"wite" poems - Hello Poetry

I think it's stupid that you're gone, and the stars are still around. Every night I can look to the stupid sky and see the shimmering light from too many stupid years ago but I can't see you. I think it's stupid that I told someone how angry this made me, and they were stupid enough to say, "maybe they're up there too." I've never made anyone feel that stupid with a look before. I think it's stupid that you're gone but the stupid voicemail you left me saying, "I love you" is still around and you're nowhere to be found. I think it's stupid that there are still phone booths, crayons and wite-out on this stupid paradoxical planet, but not something people still want around. I think it's stupid that... I just think it's so stupid that I let you tell me that you'd always be here for me, because I knew I was stupid enough to believe you if I ever became stupid enough to let you say it to me. I think it's stupid that I let you drive to me that night knowing how dangerous the stupid black ice was going to be to your stupid blue car. I think it's stupid that you loved me enough, to be stupid enough to drive here in the first place. But really, ultimately, I think it's just so **** stupid that I was stupid enough to watch them bury you under six-feet of stupid Earth, and not say goodbye. I'm sorry I'm stupid.

0

Apr 10, 2016

Apr 10, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC

marquis-hardy

If You Were Here You Would Too

I think it's stupid that you're gone, and the stars are still around. Every night I can look to the stupid sky and see the shimmering light from too many stupid years ago but I can't see you. I think it's stupid that I told someone how angry this made me, and they were stupid enough to say, "maybe they're up there too." I've never made anyone feel that stupid with a look before. I think it's stupid that you're gone but the stupid voicemail you left me saying, "I love you" is still around and you're nowhere to be found. I think it's stupid that there are still phone booths, crayons and wite-out on this stupid paradoxical planet, but not something people still want around. I think it's stupid that... I just think it's so stupid that I let you tell me that you'd always be here for me, because I knew I was stupid enough to believe you if I ever became stupid enough to let you say it to me. I think it's stupid that I let you drive to me that night knowing how dangerous the stupid black ice was going to be to your stupid blue car. I think it's stupid that you loved me enough, to be stupid enough to drive here in the first place. But really, ultimately, I think it's just so **** stupid that I was stupid enough to watch them bury you under six-feet of stupid Earth, and not say goodbye. I'm sorry I'm stupid.

10

i've spent hours cramped over thesaurus pages and days ignoring warnings to write about the people who make me feel the things i am supposed to feel i've spent sentences and words and enough knowledge to fill volumes like a life-time credit debt, pouring sentiments and metaphors over people who won't even bother to read how i venerate their actions, their touch, their reactions how i analyze each detail like ive got a four year degree and student loans to last me until im ninety in How to Make Yourself Sick With Overthinking i've spent so much time deflecting like a broken pinball machine in the back of an old restaurant, telling anyone who listens that people make me feel human, give me emotions, make me feel real i've never spent enough time away from instant gratification, reaction, attention, to know who i am without the people that fill gaps in my lungs and ribs, who stitch me up and send me into a field of disconcerted intentions and bad messes i can't wite much about who i am, how i react, my actions, my touch, my reactions. my soul is based off of the fragments of other souls that have touched me. and still, i want the words and syllables and poetry. i want the actions and touches and reactions i want to mean something to the people that mean so much to me i want someone to raise me to this compulsory apotheosis it's impossible i am the only one with emotions bursting inside of them like nightlights and meteor showers i suppose i haven't spent enough time thinking how there is a vain narcissism that encompasses a person who, without people, would not be a person at all.

0

Jan 27, 2016

Jan 27, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC

scully

compulsory; involuntary

i've spent hours cramped over thesaurus pages and days ignoring warnings to write about the people who make me feel the things i am supposed to feel i've spent sentences and words and enough knowledge to fill volumes like a life-time credit debt, pouring sentiments and metaphors over people who won't even bother to read how i venerate their actions, their touch, their reactions how i analyze each detail like ive got a four year degree and student loans to last me until im ninety in How to Make Yourself Sick With Overthinking i've spent so much time deflecting like a broken pinball machine in the back of an old restaurant, telling anyone who listens that people make me feel human, give me emotions, make me feel real i've never spent enough time away from instant gratification, reaction, attention, to know who i am without the people that fill gaps in my lungs and ribs, who stitch me up and send me into a field of disconcerted intentions and bad messes i can't wite much about who i am, how i react, my actions, my touch, my reactions. my soul is based off of the fragments of other souls that have touched me. and still, i want the words and syllables and poetry. i want the actions and touches and reactions i want to mean something to the people that mean so much to me i want someone to raise me to this compulsory apotheosis it's impossible i am the only one with emotions bursting inside of them like nightlights and meteor showers i suppose i haven't spent enough time thinking how there is a vain narcissism that encompasses a person who, without people, would not be a person at all.

