have painted you better
than any other woman could.
Nov 17, 2023
Nov 17, 2023 at 7:22 PM UTC
It was in total a fast track ticket to the moon
and I can't return to transaction dock 8 too soon
the star checkout lane at my local supermarket
tops balloons with rocket science aeronautics
that pilot's service areas binary counter perfect
exceeding expectations bent into global orbit
My items sped along to muzak her slim milky way belt
a smile beaming discount countdowns heaven sent
taking off in bit lips when her priceless item buttons
almost burst free to air with a strain of special promotions
helpfully assisting my every excess flight of fancy
made impulse buys a baggage allowance necessity
She stroked parts of her radical laser station
to fully engage hygienic wiped spills of imagination
and I felt the warp of hyperdrive tangelo engines
urging me into a dive to scan juice ripe tangerines
a last minute save fuelled by stalling flashback cavities
gyrating in tight nets as we escaped earth's gravity
With a twist of her wrist I was into fits-the-bill ecstasy
as the whirr of electronics cut loose such quality
with a lick of an index finger our mission was bagged
handled too efficiently for any danger of jet lag
no flyby chance to not exchange standby coupons
my trolley emptied of offers too galactic to pass on
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
When there is no sun
and no moon around
The darkness reflects
Night shines the brightest
Flashlights take us places
to make our way through spaces
the time moves slower
and dark clouds hover
blinding black surround
and echoes of voices of hounds
the heart freezes
we sleep till late
Keep our eyes closed
to protect from the truth
Hands on every surface
finding the path out
Hoping to come across
morning rays coming through glasses
Urging to wake from
this terrible nightmare
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
You don’t have to be lonely
I will kiss your sadness away
Let me soothe your senses
Relax and take a deep breath
I will gently caress your soul
and slowly touch your heart
Does that make you feel good?
What do you think
if I say,
“I want to explore you.”
I see you nod your head.
Now, let me take a peek
of your views
Then I will give you
an impression
that will last
Do you want me to stop?
I can feel you
urging for more
I will strip down
your worries
Did I say I am good
with persuasion?
I want to bring you pleasure;
I will drive you mad
Let our bodies heat up
as I stroke your desires
We will be sweating out
as we exercise our intellect
Oh, I see
you’re already dripping
with emotions
Are you craving for more?
Let me hear you implore
I want you
to open your mouth
and blow my mind
I will eat you
until i’m down
to your core
I surely want
to have a taste
of your aspirations
I can hear you breathing heavily
as I push my ideas
in and out of your mind
I will go deep
into your thoughts
until you moan
with satisfaction
—–
**Yes, babe—
I will penetrate your thoughts
And I will **** your brains out**
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 2:27 AM UTC
Mirror, mirror
Said the queen
Self-conscious,
Not wanting to be seen
Mirror, mirror
Every day
Urging wrinkles
Not to stay
Mirror, mirror
She was taught
If she was ugly
She was naught
Mirror, mirror
She cannot feel
Emotions ruin
Her appeal
Mirror, mirror
She feels dead
To the husband
In her bed
Mirror, mirror
Her heart is failing
Her lungs are gasping
Her kidneys wailing
Mirror, mirror
The doctor said
She has a growth
In her head
Mirror, mirror
She cannot stand
But she's still the most
Beautiful in the land
Mirror, mirror
But not anymore
Her place taken
By the child of a *****
Mirror, mirror
She needs a heart
The child has one
There's a start
Mirror, mirror
She's in so much pain
She doesn't know
How to be humane
Mirror, mirror
The child is dead
The heart is weak
But she has fed
Mirror, mirror
The heart has failed
There is no other
That ship has sailed
Mirror, mirror
She is desperate to live
She finds a corrupt magicker
And gives all she can give
Mirror, mirror
She feeds on death
Each soul she takes
Lies in every breath
Mirror, mirror
She carves words in her skin
EVIL, VAMPYR
DEMON, SIN
Mirror, mirror
She moans in the night
Her husband sleeps in a separate bed
Yet still quakes in fright
Mirror, mirror
The child is not dead
All the lives she has taken
When she could have taken one instead
Mirror, mirror
Look at her now
Twisted and broken
Macabre magick on her brow
Mirror, mirror
The child must pay
Perhaps her soul will be redeemed
It is the only way
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Love Maze
Through the blood and sweat I write
a wishful story you'll remember.
A flower which bloomed too soon I thought
was only my own to surrender.
A voice I once heard urged me
to speak myself and love myself.
Although I attempted to touch it
That voice I heard, was someone else.
I ran around in a pool of tears
afraid and wet from pain.
I ran around only in circles
it was a maze I wandered around in vain.
And so I heard that lonely ballad,
a voice that wasn't my own.
In my pool of tears as I searched
I realized my maze was made of stones.
"A little push, a little tug"
I heard the voice tell me.
"Is all it takes to begin the growth
of your very own journey."
I felt it's warmth was
the closest to reality.
The voice that kept on
urging me.
For when I swam ahead
instead of search, I realized
I had found my magic shop
undisguised, it vaporized...
The stones fell away
my maze was shattered.
For now I saw before me
a "love" maze, the stones were all scattered.
-Little Saint
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
to know your skin
is to know the turmoil of creation
you are the visceral
the primal roar
urging its way out
i will shape you
mold you out of sand
draw your pleasure out
and ruin your salvation
you've given me a taste
so now i'll sniff out your blood
and crawl my way over
and snarl and scratch at you
and feast on your flesh
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
pain demands to be felt..
that is why you let break ups feel like shards of glass piercing through your skin,
"i was using you" feel like acid being pumped through your heart ventricles spewing liquid anguish through your veins
you let the memories consume your very existance so all that is left is the skin he once touched, the lips he once kissed and the emotions he still controls..
yes, pain does demand to be felt
but you see, i am pain.
i embody every syllable of that painful word..pain
i am every lie woven intricately into the seams of the pillow used to cushion the blows i inflict.
i leave you trapped in the very depths of your mind, made easy by your naive attempt of grasping onto the words used to lure you in, i love you
i am the whispers of motivation urging you to sniff sniff sniff your way deeper into my domain where you are nothing but a chess piece in a battle not easily won.
i am the deep seated hunger that devours any sign of "happy"..the breaking, smashing, burning of hope
i am a master of deceit, carefully manipulating your thoughts through the simple tug of a string, i am your master.
but I was not born like this,
I became it..so if you really think about it,
I am love, because love was the reason I became pain.
this may be confusing, but once again think about it..
love demands to be felt...
that is why you sit smiling awkwardly at your phone,
why you get butterflies..I mean the whole **** zoo in your stomach when he looks your way,
you let your feelings consume your very existence until all that is left of you is the hand he holds so tight, the hair he moves away from your face and the heart you laid right out for him...
yes, love demands to be felt..
but you see, I once was love..
I embodied every syllable of that beautiful word love
I was the roof over-head when the storms of life came thundering by,
I was anything you needed me to be because at the end of the day I didn't want to be anything if I didn't have you.
So I let myself go, I became my own foe
just so you could have that shoulder, I mean that extra soul to lean on
you kept taking and never giving,
this one sided love became toxic
I took one look at myself and realised that I didn't know who was staring back at me..
much like how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly,
but the reverse, I began to shrink.
the butterflies turned to moths, the smiles to tears and soon enough,
love became pain,
and they both demand to be felt.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC