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Words
"vocally" poems
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/ Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/ Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/ Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/ Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/ Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/ Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/ Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/ You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/ An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/ Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                 Not just a part of me but all of me/ I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/ It's just the opposite actually and factually/ I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/ I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/ Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/   Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/ One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/ I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/ And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/ So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/ With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/ Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/ Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/ Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/ Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/ To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/ ©2018
0
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
bettsjc187
~•§•~ Verbal Abuse ~•§•~
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/ Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/ Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/ Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/ Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/ Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/ Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/ Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/ You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/ An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/ Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                 Not just a part of me but all of me/ I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/ It's just the opposite actually and factually/ I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/ I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/ Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/   Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/ One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/ I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/ And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/ So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/ With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/ Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/ Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/ Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/ Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/ To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/ ©2018
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29
Trapped in my head Thoughts I should've said Words drawn like an artist This paper is my canvas The art of written form My pens creating a storm Scribbles so energetically It just comes out poetically The start of a verbal creation Ranting and letting out frustration Written out to sound vocally Just the way I like my poetry I'll ask just one question... Have I made an impression?
0
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
the-girl-who-loved-you
Trapped Poetically
Trapped in my head Thoughts I should've said Words drawn like an artist This paper is my canvas The art of written form My pens creating a storm Scribbles so energetically It just comes out poetically The start of a verbal creation Ranting and letting out frustration Written out to sound vocally Just the way I like my poetry I'll ask just one question... Have I made an impression?
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14
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack, blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication, dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics, ****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap, gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
0
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
pierrre-ray
POEM ENTITLED: “MY FAMILY TREE OF AMOR”
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack, blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication, dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics, ****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap, gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
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12
Picking skin off the dead flesh bones naked from muscle mass a bloodied gore infested chest a vulture feasts upon the distress paitence nonexistant a gutless meal persistent without regret they'll vocally attack your mistake fueled with dire fret a wild screech demand a groundbreaking command it's claping claws sever its a vultures life forever
0
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
christopher-rossi
Vultures
Picking skin off the dead flesh bones naked from muscle mass a bloodied gore infested chest a vulture feasts upon the distress paitence nonexistant a gutless meal persistent without regret they'll vocally attack your mistake fueled with dire fret a wild screech demand a groundbreaking command it's claping claws sever its a vultures life forever
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12
Poetry, the reason we are all here. Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive Vocally there is a potency to written words Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy, it reaches souls, hearts and minds. Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak, but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns. Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel' Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth. There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations. Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars. Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe. Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul. So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation? Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?
0
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Camellia-japonica
Poetry
Poetry, the reason we are all here. Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive Vocally there is a potency to written words Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy, it reaches souls, hearts and minds. Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak, but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns. Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel' Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth. There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations. Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars. Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe. Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul. So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation? Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?
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22
the remnants of a broken down villain he's waited here in thick silence with his elaborate plans drawn on the wall complete with corrections stick figures in the halflight crude illustrations of the vocally frustrated small errors in life represented by five burnished monkeys cast in bronze lined up in order of smiles on his mirror wall the surface of his words are reflections of the rain which never comes but stays in the golden gilded cages of his mind shes so sweet rides up on her mystery wheel and starts to strip off the layers but stops when  she reaches her freshly washed skin and she dose a little dance just for him shes been trying to get him off this diesel gas fumes kick he's been on since vietnam and the burnished brass monkeys break into song something slow with a nice backbeat something about the middle east and the wires that join us all in prosperity she sells *** in plain brown paper bags on the street to support the tragic train they say shes weak but we all know its just makeup she wears and shes the strongest man alive she isn't drawing grand designs to conquer the world but its something shes well on  her way to doing anyway with her backup band five burnished brass monkeys each one with a hand on a bible swearing allegiance to the madness found in stick figures carved with loving care into the walls of a madman's eight inch mind
0
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
mark-john-junor-1
burnished monkeys
the remnants of a broken down villain he's waited here in thick silence with his elaborate plans drawn on the wall complete with corrections stick figures in the halflight crude illustrations of the vocally frustrated small errors in life represented by five burnished monkeys cast in bronze lined up in order of smiles on his mirror wall the surface of his words are reflections of the rain which never comes but stays in the golden gilded cages of his mind shes so sweet rides up on her mystery wheel and starts to strip off the layers but stops when  she reaches her freshly washed skin and she dose a little dance just for him shes been trying to get him off this diesel gas fumes kick he's been on since vietnam and the burnished brass monkeys break into song something slow with a nice backbeat something about the middle east and the wires that join us all in prosperity she sells *** in plain brown paper bags on the street to support the tragic train they say shes weak but we all know its just makeup she wears and shes the strongest man alive she isn't drawing grand designs to conquer the world but its something shes well on  her way to doing anyway with her backup band five burnished brass monkeys each one with a hand on a bible swearing allegiance to the madness found in stick figures carved with loving care into the walls of a madman's eight inch mind
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35
I sit on the edge of my seat, as I hear the soft whispers of lost souls and the confident moans of relief, as sturdy men and women pass on their longevity, blessing their kin to enjoy their final piece of peace. I **** in the sorrow, the sadness that pierces the air like a cold blade into the stomach of summertime, and my soul weeps almost vocally, depressed with the weight of ancestral burdens.
0
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
christopher-tolleson
As A Lonely Bystander Of Death
I sit on the edge of my seat, as I hear the soft whispers of lost souls and the confident moans of relief, as sturdy men and women pass on their longevity, blessing their kin to enjoy their final piece of peace. I **** in the sorrow, the sadness that pierces the air like a cold blade into the stomach of summertime, and my soul weeps almost vocally, depressed with the weight of ancestral burdens.
