"worthiness" poems
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer
We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..
But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all
Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers
Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about
But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains
We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan
We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it
When we get
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life
So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
#*O Lord Jesus,
I want to live and walk and bow
in constant awe of You,
but I am so easily distracted and waylaid.
Fasten my eyes and heart on You,
for You alone are worthy.
I am not worthy to even peek at Your beauty,
but by Your own worthiness You've invited
me to dwell forever in Your presence,
yet how often I refuse the privilege.
Why would I ever do that?
What is wrong with me?
How hard-headed and hard-hearted I must be!
Save me from my messed-up self
and from this messed-up world,
for I am sorely helpless and lost without You.
Draw me by the force of Your love
into the light of Your glory and goodness,
awaken me to the healing touch of Your Word.
Capture and change me to the core,
for only You can, my Savior.
Rid my soul of its blinding
filth, muck, rot and **********
that I may freely sing, dance,
swim and soar in the wonder of You.
Cause me to crave You with an insatiable,
desperate appetite that expels my fleshly hunger.
Teach me to ever feast on You!
I need You and long for You, Jesus,
but send the burning, ripping ache
deeper, deeper, deeper until nothing
remains but desire for You.
Come and satisfy me, O Delight of delights,
in that glorious and awestruck place
of endless fascination and total possession
where my will is finally drowned in Yours.*#
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
In society,
Women are always told they are too much.
Too angry, too calm
Too quiet, too loud
Too big, too small
And we are all of these things
We are angry.
Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be.
And we are too calm.
Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry
Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's
You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm.
We are too quiet.
We are silenced.
Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet.
And we are loud.
We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be.
We are small.
Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger.
Because we are big.
We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
They have now thronged brimful, all the barazas
In their elderly gear, in a move to cut off my thing,
The Maasai chiefs and elders have their fangs now,
More glowing in the crudeness of despotic culture,
Their foul circumcisers’ tools sharply menacing,
All focused on my ****** ******** the only joy of my nature,
They want to maliciously cut it off in their selfish solace
Minus mine consent the right of a young girl,
Chided by evils done in the name of culture,
Kwani? a maasai and culture who creates the other?
Can’t we create culture that is so darlingly to rights of girl?
Other than receding back to crookedness of un-gendered past
Denying I your posterity the rights to self worthiness,
Kindly I beg that you don’t cut of my ********
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
Life.
Count your blessing.
Love.
Count your blessing.
These two things should be enough.
Yes, to count your blessing.
Family.
Count your blessing.
Friends, if true.
Count your blessing.
These two have more worthiness than you could imagine.
So, count your blessing.
Angels, comes in many disguises than we realize.
Blessings, comes in many ways.
Then those that could cross our minds.
Material wealth might means importance to some.
But sincereship means, a little more.
So, count your blessing.
God sent them.
All we must do is be willing to accept them.
And count our blessings.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
799
Despair’s advantage is achieved
By suffering—Despair—
To be assisted of Reverse
One must Reverse have bore—
The Worthiness of Suffering like
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by tasting—
As can no other Mouth
Of Savors—make us conscious—
As did ourselves partake—
Affliction feels impalpable
Until Ourselves are struck—
4.3k
convincing us we have "followers"
of what
our personality
our religion
our values
our way of life
there is nothing to "like" about inconsistent imperfection, am i right
trying to make each of us gods
before we have thoroughly proved anything to anyone about our worthiness
zero effort needed
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
For you to read and pick apart.
It will start with a catchy title that will then bring you to the opening sentence.
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
If this poem catches your eye,
you will read Michelle Rose
to figure out worthiness of a follow or a like.
If this is uninteresting you won’t even bother to finish reading.
It will end with a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
just as the rest of the poem could have been.
You will then wonder to yourself, why did I just read that,
and what the hell is that second to last stanza supposed to mean?
Or maybe you won’t do any of this because you’re a normal person.
Did I just call you abnormal?
Sometimes I like to read in the dark too…
a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
Just as the rest of the poem could have been.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Such greatness
With such grace
Bestowing
Worthiness on the Unworthy.
Gifting the
Ungifted.
Loving the
Unlovable.
Welcoming the
Unwelcome.
Turning the cheek
I have slapped too many times,
And responding
With a kiss.
I cry.
I wail for His forgiveness
And at the vision of myself
Strutting,
Cocky,
Totally inept
And inconceivably wrong.
