"wristband" poems
Once again I wore my spiked choker and wristband today
I haven't worn them in a while
Because everyone thinks I'm depressed when I wear them
But I realized I don't care what people think of me
I'm not hollow like I was the last time I wore this
So that is all that really matters
This is my little symbol of rebellion
Against hatred
To say to those who prejudge me and hate me:
F!ck you
I'll do whatever the hell I feel like
Your approval is not needed
I'm happy dressed this way
That's all that matters
I encourage everyone to have a little bit
Of that "F!ck You Attitude" today
Just little symbols of rebellion
Draw a black X on your wrist today
In black ink
If you support
Being yourself regardless what people think
And through this little ink symbol
Though apart in miles
We will be united in spirit
Be YOU :)
X
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Her shallow waters, I dove in
head first trynna be someone
I shouldn't sin
suicide
if she wanted I would jump again; terrorist all she needed was a turban with a Taliban as a wristband
chants written on her body they were lyrics then
tattooed, and I was thinking more like angel wings instead she brought a dress from the devil on the ****** sands
tainted, glasses even tinted, everything Instragram everything vintage, everything is everything to her im just a witness; a blast from the past, a mistress of a mistress Killed it.
matter fact **** me this not what I wanted and I not who I should be; you say the sky's the limit but my limit is a frisbee my sky is a ceiling of a feeling of what could be
I don't think I want you any more!
MTA
stand clear closing doors
gasoline
burning bridges to the floor abandon ship ***** you don't wanna fall alone
but it seems im stuck in Davie Jones and swimming in her waters is the only way to roam,
grown
daughter of the music angel so; burn
Sean is the only way to go; swerve
I had get up outta there but no one elses water taste like Everclear and no one elses water I could jump in bare
matter fact there was never water there i could jump in raw, the rain coat was never there
Hold up, but what was I thinking
I knew her whole song she never had to sing it
I knew that it was wrong, I couldn't stop reneging
***** after ***** after *****
cut after cut with a blade
clubs I would cut cause of shame
I knew her whole hand so who is up for blame,
Or is this just a phase but maybe I was wrong, to think theres something better and maybe Im alone in thinking that there was palm trees and maybe nicer weather after I was giving up but I cant forget her.
so I
jumped in again, head first
she was wet all clear, slick roads
traveling full speed on her **** curves words slurred vision about to go
I'm bout to give it all up to this girl
my mans like I don't really think you know
cause once you go in raw you already sold your soul
and once you eat her fruit she already took your clothes.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
What could I do to take your pain away?
You counsel others, but it’s yourself you’re talking to.
I see you nervously fiddle with your wristband--
I’m pretty sure I know what you once tried to do.
I wish I could share my healing skills--
there’s no one whom I want to help more.
But we’re far apart. It’s me who is helped by you.
Someone else must unlock your secret door.
Freud once said: It is love that cures the patient.
But can we truly love at will?
Take the love that’s freely given,
and banish what has made you ill.
Jun 22, 2024
Jun 22, 2024 at 1:33 AM UTC
I remember my body trembling as I took my first step inside Payton High,
I remember my hitched breath and twitching eye,
I remember sitting behind a blue eyed boy during homeroom,
I remember thinking his eyes would be able to light up the gloom.
I remember it took me exactly one day,
To walk to him during lunch with my tray,
I remember offering him my cheese dip,
And that was the start of our friendship.
I remember wondering why he was always alone,
When he was the most beautiful being I’ve ever known,
He was spontaneous; he loved feathers; he loved star gazing,
You could say I fell in love with him because he was amazing.
Everyone ignored him as he walked on by,
I never understood the reason why.
So cold, so aloof, so distant from the crowd,
I remember thinking it was because he was so proud.
I tried many ways to draw him close,
A movie, a drink, a lunch, all that I could propose,
I am sorry, I am so sorry, was all he said,
The light in his eyes went dead.
I was never his and he was never mine,
With this fact, I had to pretend I was fine,
Little did he know he was killing me,
Because my heart was locked and he had the key.
I remember it was a rainy fifth of July,
When I was talking to a teary eyed guy,
Who had a newspaper on his right hand,
And on the left was a pink wristband.
R.I.P it wrote in capital letters,
With a picture of two white feathers,
I took the newspaper and there on the obituary,
I saw ‘To the 1st anniversary of Alfie Ary’.
The picture of my blue eyed boy was staring back at me,
Black and white his smile filled with glee,
My world started spinning round and round,
My thoughts in disarray as I fell to the ground.
Where was he, I looked all around,
But he was nowhere to be found.
The corridors were filled with haunting memories,
Of questions unasked and cryptic apologies.
I was in shock, was his existence a lie?
Just then a cold breeze blew by,
I remember his shaky breath whispering one last time,
“I love you baby, but you can't be mine”.
W.H.Y~
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I’m sorry. It’s such a frightening
thing. While I’m covered in airborne dust
and dirt, somewhere out of the desert
you dream of losing a girl you never had.