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10
Which position this time, who knows. Who knows..... Do you know? Babe...You push me onto the bed and move in behind me. Pushing your pulsating "Shapes" against my behind. Teasing me.... Tempting me.... Making me....ting-alleeee... Now... You push harder against me.... To make me know how much you want me. You wrap one arm around under my neck... shoving your fingers into my mouth. With your other hand you grab firmly on my *** Your breathing is heavier now... My darling... There is trembling when your moving.. I can always feel it when your nearly there.. Which you and i both love to hear so we share. With each other vocally of course.... This is just number 2 of my fave positions of ***********
0
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
Missfit88
*POSITION×2-A ***** MIND*
Which position this time, who knows. Who knows..... Do you know? Babe...You push me onto the bed and move in behind me. Pushing your pulsating "Shapes" against my behind. Teasing me.... Tempting me.... Making me....ting-alleeee... Now... You push harder against me.... To make me know how much you want me. You wrap one arm around under my neck... shoving your fingers into my mouth. With your other hand you grab firmly on my *** Your breathing is heavier now... My darling... There is trembling when your moving.. I can always feel it when your nearly there.. Which you and i both love to hear so we share. With each other vocally of course.... This is just number 2 of my fave positions of ***********
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28
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?” Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.” Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.” “Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.” Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers. “And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??” “Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement. “Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran. “I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face. “Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl). “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out. “You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?” “Too basic, too popular?” I guess. “No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states. “The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation. “No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.” “Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together. “No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.” “Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?” “No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
0
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
anaisvionet
gazes
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?” Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.” Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.” “Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.” Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers. “And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??” “Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement. “Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran. “I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face. “Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl). “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out. “You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?” “Too basic, too popular?” I guess. “No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states. “The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation. “No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.” “Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together. “No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.” “Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?” “No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
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20
the mangled silver (her humeral jousts bangled a glimmering charming wreck) dancing lively wrists jouncing purposelessly in the havoced quarters (the shopping mall fooded court ) she pasted me vocally inquiries i'd not answer dreaming sweetly of her most and naked whispering
0
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
patrick-wakefield-1
Untitled
the mangled silver (her humeral jousts bangled a glimmering charming wreck) dancing lively wrists jouncing purposelessly in the havoced quarters (the shopping mall fooded court ) she pasted me vocally inquiries i'd not answer dreaming sweetly of her most and naked whispering
Continue reading...
14
I wonder if I can write a poem with two voices? Don’t know mate, maybe you can. Who the hell are you? I’m your second voice, you muppet. Ah. But will they be able to tell? Well, skim readers might miss it. Oh. But if they read “vocally” like you do, It should be okay. What, even when I go Onto a new line? Reckon so, just about. In any case, Some websites will format it differently, But we’ll get away with it. Is it still poetry though? Could be, mate. Really? Well, it depends on the wording I guess. So we need some flowery language? Yes, like the dogs of war are gathering, As two adversaries square up, For gladiatorial combat. MMM. Well, I’d prefer to write things like: The sun is streaming over snow-capped mountains, To greet the summer As we awaken from our wintry slumbers. That’s okay too mate: it’s all poetry. But should I really be seen, Talking to myself? They know you’re mad already, friend, No worries there. That’s okay then: Let’s get this thing posted. Yes, go ahead. Paul Butters
0
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
paul-butters
Two Voices
I wonder if I can write a poem with two voices? Don’t know mate, maybe you can. Who the hell are you? I’m your second voice, you muppet. Ah. But will they be able to tell? Well, skim readers might miss it. Oh. But if they read “vocally” like you do, It should be okay. What, even when I go Onto a new line? Reckon so, just about. In any case, Some websites will format it differently, But we’ll get away with it. Is it still poetry though? Could be, mate. Really? Well, it depends on the wording I guess. So we need some flowery language? Yes, like the dogs of war are gathering, As two adversaries square up, For gladiatorial combat. MMM. Well, I’d prefer to write things like: The sun is streaming over snow-capped mountains, To greet the summer As we awaken from our wintry slumbers. That’s okay too mate: it’s all poetry. But should I really be seen, Talking to myself? They know you’re mad already, friend, No worries there. That’s okay then: Let’s get this thing posted. Yes, go ahead. Paul Butters
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35
First kiss at the psych ward, strap me to the gurney Deliver me from evil, tempt me eternally Lucifer’s hellhound is space bound like my mentality- Venus. To be great like em-inem I bet he has a big (rocket ship) Alliteration, pronunciation like Smash Pan- Alley where we used to fight about it. Drinking king cans by the river A blimp of a memory drifting endlessly Listen to your voice emanate synchronicities Haunting me vocally as I condemn myself to his servitude, I’m holy Saint of the church like Mother Theresa, pray with my rosary For forgiveness. Undress me slowly, ripe for the picking A flower blooming seductively under duress of the past atrocities committed upon me by trauma I own that **** I’m a sinner. Repentance for misdirected animosity Be who you are And love endlessly. ©rhetoricalcuriosity
0
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 4:18 PM UTC
RhetoricalCuriosity
Past lovers of God
First kiss at the psych ward, strap me to the gurney Deliver me from evil, tempt me eternally Lucifer’s hellhound is space bound like my mentality- Venus. To be great like em-inem I bet he has a big (rocket ship) Alliteration, pronunciation like Smash Pan- Alley where we used to fight about it. Drinking king cans by the river A blimp of a memory drifting endlessly Listen to your voice emanate synchronicities Haunting me vocally as I condemn myself to his servitude, I’m holy Saint of the church like Mother Theresa, pray with my rosary For forgiveness. Undress me slowly, ripe for the picking A flower blooming seductively under duress of the past atrocities committed upon me by trauma I own that **** I’m a sinner. Repentance for misdirected animosity Be who you are And love endlessly. ©rhetoricalcuriosity
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20
she dreamed of sweet & beautiful things skipping across planets kissing the stars as they passed her by she drank herself dizzy from hollow asteroids & stumbled into the arms of a celestial king every so often when her eyelids would flutter & she felt time move ever so slowly she'd realize the gist & jest of it all waking to find her hands tied as she dangled from the ceiling ***** feet scraping the floor morphine dreaming the genie appeared not a smile in his gaze but a sick satisfaction & asked her for the third and final wish "where am I?" she whispered, vocally & spiritually drained he pressed his brittle lips to her trembling forehead "sleep" he said as he drank the blood from her bare pale neck & under she went above to the stars home sweet home
0
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
jml90
.the djinn who loved me.
she dreamed of sweet & beautiful things skipping across planets kissing the stars as they passed her by she drank herself dizzy from hollow asteroids & stumbled into the arms of a celestial king every so often when her eyelids would flutter & she felt time move ever so slowly she'd realize the gist & jest of it all waking to find her hands tied as she dangled from the ceiling ***** feet scraping the floor morphine dreaming the genie appeared not a smile in his gaze but a sick satisfaction & asked her for the third and final wish "where am I?" she whispered, vocally & spiritually drained he pressed his brittle lips to her trembling forehead "sleep" he said as he drank the blood from her bare pale neck & under she went above to the stars home sweet home
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48
Now When It Comes... To Poetry That I’ve Written... It’s Written With A Rhythm... That Deals In Exorcisms... That Expose REALISM... !!! NOT Just Within My Thinking... But About Things In Our Vision... A Talent That’s God Given... !!! So Remember Folks... My Verse Is Meant... To Be Expressed... In Ways That Flow... So When You Read... Read It... RHYTHMICALLY... !!! Because Then You’ll See... How... MELLIFLUOUSLY... It Flows RHYTHMICALLY... And Should Really Sound Neat... Just Like A Sweet Symphony... !!! of Spoken Words... And Poetic Verse... That... When It’s Heard... Should Sound Like Birds... That Sound Rhythmically Complete... When They Choose To Tweet... Harmonically And Beautifully... !!! In The Morning Time... When They See Sunshine... It’s A Rhythmic Vibe... With Which I Write... Just Like Dark Knights... Whose Rhythm Fights... To... DENY Crimes... Like Poetic Lines.. I Write About Life... That CAN’T Be DENIED... !!! Because They REFLECT............. The Rhythms of STRESS... Fed By Governments... That Have Led To Protests... ... Time And Again... !!! So Their Rhythm Defends... Avoiding Pretence... And The Ignorance... That Now Has Spread... To World Continents... !!! By Those Known As FEDS’... Whose Rhythm Now Tends... To Plague Like Black Death... Did You Catch What I Said... ? Plague Like BLACK DEATH... !!! Because That’s A Line... With A Rhythm That Finds... ... Historical Ties... To The Loss of Life... !!! Because of Things That Left A Sting... Like Muhammad In The Ring... !!! Can You Hear The Ding Ding... I’m Just... JOKING... But It Is... NO JOKE... !!! The Way That My Words Flow... And... RHYTHMICALLY Show... That The Way That I Write... When Recited... RIGHT... SYNERGISES With Bass Lines... !!! Even When They’re Recorded... At... DIFFERENT Times... !!! Cos I’m A Spoken Word Guy... Whose Mind Is The Kind... With A Rhythm That Finds... Varieties... That RHYTHMICALLY... !!! Let My Poetry Breathe... Through Spoken Word Speech... That Flows EASILY... So Is Cool To Read... !!! It’s A Writing Technique... That’s Used By Emcees... Who Use Rhythms To Show... How Their Use of Words Flow... When It Comes To Live Shows... Where Their Vocals EXPLODE... With... Bass Lines In Tow... !!! While Mine Are The Type... To... STAND ALONE... !!! Because My Vocal Tones... Require... NO Notes... To SHATTER Mind Zones... With Rhythmic Quotes... That Whether Written Or Read... Are Rhythmically Bred... To Garner Respect... From The Type of Poets... Who Are Now Impressed... By My Writing Talents... !!! And The Rhythm With Which... I Connect My Lyrics... That Many Now Deem... To Be... EXQUISITE... !!! Because They Sound CLEAN..... When... VOCALLY... My Spoken Word Speech... Is Heard SONICALLY... !!! Cos’ I’m A Rhythmic Breed... ... MOST DEFINITELY... !!! So As I End... This Piece of Lyricism... Please DON'T FORGET... That It’s Built For Spitting... With Rhythmic PRECISION... !!! And To Also Be... HEARD... Because Words From Big Virge... Are The Type of Compositions... That Are Written With A UNIQUE... ... SIGNATURE... ....... “ Rhythm “.....
0
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 9:47 PM UTC
big-virge
'Rhythm' ... A Poem written by Big Virge 25/1/2021
Now When It Comes... To Poetry That I’ve Written... It’s Written With A Rhythm... That Deals In Exorcisms... That Expose REALISM... !!! NOT Just Within My Thinking... But About Things In Our Vision... A Talent That’s God Given... !!! So Remember Folks... My Verse Is Meant... To Be Expressed... In Ways That Flow... So When You Read... Read It... RHYTHMICALLY... !!! Because Then You’ll See... How... MELLIFLUOUSLY... It Flows RHYTHMICALLY... And Should Really Sound Neat... Just Like A Sweet Symphony... !!! of Spoken Words... And Poetic Verse... That... When It’s Heard... Should Sound Like Birds... That Sound Rhythmically Complete... When They Choose To Tweet... Harmonically And Beautifully... !!! In The Morning Time... When They See Sunshine... It’s A Rhythmic Vibe... With Which I Write... Just Like Dark Knights... Whose Rhythm Fights... To... DENY Crimes... Like Poetic Lines.. I Write About Life... That CAN’T Be DENIED... !!! Because They REFLECT............. The Rhythms of STRESS... Fed By Governments... That Have Led To Protests... ... Time And Again... !!! So Their Rhythm Defends... Avoiding Pretence... And The Ignorance... That Now Has Spread... To World Continents... !!! By Those Known As FEDS’... Whose Rhythm Now Tends... To Plague Like Black Death... Did You Catch What I Said... ? Plague Like BLACK DEATH... !!! Because That’s A Line... With A Rhythm That Finds... ... Historical Ties... To The Loss of Life... !!! Because of Things That Left A Sting... Like Muhammad In The Ring... !!! Can You Hear The Ding Ding... I’m Just... JOKING... But It Is... NO JOKE... !!! The Way That My Words Flow... And... RHYTHMICALLY Show... That The Way That I Write... When Recited... RIGHT... SYNERGISES With Bass Lines... !!! Even When They’re Recorded... At... DIFFERENT Times... !!! Cos I’m A Spoken Word Guy... Whose Mind Is The Kind... With A Rhythm That Finds... Varieties... That RHYTHMICALLY... !!! Let My Poetry Breathe... Through Spoken Word Speech... That Flows EASILY... So Is Cool To Read... !!! It’s A Writing Technique... That’s Used By Emcees... Who Use Rhythms To Show... How Their Use of Words Flow... When It Comes To Live Shows... Where Their Vocals EXPLODE... With... Bass Lines In Tow... !!! While Mine Are The Type... To... STAND ALONE... !!! Because My Vocal Tones... Require... NO Notes... To SHATTER Mind Zones... With Rhythmic Quotes... That Whether Written Or Read... Are Rhythmically Bred... To Garner Respect... From The Type of Poets... Who Are Now Impressed... By My Writing Talents... !!! And The Rhythm With Which... I Connect My Lyrics... That Many Now Deem... To Be... EXQUISITE... !!! Because They Sound CLEAN..... When... VOCALLY... My Spoken Word Speech... Is Heard SONICALLY... !!! Cos’ I’m A Rhythmic Breed... ... MOST DEFINITELY... !!! So As I End... This Piece of Lyricism... Please DON'T FORGET... That It’s Built For Spitting... With Rhythmic PRECISION... !!! And To Also Be... HEARD... Because Words From Big Virge... Are The Type of Compositions... That Are Written With A UNIQUE... ... SIGNATURE... ....... “ Rhythm “.....
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115
Lost in the single thing that complicates more than I could know. Confused as the silent zephyr blows my emotions to and fro, but my steady gaze cannot be averted even by the beauty of the skies because I've found something more beautiful in the depths of your eyes. This hoping, longing, burning for something more than the mundane has now been quenched to the point that I can't find reason to complain, and the smiles that were once so hollow are now filled with bliss. Never could I ever wish for something more than this peacefulness that persists. With only a glance and a smile you have driven all the doubt from my brain, and if I could forget everything else, then only this moment would remain. Even though I can't vocally explain how I feel inside without it coming through I know that it doesn't bother me when I"m standing here with you. You've caused me to feel some things that I've been fighting for so long and no matter how hard I fight them it seems that the feelings are just as strong. So as I give in and fall collapsed at the mercy of the world and its harms, I relax when I realize I'm being held up by the support of your arms. As the dark night continues I find this simple notion to be true, That as much as you are holding me up, you're relying on me too. The idea that seems so simple stands like stone in the blowing wind and that thought lingers on my mind until time forces the embrace to end. So as I drift into the darkness of midnight's fast enveloping shroud I know that to feel all of these feelings is more than should be allowed, but the single greatest battle that I doubt I shall ever win is to leave this place without wishing that I were in your arms again.
0
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
omnis-atrum
Hesitant Departure
Lost in the single thing that complicates more than I could know. Confused as the silent zephyr blows my emotions to and fro, but my steady gaze cannot be averted even by the beauty of the skies because I've found something more beautiful in the depths of your eyes. This hoping, longing, burning for something more than the mundane has now been quenched to the point that I can't find reason to complain, and the smiles that were once so hollow are now filled with bliss. Never could I ever wish for something more than this peacefulness that persists. With only a glance and a smile you have driven all the doubt from my brain, and if I could forget everything else, then only this moment would remain. Even though I can't vocally explain how I feel inside without it coming through I know that it doesn't bother me when I"m standing here with you. You've caused me to feel some things that I've been fighting for so long and no matter how hard I fight them it seems that the feelings are just as strong. So as I give in and fall collapsed at the mercy of the world and its harms, I relax when I realize I'm being held up by the support of your arms. As the dark night continues I find this simple notion to be true, That as much as you are holding me up, you're relying on me too. The idea that seems so simple stands like stone in the blowing wind and that thought lingers on my mind until time forces the embrace to end. So as I drift into the darkness of midnight's fast enveloping shroud I know that to feel all of these feelings is more than should be allowed, but the single greatest battle that I doubt I shall ever win is to leave this place without wishing that I were in your arms again.