14

I tend to lose days when my eyes stick, ****** Haze, I couldn't tell you the last meal I ate, or how many hours I've been awake, just that the days and nights have been a passing phase, no more than light change, I've always been a night owl anyway. See my life started spiralling when she died and I cried hard enough, but not for as long as I need and now my heart is barely beating unless my lips are pointed at fire, and sometimes the flames are men 13 years older, sometimes the flames are tips of cigarettes and my own arm because I'm manic and driving and I'll barely feel it. I feel nothing and everything all at once. Usually, this is when I tell you I met some boy who made my heart stop beating so quickly, when I would tell you how his kisses soothed my burns, but this, is not that story I met a man who kissed softly, who touched with purpose but delicacy. Who tasted my soul before my body, and made his chest a place I long for... but cannot reach. My hands hurt from pounding on the walls inside myself, I want to let him in, but my body breaks into shake, my body shudders at the idea of being left again, my voice barely makes out "I love you" before my mind starts racing with what it will look like when he leaves. I drafted a poem the other night and all I could get down was that the poem I write when he loves me, will never be as good as the one I wite when he leaves, and I still believe that's true, no one has ever shown me a love beautiful enough to write well, or maybe I've just not had enough practice. It's days like this that I wonder if I knew what time it was, would I still be thinking of you, if I knew what day of the week it was, would I still be stuck in your bed, with your smoke, and your smell. I can't remember the last time I felt so intoxicated without a line, I speed faster from your touch than the red bull and adderall, but love, I crash harder than 3 day binge when you leave They say addiction will make you forget how to love, but you are a much more dangerous vice.

0

Oct 10, 2017

Oct 10, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC

jacquelyn-audrey-whiston

Days

I tend to lose days when my eyes stick, ****** Haze, I couldn't tell you the last meal I ate, or how many hours I've been awake, just that the days and nights have been a passing phase, no more than light change, I've always been a night owl anyway. See my life started spiralling when she died and I cried hard enough, but not for as long as I need and now my heart is barely beating unless my lips are pointed at fire, and sometimes the flames are men 13 years older, sometimes the flames are tips of cigarettes and my own arm because I'm manic and driving and I'll barely feel it. I feel nothing and everything all at once. Usually, this is when I tell you I met some boy who made my heart stop beating so quickly, when I would tell you how his kisses soothed my burns, but this, is not that story I met a man who kissed softly, who touched with purpose but delicacy. Who tasted my soul before my body, and made his chest a place I long for... but cannot reach. My hands hurt from pounding on the walls inside myself, I want to let him in, but my body breaks into shake, my body shudders at the idea of being left again, my voice barely makes out "I love you" before my mind starts racing with what it will look like when he leaves. I drafted a poem the other night and all I could get down was that the poem I write when he loves me, will never be as good as the one I wite when he leaves, and I still believe that's true, no one has ever shown me a love beautiful enough to write well, or maybe I've just not had enough practice. It's days like this that I wonder if I knew what time it was, would I still be thinking of you, if I knew what day of the week it was, would I still be stuck in your bed, with your smoke, and your smell. I can't remember the last time I felt so intoxicated without a line, I speed faster from your touch than the red bull and adderall, but love, I crash harder than 3 day binge when you leave They say addiction will make you forget how to love, but you are a much more dangerous vice.

9

They passed, I wanted to see Alaska's evenings, and their hunting and a household of seven. *No one knows.* The public never noticed how much disrespect cut corners. I wasn't looking to replace it. If they only knew! I promised I would do that. "What team are you playing on?" the applicants' response was proof positive that the devastation and loss, and retyped, Miscarriage. with a thin layer of Wite-Out meant to follow the law. "You have a couple of choices about getting rid of it, naturally." she said. We were bound by our fierce determination to bring new players to the table working together, and ensuring a stable place of negotiating behind closed doors. Along with the five others, I asked, "Want a cookie?"

0

Jan 26, 2016

Jan 26, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC

townsendfm

Day 327, Pt. Final

They passed, I wanted to see Alaska's evenings, and their hunting and a household of seven. *No one knows.* The public never noticed how much disrespect cut corners. I wasn't looking to replace it. If they only knew! I promised I would do that. "What team are you playing on?" the applicants' response was proof positive that the devastation and loss, and retyped, Miscarriage. with a thin layer of Wite-Out meant to follow the law. "You have a couple of choices about getting rid of it, naturally." she said. We were bound by our fierce determination to bring new players to the table working together, and ensuring a stable place of negotiating behind closed doors. Along with the five others, I asked, "Want a cookie?"