And yet,
Grace.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
751
My Worthiness is all my Doubt—
His Merit—all my fear—
Contrasting which, my quality
Do lowlier—appear—
Lest I should insufficient prove
For His beloved Need—
The Chiefest Apprehension
Upon my thronging Mind—
’Tis true—that Deity to stoop
Inherently incline—
For nothing higher than Itself
Itself can rest upon—
So I—the undivine abode
Of His Elect Content—
Conform my Soul—as ’twere a Church,
Unto Her Sacrament—
2.3k
I feel for you for we all have our own deep-seeded insecurities.
But you lost me when you chose to act on that insecurity in a profoundly false and disgusting way.
Instead of using it to fuel the drive to self-betterment,
You made it your personal license to shame others.
Pushing, imposing your authority that’s shot to hell
You chose the road that leads to losing everyone’s respect.
Pulling, shoving just to get ahead in the game
You’re a crab in a bucket and you’ve got no shame.
The others you’ve pulled to debasement to show your worthiness
Are the same people who can attest to your worthlessness.
These acts of self-preservation, of making oneself superior to others
Displays not how high you’ve flown,
But how far beneath the same people you trample on you’ve fallen.
So, fall if you will
But don’t take everyone else down with you.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
My darling.... are you ever confronted with the universal truth that you won’t ever sink to the bottom of the ocean?
Have you ever been confronted with the fact that you won’t ever touch the validation you seek?
And as you reach the tiled pool floor and you brace yourself
Your skin says no
Like an oily layer you slip and slide back up
Now as you speak to me your voice quivers as if, you never had even touched the thick water before
My darling there is a science to art
And as my density shakes like your lips whenever you become small and fall to the floor, I wonder why I keep fighting for something you just won’t give up.
maybe you truly are a scientist
And as lips touch,
the waves of the ocean cover us and we sink slowly but surely
finally
Maybe if I jump head first I’ll be worthy enough,
If I make a big enough mess,
a disaster,
maybe if I scratch the surface, or even throw a fit,
I can really be noticed
Maybe if I dance in the hearts of mankind, dance in your shaking veins as I try my hardest to trust you, to give in
maybe then I’ll hit the bottom of the ocean
But I sink because of pressure
I sink because you tell me to
I sink because I want to silence my thoughts
I sink because I want to stay in this moment
Where the vibrations of your mockery and foolishness can never dream of reaching me
I sink because I don’t want to swim
I sink because I want to reach the bottom of this ocean.
Maybe then I’ll touch the feeling of being wanted,
The eerie silence hugging me tighter and tighter, holding me like a new mother holds her child, wanting to shield them from the world.
But in the pool water I only float quickly back to earth
To life
I hate leaving the quiet waters
As my body enters the real abyss I breathe the cold air into my lungs and I scream-
I scream to be heard
I scream to silence these useless memories
I scream to be known
I scream for you to see
I scream for all that was lost
I scream so that you can wake up
I scream for worthiness- I scream to trust.
I scream so that maybe these bubbles won’t surface
I scream for the waves to carry my sighs
I sigh for the ocean to carry my screams.
And I scream to find my voice.
And that I too may
May hit the bottom of the floor
It may be a universal truth that I will never reach the perfection I seek
It may be my death wish, and I am doomed to fail
But I will still wish that maybe,
Maybe I too
Will be told
That science is an art
And I too can be an artist.
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 9:06 PM UTC
#sweet lord, girl..
I like the way your brain moves its thoughts into its own deeper
realms with each thing said. You have that rare gift of being able to
be your own internal/external Muse.. even while midstream within
the process of writing it all out.
Alone.. maybe more than you may think you want to be, you are
never lonely. A very rare thing indeed in the modern world, kid.
Very unique, and very very special.
(It is very much the truth..)
I would always hope for the gifted ones such as yourself, that you
would always and ever-increasingly be able to see your own
worthiness in yourself in being chosen to be a bearer of such a
wonderful gift. Kierkegaard was a chosen recipient such as you
(your rare mind's unfolding thought processes are in ways, much
like his), and through his own beautiful self-love, became.. through
his stewardship of the gift, the father of Existentialism. He felt the
Living Word within him, causing his wonderous mind to feel also,
through thought.. which in turn, churned deeply his
forever-goldmining heart, which in turn, mused his mind into deeper processings of the deeply-felt word's expressions--
ever-cycling.. ever churning within him, until every cell within his
electrified body became fully lit..