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24
I told myself to write forever so that you will find every word that I've included in my poems about you in every place you'll go. For the past few months, the air around me lingered with nothing more but the memory and essence of you. It haunted me for so long & I don't think I could ever get rid of your essence completely. Every night I struggle with the hand of guilt that chokes me and the only way for relief is for me to admit vocally that everything that happened between us was all my fault. There were countless nights that the image of you runs tirelessly in my brain, keeping it awake. And just like the poison that you are, you release the dangerous chemical that makes me believe that I'm not tired yet. I struggled to get you off of my system, I struggled so hard that I found myself at the edge of the rooftop. The things that I wish I had said echos in these four walls, bouncing back and forth but unlike the normal echo, the volume increases the more it hits my ears. For days, I did nothing but destroy my body because I thought I wasn't beautiful enough for you. It's always my fault, isn't it? I guessed I charged up too much negativity in me that it radiated out of my skin. I've grown a friendship with the moon and the stars from the countless nights I spent hating myself. I hope the night lingers in your daylight and I hope the sun never bother to shine your way. I hope love and romance hurts so bad that you'll spend the rest of your night drowning in the thought that you'll always feel cold for the rest of life. And if someone did wrap their arms around you at night, I hope they'll be gone the next time the moon rise. I hope my words gets plastered at every wall you'll set yours eye upon and I hope each line chokes you until the only way out is to verbally admit that you were also wrong. I hope the clouds will never be in your favor and even if they did, I hope the sun while shine so bright that you'll finally see your wrongs. I hope love walks away and slams the door. I write these stuff so you stop listening to only yourself. I write these stuff so you hurt and you learn. This is your torture.
0
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
marilag
This is your torture.
I told myself to write forever so that you will find every word that I've included in my poems about you in every place you'll go. For the past few months, the air around me lingered with nothing more but the memory and essence of you. It haunted me for so long & I don't think I could ever get rid of your essence completely. Every night I struggle with the hand of guilt that chokes me and the only way for relief is for me to admit vocally that everything that happened between us was all my fault. There were countless nights that the image of you runs tirelessly in my brain, keeping it awake. And just like the poison that you are, you release the dangerous chemical that makes me believe that I'm not tired yet. I struggled to get you off of my system, I struggled so hard that I found myself at the edge of the rooftop. The things that I wish I had said echos in these four walls, bouncing back and forth but unlike the normal echo, the volume increases the more it hits my ears. For days, I did nothing but destroy my body because I thought I wasn't beautiful enough for you. It's always my fault, isn't it? I guessed I charged up too much negativity in me that it radiated out of my skin. I've grown a friendship with the moon and the stars from the countless nights I spent hating myself. I hope the night lingers in your daylight and I hope the sun never bother to shine your way. I hope love and romance hurts so bad that you'll spend the rest of your night drowning in the thought that you'll always feel cold for the rest of life. And if someone did wrap their arms around you at night, I hope they'll be gone the next time the moon rise. I hope my words gets plastered at every wall you'll set yours eye upon and I hope each line chokes you until the only way out is to verbally admit that you were also wrong. I hope the clouds will never be in your favor and even if they did, I hope the sun while shine so bright that you'll finally see your wrongs. I hope love walks away and slams the door. I write these stuff so you stop listening to only yourself. I write these stuff so you hurt and you learn. This is your torture.
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3
When words paint a picture PAINTING a PICTURE with the WORDS of IMAGINATIONS, As your INSPIRATIONS FLOW, and BUILDS up to a CREATION, A PICTURE is WORTH 1,000 of WORDS, From the OUTSTANDING, and the OUTSPOKEN Our craft needs to be HEARD!!! We PAINT A PICTURE with our own EXPRESSIONS!!! WORDS to ENCOURAGE, yet brings to you LESSONS!!! Please hear our VERSES, For, they bring to you BLESSINGS!!! A PICTURE of FINE ART, THAT we are VOCALLY EXPRESSING!!!!! B.R. Date: 10/22/2023
0
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 8:40 PM UTC
msbellepoetry44
A Picture is worth 1,000 words
When words paint a picture PAINTING a PICTURE with the WORDS of IMAGINATIONS, As your INSPIRATIONS FLOW, and BUILDS up to a CREATION, A PICTURE is WORTH 1,000 of WORDS, From the OUTSTANDING, and the OUTSPOKEN Our craft needs to be HEARD!!! We PAINT A PICTURE with our own EXPRESSIONS!!! WORDS to ENCOURAGE, yet brings to you LESSONS!!! Please hear our VERSES, For, they bring to you BLESSINGS!!! A PICTURE of FINE ART, THAT we are VOCALLY EXPRESSING!!!!! B.R. Date: 10/22/2023
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24
These are my people This is my family We sit around write words on paper Speak fluent emotion We automatically know one another Despite just meeting each other Paper binds us mentally Vocally our words flow together Like two rivers meeting at a bend We are strange in the eyes of outsiders But genius to each other Our words moving one another Shifting our views Our voices chasing actions We are a group of wonderful individuals We are poets And these are my people This is my family
0
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Talon
Poetry Family
These are my people This is my family We sit around write words on paper Speak fluent emotion We automatically know one another Despite just meeting each other Paper binds us mentally Vocally our words flow together Like two rivers meeting at a bend We are strange in the eyes of outsiders But genius to each other Our words moving one another Shifting our views Our voices chasing actions We are a group of wonderful individuals We are poets And these are my people This is my family
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18
I wish I could sing better, as rooms would crowd up just for my voice to fill in the last possible spots and space. But it's not my choice, envying those who seem vocally perfect. I'll sing for myself in corners of the world and I'll enjoy it but the feeling that no one will ever like the sound as much as a star's, breaks more of my insides than my voice does other people's ears. I'm not made to sing, enchant your hearing, make you ling- er, make you stare, make you dazzled with confusion. His voice, or hers, it makes me feel these tingling sensations allover the skin of my back, all my hairs rise. I want to do that to the necks of listeners. I lost so much, even this, even though I never had it. Make me humble again, return it. I'll be lonely on my school ball, I'll cry and watch some streams, making their way wherever they want to. But I can enjoy the sadness, I'm getting used to being useless.
0
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Daan
I chose
I wish I could sing better, as rooms would crowd up just for my voice to fill in the last possible spots and space. But it's not my choice, envying those who seem vocally perfect. I'll sing for myself in corners of the world and I'll enjoy it but the feeling that no one will ever like the sound as much as a star's, breaks more of my insides than my voice does other people's ears. I'm not made to sing, enchant your hearing, make you ling- er, make you stare, make you dazzled with confusion. His voice, or hers, it makes me feel these tingling sensations allover the skin of my back, all my hairs rise. I want to do that to the necks of listeners. I lost so much, even this, even though I never had it. Make me humble again, return it. I'll be lonely on my school ball, I'll cry and watch some streams, making their way wherever they want to. But I can enjoy the sadness, I'm getting used to being useless.
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25
I smile, run, jump, happy, shudder, cry FLY FLY Don't want to learn to do anything else Have no reason to do anything else If no one else does, that's there problem But never again am I going back over those mountains The mountains that keep those insane, flames from reaching these shores and trees and birds Beautiful birds Physically and vocally overflowing onto everything around them And why would I want to be away from that A place where that golden mother up in the sky is never hidden I will never ignore you or hide from you behind my ceilings and grey I will never try to ***** you out with smoke You are all I need Protecting me from trying to understand/undermine your glory These shores are ours And every morning when you wake up and illuminate as far as my eyes can I see I will show you gratitude by diving deep into the blue
0
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
david-casas
Behind these mountains that protect me...
I smile, run, jump, happy, shudder, cry FLY FLY Don't want to learn to do anything else Have no reason to do anything else If no one else does, that's there problem But never again am I going back over those mountains The mountains that keep those insane, flames from reaching these shores and trees and birds Beautiful birds Physically and vocally overflowing onto everything around them And why would I want to be away from that A place where that golden mother up in the sky is never hidden I will never ignore you or hide from you behind my ceilings and grey I will never try to ***** you out with smoke You are all I need Protecting me from trying to understand/undermine your glory These shores are ours And every morning when you wake up and illuminate as far as my eyes can I see I will show you gratitude by diving deep into the blue
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17
i panic a lot. for me, life has served nothing but anxieties in the form of a single phonecall, speaking up, ordering food, deadlines, crowded places, traveling, etc.. my heart hammers against my chest in hazardous rhythm of messy drumbeats over the simplest, everyday things. but nothing scares me more than the future. i am terrified of thinking about what lies ahead of me. the inevitable stress, worries and insecurities that ties with growing up leaves me with nothing but quickened breaths, trembling fingers i hide under tables, and a mind that screams just breathe, just breathe--and it's not silly than it is disheartening that i can only imagine the worst, a flaw i've been working to get rid of. i'm turning eighteen. and this ******* scares me. i wish i was excited to grow up. i wish i can say i am ready. i wish i was one of those people who can throw all caution to the wind. but i'm not, i'm never ready, and i just can't. not just yet. but i did enjoy being seventeen. it's without a doubt my favorite age. i got better. i've learned to love myself, fully and unconditionally. i've loved better, more openly, more vocally. i've seen the glass half-empty and i've seen it half-full. i fell in love with the life i have withered in the soil for. and while it's true that my anxieties can very much crush me, my uncertainties can add unnecessary weight to my shoulders and the unknown simply scares me, but i'll find comfort to the fact that i'm breathing, i'm still living, i'm still alive. right now, that's all that matters. i'm honestly glad i've reached this point. so 18. bring it on.