24

I hear the expression a glass full or half empty. I feel my heart only pumps the red wine we drink to fill in the darkness of our soul I'm insane but I might just be drunk from all the dark rainy days that will stained all the wite clothing you see your self as a reflection of death showing your life has no hope. What kinda blood pumps your heart white wine or red. What kinda stains run your life. Do you pick your life delicious or do your wine that flows threw vanes chose all you wants and needs. Are we both crazy are we deranged are we all insane or are we just riding the free ride of drinking our hopes away or are we stronger that we might feel or be.

0

Aug 18, 2016

Aug 18, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC

vladimir-s-krebs

Thunder storm of red wine

I hear the expression a glass full or half empty. I feel my heart only pumps the red wine we drink to fill in the darkness of our soul I'm insane but I might just be drunk from all the dark rainy days that will stained all the wite clothing you see your self as a reflection of death showing your life has no hope. What kinda blood pumps your heart white wine or red. What kinda stains run your life. Do you pick your life delicious or do your wine that flows threw vanes chose all you wants and needs. Are we both crazy are we deranged are we all insane or are we just riding the free ride of drinking our hopes away or are we stronger that we might feel or be.

7

This is probably the last letter umma wite to you But as I'm drafting this letter, I'm left with a lof of thoughts And somehow, I feel like everyone is judging me Everyone thinks I'm pretending I don't know why, because No one could understand the pain I feel The tears I've held back No one could understand the heartache The confusion The questions with no answers The dissapointment in myself In everyone else No one understands the hate I feel The rage burning inside my heart I blame everyone I blame the world I blame myself Busy thinking about my mom's prayer She asked God why didn't He take us instead Her biological children Because maybe people wouldn't judge her so much Maybe she would've felt like she was a better mother Because to her it seemed like only the children she adopted were being taken away Maybe I don't know You know how much that broke my heart? You know how much it hurt to hear that? How much tears I had to hold back It hurt worse because I understood Your death got my extended family members branding my mother a bad mom A witch, some a murderer It on the upside showed me how much you were loved How many people came to see you off It showed me how much an angel you were to other people, To your school mates, to your friends It also showed me blood ain't **** Showed me all the wolves in the family who were in sheep clothing It devastated me more, revealing the person I trusted and loved the most, wasn't who I thought it was But most of all it hurt my mom dearly And hurt me dearly I didn't expect the hurt would be gone in a week, but I didn't expect it would hurt even more each day I know these are just words on a piece of paper, or a smartphone notepad You probably won't see a thing But I think this is my healing process This is me trying to let you go I might not know the right way to, But believe me I'm trying This somehow still feels like a dream And I'm hoping I will wake up soon But anyway I'm letting you go now, but not letting you leave For a part of me, you'll forever remain Yours truly Big Bro.

0

Mar 24, 2021

Mar 24, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC

lefa-mzondi

Dear little sis

This is probably the last letter umma wite to you But as I'm drafting this letter, I'm left with a lof of thoughts And somehow, I feel like everyone is judging me Everyone thinks I'm pretending I don't know why, because No one could understand the pain I feel The tears I've held back No one could understand the heartache The confusion The questions with no answers The dissapointment in myself In everyone else No one understands the hate I feel The rage burning inside my heart I blame everyone I blame the world I blame myself Busy thinking about my mom's prayer She asked God why didn't He take us instead Her biological children Because maybe people wouldn't judge her so much Maybe she would've felt like she was a better mother Because to her it seemed like only the children she adopted were being taken away Maybe I don't know You know how much that broke my heart? You know how much it hurt to hear that? How much tears I had to hold back It hurt worse because I understood Your death got my extended family members branding my mother a bad mom A witch, some a murderer It on the upside showed me how much you were loved How many people came to see you off It showed me how much an angel you were to other people, To your school mates, to your friends It also showed me blood ain't **** Showed me all the wolves in the family who were in sheep clothing It devastated me more, revealing the person I trusted and loved the most, wasn't who I thought it was But most of all it hurt my mom dearly And hurt me dearly I didn't expect the hurt would be gone in a week, but I didn't expect it would hurt even more each day I know these are just words on a piece of paper, or a smartphone notepad You probably won't see a thing But I think this is my healing process This is me trying to let you go I might not know the right way to, But believe me I'm trying This somehow still feels like a dream And I'm hoping I will wake up soon But anyway I'm letting you go now, but not letting you leave For a part of me, you'll forever remain Yours truly Big Bro.

53

I've found that wite out is very helpful But I've also found that wite out only erases certain mistakes

0

Dec 23, 2019

Dec 23, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC

0me0me0me0

Wite Out

I've found that wite out is very helpful But I've also found that wite out only erases certain mistakes

5