And out onto paper it all went.. as what was so beautifully
self-Mused within him was brought out from an internally-lit
darkness and into the full light of day. The deeply-searching, in you
is in relationship with the gifted Magical in you,
(which is also so very much you [the gifts are irrevocable]),
bringing out words and concepts/thought processes pretty much
previously unknown here in this world. Make your own self-Love..
self forgiveness.. self-acceptance, and self understanding.. all your Art..
And it will be your art that most blesses this world down here.
You've already got the goods, kid.. watch them become greatly
clarified in you as your own self-Love becomes your own finest art.
The gift, you already have-- clear as clear can be. Shame and
condemnation are powerful enough down here to make even the
most purest of pure, become obscure.
Mm.
Yeah, kid..
*"In the end..
The Love you take (in)
Is equal to
The Love, you make"*
Make your own self love, your goal-- surround yourself with
loving truthtellers who will love you for who you truly are.. rather
than what they want you to be (or think you should be) for them.
Clearly you are worth every single bit of it all.
~Paul
*(preston
M Vogel
F Unting Somethingoranother)*
#
Jan 28, 2022
Jan 28, 2022 at 9:38 PM UTC
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Unmovable Unchangeable
A worthiness a standard is deposited in your inner being all other elements in life will ebb and flow but
Your essence will be darkened by sorrow but from this tragedy and sorrow riches will tower a streaming
Blessedness will flow it will instantly engage another who has just suffered loss seen unseen words and
Actions will with the deftest touch a kindness soaked in mellowness will be communicated in silence to
The heart who has just suffered the bitter harvest of sorrow the gripping real a special irreplaceable
Someone has departed to walk on a different plane for them purest light your circumstance darkest
sorrow cold as Everest you are left ripped not only of all outward cover but inward has there ever been
Such savage destruction the healthy norm now ravaged the spiritual heart ripped apart it was complete
It was formed by love alone no other sculptor is more honered to work with such substance he makes
Their face those eyes the transfiguring part of human connection truly souls merge together here in this
Special stream vision multifaceted feelings weighted the heavier the deeper the depths where
Emotional ties are created from pleasures these springs of the heart you come in emptiness you leave
With these volumes ballooned ever stirring thoughts the very impulses that make them the person you
Know this feed of expressions do they not cause an unending joy that spills at different times sometimes
Just a slow pleasant entailing then at other times a roar of engulfing and at times it happens when your
Tide is low they instinctively trigger this from their register of mercy a unity that is boundless truly you
Have small oceans within I see it in the workaday world but like the song behind closed doors magic
Fire you reach heavenly heights explorers rewarded in human feeling that can’t be bought and are never
Sold truly kings and queen of a great domain in the hidden soul you have truly roped the wind and
Touched stars as you hovered under them holding hands who can doubt God when you exhibit his very
Essence through the love you found and it causes unfathomable assurances holding hands is the same
As a great dam holding water but yours is holding never ending love
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
It started when people stopped bathing
Or showering.
Every day before they went to work or after their 5 mile run. People just stopped stepping into their tubs
Or showers
To turn the faucet handles that activated
Cold and hot water to fall from the plumbing.
They gradually
Lost interest in hygiene. Personal cleanliness was ghosted.
Everything else mattered to them, until it didn't. Getting their kids to school on time mattered, finishing the work project by deadline mattered, visiting relatives in Montana mattered, driving to the store for groceries mattered, until it didn't. Simply ceasing soap and water on flesh.
They just stopped bathing. It's not that they were afraid of water. If near the ocean they would still run and swim in the waves,
Or jump into the pool at the Hilton. No they weren't afraid of water.
It was something else
So slow
And insidious that it was hardly noticed at first.
The domesticated animals picked up on the phenomena first.
They became anxious. They scurried, tried vocalizing. They sensed a lack of intention from their care givers. They sensed a lack of worthiness inside of their humans. The animals began to wonder about their own well being.
What was their future?
Once you start with a variation from normal, from routine, from tradition, the pendulum swings.
The people didn't realize what was happening. Then it slowly dawned on them over time.
They didn't feel needed.
But kept it a secret. The secret necrosed from the inside
Out. They forgot that connecting to one another
Was vital to survival. Their silence could be deadly.