Under a straw sunhat, I argue with a chubby bartender
who insists my “over twenty-one” wristband
is not enough to justify selling an overpriced beer
to my baby face. I run through crowds, back
to my campsite, cursing her under my breath
for delaying my drunken dance. But somewhere else—
out of the heat and the food trucks and the live music
and the showers in the backs of trucks—you know.
And you prepare yourself for the path I am down,
where I miss Frank Turner for the sake of stumbling,
and later my legs will tremble under a tent
that may or may not be my own.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
The boy with
tired eyes.
"Legalize it" inscribed on his wristband.
A rash on the inside
of his elbow.
He looks at the girl
with scars
instead of track marks
and doesn't
look tired
anymore.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
quantum physicians may not be able to write out an equation
showing proof of our bond,
but the ties that bind reach across the galaxies and beyond
and biology professors at the ivy league schools may not
be able to explain why my heart thrums faster when I think
about you, but my pulse is yours and I guarantee I can feel
you in every measurable thing that I do
it's funny... multiple dimensions couldn't even keep us apart,
and my body has been frayed and fuzzy since I left you--
from the start
of this journey toward self-realization and humanization
but the one thing that no one can deny is that time exists
a watch is not a thing to keep time;
a watch is proof of the seconds before and now and after
and it certainly isn't ours to keep
but we could borrow some and place our fate in the
hands of that fragile wristband and call it an
insurmountable thing
I would venture to say
that we could call it love,
we can call it you and me
and science cannot create nor destroy us
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
The ride from Starbucks was too quiet.
We sit crossed on adjacent couches.
All six feet of him cornering into my couch.
He sweating in his black ninja shirt and jeans
because my house is always 10 degrees too hot for him.
His half-smile retreats behind your tongue.
I am too bright for him in my pink T-shirt.
The couch I lie on barely runs the length of my legs.
My hands fiddle with my blue wristband,
snap it across the room. I lock my fingers together.
The clock coughs loudly with each tick.
He was suppose to be home four hours ago.
The pillows and I lean in. This conversation
starts as a reflection. He wants to know
why people are friends with him. Why I keep
claiming him as my best friend. I admit
it is because I want him to be mine.
He saved me from the black undertow.
Threw me a fishing hook. Reeled me into his boat.
His phone rings. His mom and dad are furious
that he has ignored dinner. Slowly, he drags
himself across my carpet. He wraps his palm
around the door handle. His shoulders roll back-
this has never happened before- he say stiffly,
*I've been dating another man for two months now,
I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose your
friendship. You are the best friend I have ever had.*
He slumps through my door,
face too blue and low to say good-bye.
He didn't expect me to cry.
I sit here jarred as we once were.
Trace the tears on the floor.
I can't find it in me to pelt him against my wall
like ****** There is only He is still my best friend.
The whole house shakes with me.
My lungs are jellied.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Once more I shut and lock my door
And again I reach for my purse
As before, I pull out my tissues and blade
Once again I pull up my sleeve
And remove the wristband you gave me
I look at myself in the mirror again ashamed
As I give into the tears and pain
And the sadness and anger swell
I begin to lose sense of my surroundings again
I press the blade to my flesh as I have done so many times before
And out of memory I repeat the action again, again
I wipe the blood away as I did the previous nights
The tears mix with blood again, and I wipe my eyes
Even though this has happened several times
I still am shocked once I come back down from flying high
With the repeated marks left
I quickly hide my blade again
And throw away all of the ****** tissues
I gently place the wristband back in place
And again smooth my sleeve over it
I remain hidden in my room again tonight
Awaiting more scabs to form
Again I cut
Again I fear myself
Again I'm afraid of the world
Again I cry
Again I scream
Again I hide
Again I am hurt
Again I try to block it all out.
Again I keep secrets
Again I cut
Again
Again
Again
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
To the humans of 2017,
The date is January 5th, 3017.
The empty roads fill with hover cars and the streets buzz with noise.
It's a cold day. But everyone is warm. With their coat heaters, of course.
Some people are even wearing t-shirts and shorts.
The sky, blue and crystal,
is overloaded with Flyers and Sky-Cars. People are roaming on the sky streets.
They don't rush because they're late to work, they don't carry heavy suitcases- all they need is that one little wristband on their right forearm.
Humans are perfect now.
None is stronger than other, none is more handsome then other, none is more smarter than other. They share the same amount of money. Everybody is equal.
This is the Happy City. Not a single fight has happened. Everyone is kind. They do not lie, thief, fight, or **** Not even one commotion happens.
Everything is perfect. Equal. Even.
But that's not what I think.
Humans shouldn't be perfect. We shouldn't have been.
Humans are a creature that thinks, fights, sacrifice, lie, trust, betray, and make choices. That's what humans are like. That's what they're suppose to be.
That disgusting red wristband makes the decision for us. Or at least, them. It tells them what to wear, eat, do, and even decides your mate. We are not humans anymore. We are not perfect.
These people here are so simple. There is no lesson learned, no school or government. Everybody just has a joyful life.
But no! I disagree! We humans should learn lessons, decide good and evil- we must make mistakes! We also must be evil sometimes! That is what makes us human. Those are our characteristics that prove us human.
Dear fellows, it is hell here.
We are not humans anymore. We have become slaves of perfection.
Save me.
And these humans that are not humans anymore.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
Soon
I will be replacing the carpet in my room
Because I am tired of breaking
Each time I see
That ******* stain that you left
Soon
I'll be putting away that ping pong table
For the rest of my life
Because I can't stand to walk
Into my basement
And picture us under there
Talking
For hours
Soon
I'll throw away my wristband
From the water park we went to
In 2012
Because I cannot handle the tears
That come from sharing a bed with you
Soon
Every memory you left will be gone
And soon
I'll forget you
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
My life is a string of periods drawn out in a line ____
A garland of punctuated pearls only worthy divers can find. . . .
Haters treated it like a dump of dashes --
Hurled their "quotations"
Shoved me into (parentheses)
And struck at me with oblique slashes /
Then “lovingly” draped it all on my frail torso
Like Miss Universe sashes
But as a bold series of commas,
I learned to hum between rhythm and rhyme
With a necklace of exclamation points around the throat of my heart and mind! ♥
A dangling pair of ellipsis earrings... Playful as a wind chime
A wristband of semicolons;
Clutching my watch’s face
As my face watches time
Haters tried so hard to dictate my life’s story
But those words are Allah’s composition throughout eternity
I embrace His decree
And I name the punctuations mine!
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 3:31 AM UTC
On nights like this,
My bed is uncomfortable
The softly playing radio is just too loud
My blanket makes me too warm,
But I don't like sleeping without
My t-shirt feels too tight,
Though it's two sizes too big
And my skin is overly sensitive,
Making me hyperaware of every wristband on my wrist
On nights like this,
My pillow is just too lumpy
And every light is too **** bright
I wish I had someone to talk to,
But I hold my pillow as I cry
I stay up well into the next morning
And, in my head, I make lists
Like Reasons I'm so Lonely and How The Hell Did I Get Like This?
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
little ole boy
with a knife in his had
stares at the blade
he wonders
when will this all end
litttle ole boy
stared at his only friend
and he opened his wrist
and gave him a red wrist band
little ole boy
clothes are stained with red
lips are blue
never will be used
little ole boy
gave it all you could
gave all you could give
but the red wristband always wins
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
They took me from school
They put me in an ambulance
My favorite teacher came with
Next thing I know
I have a hospital wristband on
It has my name printed on it
I have an uncomfortable gown on
Weird socks on with grip on the bottom
Walking the cold hospital halls
Personally escorted
I remember thinking to myself
"I'm officially crazy"
They use their keycard to unlock the doors
I carefully step into a psych ward
It felt so isolated, cold, and sad
They took me to what they called "my room"
Bathroom was locked
Walls were blank
Shelf's were empty
They left my room
It was about 12;00 a.m
There was a bright green clock light in the wall
I turned down the lights
I tried to make my thoughts go to sleep
But it was my soul that was more awake than ever
I just laid there
I asked myself why I was here
Suicide, misery, depression, self-hate
And cuts on my wrist is what came to mind
"Oh" I said to myself with a tear sliding down the side of my face
That's why I'm here
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
He could feel the way water moved
when it stuck to the windows, how it slipped
and dripped off the poppies
onto his cigar box filled with ******
escapees. Even its softness can drown,
He was drowning.
Inside the greenhouse the found
him already emptied, lying
on the ground with the white hospital
wristband tied, shotgun resting
beside. His face missing.
I understand
why he did it, “It is better to burn
Out than to fade away.”
He wanted to stop the sinking.
He wanted to burn.
No one saw the water tangled in his teeth,
pressed up against his lips, consuming.
Or heard the drenching within his voice
as he sang. If I had known he had a gun,
even when he swore he didn’t.
Now all I can hear are pulsating echoes
Of strings that no longer sound like waves crashing,
and his raw, gunge screams now mute
And rippling away.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
Moonlight peers through window blinds,
thin, fluorescent strips streaking the beige
walls and tea green sheets. Her dew-eyed
gaze lies on the baby blue bib,
imprinted with a small white bird,
next to her on the bed. Beside
the bib is a wristband from
Carnation Hospital, and an
open, small, wooden box.
She reaches for the bib and
caresses the soft cotton,
shadowing the bird and the seams.
She takes a glance at the wristband,
but clenches her eyes. She grips the
bib and holds it to her cheek and
sits this way until she melts into
the dark.
The streaks drift.
Coming to from her trance, she lays
the bib into the box, then tosses
the wristband in before shutting
the top. She carries the box to
the closet and buries it beneath
a bundle of unkempt, *****
clothes. She closes the door and prays
to the blessed ****** Mary.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
eight o’clock breakfasts,
pad down the hall in padded socks
i hear her weeping again
she’s in 7B because she liked the bed against the wall
good morning, here are your meds
they scan my wristband to charge me later
i eat and spend the day talking with strangers
sometimes lying, sometimes not
i fill my head with words on pages to pass the time, yet it only seemed to move slower
i can’t remember what home feels like because I was never able to find one in myself
so here I will rest for now, until it’s time to move on
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 9:33 PM UTC