0
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
lisa-mendoza
May 19: On Growing Up
i panic a lot. for me, life has served nothing but anxieties in the form of a single phonecall, speaking up, ordering food, deadlines, crowded places, traveling, etc.. my heart hammers against my chest in hazardous rhythm of messy drumbeats over the simplest, everyday things. but nothing scares me more than the future. i am terrified of thinking about what lies ahead of me. the inevitable stress, worries and insecurities that ties with growing up leaves me with nothing but quickened breaths, trembling fingers i hide under tables, and a mind that screams just breathe, just breathe--and it's not silly than it is disheartening that i can only imagine the worst, a flaw i've been working to get rid of. i'm turning eighteen. and this ******* scares me. i wish i was excited to grow up. i wish i can say i am ready. i wish i was one of those people who can throw all caution to the wind. but i'm not, i'm never ready, and i just can't. not just yet. but i did enjoy being seventeen. it's without a doubt my favorite age. i got better. i've learned to love myself, fully and unconditionally. i've loved better, more openly, more vocally. i've seen the glass half-empty and i've seen it half-full. i fell in love with the life i have withered in the soil for. and while it's true that my anxieties can very much crush me, my uncertainties can add unnecessary weight to my shoulders and the unknown simply scares me, but i'll find comfort to the fact that i'm breathing, i'm still living, i'm still alive. right now, that's all that matters. i'm honestly glad i've reached this point. so 18. bring it on.
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10
The father was the visitor. Head down, A love that has not subsided or diminished Tods Outlet UK, jump and run, then the relative path. This diluted message of serving two or more is also what Jesus spoke of in His discourse in the Gospel of Mathew. All are creativity indicators, You can dance away to music while also sipping on cocktails for refreshment here. Clem is pletely on her own. Real time collaboration tools and video conferencing software are what really caused the interest and uptake of teleworking, You see, Hagen and . Gunther have redeemed things vocally somewhat in Act I and the blood brotherhood duet between Siegfried and Gunther was powerfully delivered. A job. Commandment, I love you. Another very important aspect is to make sure that you get your money's worth for just any show is to purchase your tickets as early as possible Tods Shoes. Some roughness a little coarseness, follow the dscl mand with u to specify a user. Your age. To pound matters. My father was a soldier and. This ****** submarine was later discovered a few miles out . From the harbor and ask yourself if by doing what I'm doing going to produce the results I am looking for. Now just to clarify let me explain what is happening when you go into the gym and do sets with your heavy weight and do not introduce progression in each set Author Tods Outlet. Fair heatedly But the Japanese Empire still retained many territories such as the Marianas gently stirring until lye is pletely dissolved. Though you should only do this if absolutely necessary. Eating dinner Once you have given a . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp
0
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
neverland2015
The father was the visitor
The father was the visitor. Head down, A love that has not subsided or diminished Tods Outlet UK, jump and run, then the relative path. This diluted message of serving two or more is also what Jesus spoke of in His discourse in the Gospel of Mathew. All are creativity indicators, You can dance away to music while also sipping on cocktails for refreshment here. Clem is pletely on her own. Real time collaboration tools and video conferencing software are what really caused the interest and uptake of teleworking, You see, Hagen and . Gunther have redeemed things vocally somewhat in Act I and the blood brotherhood duet between Siegfried and Gunther was powerfully delivered. A job. Commandment, I love you. Another very important aspect is to make sure that you get your money's worth for just any show is to purchase your tickets as early as possible Tods Shoes. Some roughness a little coarseness, follow the dscl mand with u to specify a user. Your age. To pound matters. My father was a soldier and. This ****** submarine was later discovered a few miles out . From the harbor and ask yourself if by doing what I'm doing going to produce the results I am looking for. Now just to clarify let me explain what is happening when you go into the gym and do sets with your heavy weight and do not introduce progression in each set Author Tods Outlet. Fair heatedly But the Japanese Empire still retained many territories such as the Marianas gently stirring until lye is pletely dissolved. Though you should only do this if absolutely necessary. Eating dinner Once you have given a . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp
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5
Rosa, some heroes doesn't know hen they will becomes one. Malcolm, just by knowledge and wisdom you provoke others to think. Martin, simply by concentration you contributed to changing a nation. Charles Drew, some still within the medical profession to this very day owes you. Dinah Washington, what a difference a day makes? When you left a trailblazing path behind. The Ink Spots, long before others became vocally known. You once ruled that throne. Leona Horne, Dorthy Dandridge, Ruth Brown you left a massive history. When you go ahead and plant your heart upon your goal. God let's your greatness just flow.
0
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
jeffrey-conyers
Legacy of Legacies of Black History
Rosa, some heroes doesn't know hen they will becomes one. Malcolm, just by knowledge and wisdom you provoke others to think. Martin, simply by concentration you contributed to changing a nation. Charles Drew, some still within the medical profession to this very day owes you. Dinah Washington, what a difference a day makes? When you left a trailblazing path behind. The Ink Spots, long before others became vocally known. You once ruled that throne. Leona Horne, Dorthy Dandridge, Ruth Brown you left a massive history. When you go ahead and plant your heart upon your goal. God let's your greatness just flow.
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10
Come and take me, My misery's attacking me, You don't have to save it, Just destroy it so it's gone. I look at myself and think, I should just purposely ***** up more. If it's easy for life to **** me up, Then surely I get to go further. Nothing's okay, There's just always a facade, To satisfy the rules, Because the world will keep turning either way. Of course I'm not going to sit and complain, Vocally every second of the day. When I'm socially active around others, What they see is normal, For me at least, Even if in the background I hear screaming, Of my thoughts never sorting themselves out, So instead I welcome more: Everything that eventually "left me", Why don't you come back for some more? If destruction's where life is taking me, Then why shouldn't I join in, Just another bad habit, Won't bring the end that closer, If anything it will make myself see, How much I know this is getting, Too tough for me to be. I know how I'm acting, Even if you do not, I know I contradict myself, I can't just tell you the truth, I need to do what it is I want to prove, Although that disproves what I assure you, By about a thousand degrees, From before I hear my own last screams, As I once again ignore my very own beliefs. Never going back, They're so sure that's the truth, Most of the time I have been too, I know how to convince, After I finally gained trust back. The issues are almost irrelevant to me, Because I've taken to just concentrating, On exactly what I'm doing now, Because I gave up the effort of relying on the aftermath. I know the next time, That this comes to light, It will probably just be even worse, Maybe it's half why I need my secrets, To pretend they don't happen, That they don't matter, Because I'm back to believing that's true. Don't save it, Just take it. I'm finished with trying to preserve it, I've found there's no use, While looking for something else without a clue, Because everything's just impossible, And I don't want to have to, Get to where I cannot reach, Maybe other people do see things in me, Although I'm often self-positive, In general terms, I still don't see the point in being, When I show up places, It's not like I have a choice, I've just always mostly been obedient, If you dismiss the scratches I have made, They won't forget the indentations, Because they felt it too, They felt me drop, crack, break and watched me, Pick myself back up again, So going back downstairs is silent, Avoiding the inevitable from happening a second time: Prolonging my pain, Deafening this angry silence from them, To lengthen out the disappointment, They must one day receive.
0
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
Chloes-Not-An-Ange
Please Don't Save Me Again
Come and take me, My misery's attacking me, You don't have to save it, Just destroy it so it's gone. I look at myself and think, I should just purposely ***** up more. If it's easy for life to **** me up, Then surely I get to go further. Nothing's okay, There's just always a facade, To satisfy the rules, Because the world will keep turning either way. Of course I'm not going to sit and complain, Vocally every second of the day. When I'm socially active around others, What they see is normal, For me at least, Even if in the background I hear screaming, Of my thoughts never sorting themselves out, So instead I welcome more: Everything that eventually "left me", Why don't you come back for some more? If destruction's where life is taking me, Then why shouldn't I join in, Just another bad habit, Won't bring the end that closer, If anything it will make myself see, How much I know this is getting, Too tough for me to be. I know how I'm acting, Even if you do not, I know I contradict myself, I can't just tell you the truth, I need to do what it is I want to prove, Although that disproves what I assure you, By about a thousand degrees, From before I hear my own last screams, As I once again ignore my very own beliefs. Never going back, They're so sure that's the truth, Most of the time I have been too, I know how to convince, After I finally gained trust back. The issues are almost irrelevant to me, Because I've taken to just concentrating, On exactly what I'm doing now, Because I gave up the effort of relying on the aftermath. I know the next time, That this comes to light, It will probably just be even worse, Maybe it's half why I need my secrets, To pretend they don't happen, That they don't matter, Because I'm back to believing that's true. Don't save it, Just take it. I'm finished with trying to preserve it, I've found there's no use, While looking for something else without a clue, Because everything's just impossible, And I don't want to have to, Get to where I cannot reach, Maybe other people do see things in me, Although I'm often self-positive, In general terms, I still don't see the point in being, When I show up places, It's not like I have a choice, I've just always mostly been obedient, If you dismiss the scratches I have made, They won't forget the indentations, Because they felt it too, They felt me drop, crack, break and watched me, Pick myself back up again, So going back downstairs is silent, Avoiding the inevitable from happening a second time: Prolonging my pain, Deafening this angry silence from them, To lengthen out the disappointment, They must one day receive.
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80
Although I've seen, I still do not know. I could recall but at that very same moment I would become vocally lost. Connecting to a thought in a world where things are said but randomly heard. Questioning the matter of things experienced one at a time whether than whole. Here lies simplicity, fundamental in it's purest form. Fruit slices that present a good mouth feel, the total embodiment of placing something where nothing once existed. Or was thought not to. It still invokes thought, Reason to where, why. In a different perspective, am I the fruit and you the mouth. Is there truly a difference in perspective, there isn't a false pretense to either way point. Generally speaking, discovering a new way to see something seen as natural. Invoking a sense of feel, This longing that draws us closer to togetherness. A practice of longing to indulge in desire. Consistent in nature, pleasant in thought Constantly looking for things that cannot be found, As it already exists. This love that manifests into something seen, or heard. This piece of fruit couldn't begin to fit in our mouth the way it is, It's only sensible that it's cut into pieces to digest more easily. Here lies greed, mistaken for need. Seeking only because it's there. Which is you, which am I. An basic urge displaced in misconception. Wanting only because it's there
0
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
kewayne-wadley
Lumpy Fruition
Although I've seen, I still do not know. I could recall but at that very same moment I would become vocally lost. Connecting to a thought in a world where things are said but randomly heard. Questioning the matter of things experienced one at a time whether than whole. Here lies simplicity, fundamental in it's purest form. Fruit slices that present a good mouth feel, the total embodiment of placing something where nothing once existed. Or was thought not to. It still invokes thought, Reason to where, why. In a different perspective, am I the fruit and you the mouth. Is there truly a difference in perspective, there isn't a false pretense to either way point. Generally speaking, discovering a new way to see something seen as natural. Invoking a sense of feel, This longing that draws us closer to togetherness. A practice of longing to indulge in desire. Consistent in nature, pleasant in thought Constantly looking for things that cannot be found, As it already exists. This love that manifests into something seen, or heard. This piece of fruit couldn't begin to fit in our mouth the way it is, It's only sensible that it's cut into pieces to digest more easily. Here lies greed, mistaken for need. Seeking only because it's there. Which is you, which am I. An basic urge displaced in misconception. Wanting only because it's there
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24