Nov 28, 2023
Nov 28, 2023 at 11:40 AM UTC
Swaddle me in paperwork
To cover up the cracks
Evaluate my worthiness
To calculate my tax
Privatise the atmosphere
And charge me by the breath
Bind me into servitude
Employ me half to death
See I'm put to pasture
When I'm unfit for the herd
Then reduce me to a metaphor
And sell me by the word
**
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
Angst
That’s all that I’ve become
Someone who worries about the future of life
Plagued by fear and guided by misanthropes
That only care about the name and the value.
Without much choice I am led to believe
That my only purpose is to work and to stand
Atop a legacy that collapses on itself
Falling to the ground like a gauntlet of dripping black.
I’ve become branded by an iron rod
Entrenched deep inside the reaches of my mind
That stings like a gunshot but mends like a stitch
I’m guided by what everyone else wants.
Sometimes I just sit in my room and ponder tomorrow
What my life could be if I broke free of this madness
As if I’ve been reduced to some kind of foreign philosophy
That is commanded by shouting and not by words.
Angst
Is what I’ll continue to be
If money and power can’t restrain me
Falling off the deep end of a far off land
Hanging from a rope that cracks as I fall
I gamble with my life every second, every minute
What will I become?
The lacerations are too deep to be mended
They bleed profusely like tiny waterfalls dyed in scarlet
As each droplet falls is more pain for me
Yet I can’t hold it back because it is what I’ve done.
My body gives in to the haughty blackness
That drinks my joys like a cannibal does blood
My lifeless body is a puppet for everyone
Yet they are unhappy with the result.
Angst
What will I ever be?
Rich, maybe, but is worthiness defined
By the amount of trees one carries around in a wallet?
Apparently so; worthy people plague the streets.
It is hard to continue living
When all around me, people have said
That vocation is my purpose
I used to think it was not so, yet now
It’s all that I have come to know.
Work, work, work is all on our minds
We must make money to free our intentions
Yet important things are stomped on
Like gathering fires on fallen clothes
They are discouraged because they are dangerous.
Angst
Will I die with this thought?
My sole question, one that people fear is death.
But is it to fear? What’s the use in fearing something
That brings us all back to our beginnings?
The sun
So bright in the sky
So vivid in sight
Keeps me wishing, hoping, that one day
This madness will all just
END.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
shifting focus
bended light
altered reality
as the present becomes redefined
creating substantial ripples
in an otherwise still pond –
reflections warp
running water distorts
landscapes shift with the wind
all those truths, so concrete
crumble in the glow of different information –
worthiness and self-importance
replace doubt and loathing
as the realization of acceptance
flood the low laying regions
torment of the torrential
pouring over the stained past
washing clean skin marred
by a lifetime of reclusively existing –
together and forward thinking
we sit, future planning
dividing the years ahead
into blocks of success
setting and achieving both
short and long term goals
for the creation of the future we choose
just like in all the magazines
and self-help seminars –
gasping for air in an undercurrent of responsibility
holding tight the notions of poor
or low-class monetarily
the struggle to break free is real
when one attempts to circumvent their station
and be more
do more
life better
in an age of classism and
social warfare –
we sit atop the madness
hand in hand
looking over the extremes
presented and normalcy
catching each other’s eye
a smile crosses lips in tune
knowingly, we plunge into home ownership
manning the torpedoes,
we move full steam ahead—
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Worthiness of life
the gentle touch of a infants reach
that yearn to be held, their eyes,
oh their eyes search for a sign
unspoken reassurance that
life will be a splendid.
Oh rivers flowing with glimmering moments
swimming quickly but worth waiting for,
hours, days, decades...just to catch
these glimpses of heaven.
The size of each catch doesn't matter
for the smallest moment can be true
The feel of warm water running down
whole body gasp after a blizzard has passed.
The touch of arms squeezing the very air
that you breathe, and filling your lungs with
an inexhaustible love.
Any such moment would be worthy
to sit at the dock, for a lifetime
waiting, sitting, patiently anticipating
for a meaning to swim by.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
Don't get me wrong
I love the Bachelor
and the Bachelorette
The getaways
The fun dates
the good looking people
But is it that's what's wrong with dating today?
Instead of worthiness
We're in it for the pic
what looks best on instagram
while inside we yearn for contentedness
But restlessness is what we're given
got to keep up with the joneses
we're afraid to let ourselves feel
for people based on status
Is it a twilight zone scene
can't be because it's around
from the beginning
ancient royals doing the same
but now we're in a modern aristocracy
So I'll turn off the Bachelorette tonight
I don't need fancy
I need supportive
and sweet
In it for the long haul
and loves me wholly
Miss me with the fake love
and give me the real
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC