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Lauren Upadhyay Dec 2012
"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things." -Lemony Snicket

For all its ostensible simplicity, death is complicated for those of us who have yet to experience it. And while I appreciate Snicket's sentiment, coping with loss is not always this straightforward. It is not always possible to merely readjust oneself after the painful shock of losing someone we care about, simply because some relationships transcend illusory misstep; there are some people who are more to us than just the empty space through which we navigate and which confuses us and makes us feel silly when we realize that there was never really any reason to worry in the first place, and that we are going to be just fine.

In much the same way as realizing we've tripped over a non-existent stair, it is always uncomfortably surprising when we lose someone we know. It's a feeling akin to being suddenly and aggressively shaken awake from some mildly enjoyable, but generally monotonous dream. Like we couldn't have predicted as much, as if it were some exotic and unfortunate illness that only ever happens to people in newspapers. And whenever we are made to confront the painful yet obvious reality, it forces us take a step back and reevaluate things.

It makes us think of the deceased, and how we must readjust our view of the world to accommodate their absence. And yes, many times this adjustment amounts to nothing more than a brief moment of miscalculation and confusion. But there are some times when this is not the case, when the loss of a person causes an unmistakable and lasting difference in our lives. There is a rare and special closeness with certain people that some of us are lucky enough to experience, and which at some point causes us to unconsciously realize the verity and significance of these people's existence.

There comes a moment when a person ceases to be merely an imagined phenomenon, and forever becomes an integral piece of the staircase in the multi-storied building of one's life. The people who ineffably and eternally changed us; the people who inadvertently etched themselves into our framework and forced us to recognize their inextricable realness. These are the people for whom we do not become only momentarily disoriented when they leave. When they stop existing there is one less step, a permanent gap in the staircase. And no matter how much time passes, no matter how well adjusted we become, it will never feel quite right skipping a step, making the unnatural lunge over the empty space they've left behind.
Kyle John Somer Oct 2012
We are all so very fragile.
Our sun kissed porcelain faces
are freckled with Achilles heel fault lines and chipped paint.
Shining through to our nervous nervous system and our tendency to over think things.
We hide so much inside of us.
Behind dance less masquerades
Our bodies held together only by cages of ivory bones
cages that cradle the thin winged heart beats of our chest
nervous moths stumbling around inside
knocking books off of shelves and
eating the sweaters that we use to keep our hearts from freezing over.

The autumn wind is cold like sad glaciers
and it's easy to break down at times like these.
Our bones ache and shriek like boiling tea kettles.
Making it hard not to shatter.

We are all so fragile.
Burnt out light bulb fragile.
Frozen lake fragile.
Defibrillated heartbeat fragile.
We are broken branch fragile
chronic alcoholics sobriety fragile.
The middles school girls reaction to the word “fat” fragile
We are the kind of fragile that set off big bangs.
We are, paranoid breakable.
And its got to the point where
we have begun taping up our light leak vulnerabilities
with perceptions of perfection and thoughts of rejection
spending our time in dark rooms as our minds just keep reeling
and trying to shut off feelings and unwind
but we have been over exposed to such ****.
To slides and slides of negative negatives

we used to burst apart with so much light.

but the sun isn't shining honest, the night sky is black
and its raining in all the wrong ways.
We're out of season.
sewing up the holes in our personality
with floods of insecurities and droughts of identity.
damning what matters.

****, its hard to know what matters.

But I am still trying to figure that one out
And the moths are still here
as the pendulum clocks keep ticking
eating the sweaters that we used
to keep our hearts from freezing over.

But we are freezing to the core.
The atoms inside of us splinting into half lives;
we haven't even lived half of our lives
yet we feel so ancient.
The dust piles growing on our slanted bookshelves shoulders
Our bright idea light bulbs flickering,
getting covered up by snowdrifts.

We are gas giants wrapping ourselves into open space darkness
hiding from the bright side of the moon.
Like a black cat superstition we are running from our own precondition
of lying about being ourselves
We pull dark black-hole hoods over our eyes
wincing at the light trails of shooting stars
though we, too, want to be brilliant.
We try to orbit the sun hoping that humanity is a symphony;
that being popular and having the most friends is what matters.
and we can be where the grass is always greener by fitting in and by being mirrors
Even though not being yourself is nauseating.

We can be nauseating, we can be mirrors.

Because we are scared that if we don't
hide who we really are
we may end up like Pluto.
Ostracized for existing.
floating around in space having stare downs with wormholes
A shivering rock entity with a complete loss of identity.

We already are so lost.
Our souls waning and waxing
Rocking back and forth
on wood beams and porches.
like an ADD moonbeam rocking chair.

But now its time to stop in one place and readjust our backbones.

Because I know that we are fragile, I know that.
I know that its hard filling in the cracks that have found their way down our back-stabbed spines
we all have our histories with being dropped and rejected.
But we weren't made to be cardboard box people,
packing tape and labels wrapped in all of the wrong places.
we are boxes full of wormholes into other dimensions
we are full of life and blood and bones,
full of oceans and stardust and daggers
There is so much more to us than our brown paper complexions.
So climb out of those kangaroo pouch caves that you have called home for the last few years
There's no need hiding anymore.
You can be safe in your own skin.
You can climb the Himalayas and scream out as many lightning rods as you want
we will all be listening as you burst apart into thunder claps.
As you bleed yourself into infinity

So, dim the lights

Throw your self at the world
and crash like waves into existence
you are perfect when you are yourself.
Grab that porcelain off of your face
and let your smile super nova fracture into a cosmic grin of constellations.

People will look up to you and be inspired.
A cardboard box rookie sprawled out in the stars.
Lighting up all of our faces with E.T. fingertips.
No longer hiding being reflective eclipses
There's only one person who can tell you who you are.
Only you can speak for yourself.

I know that your fragile
I know that.

We all are..,
Greg Smith Jul 2010
Every morning I wake up
Thinking what could go wrong
but you always have that charm
to mess this up where we belong
Cause Every Time
I forgive you for what you've done
So i readjust myself
to fit your whiny needs
But now i am done with you
I am sorry
but i had to choose.
I had to get away from you
I am lost in my head
Your lost in your world
Where only you control
And keep the secret code
But girl i want you to know
Because of you
I'm lost in this nightmare
Nobody can wake me
Because it's all is too real
You can't even feel
The scars are still there
Cause Every Time
I readjust myself
to fit your whiny needs
But now i'm done with you
You are a theif
You robbed me blind of everything i used to need
I try to get it back
but i'm still locked out of this
and in this nightmare
I can't escape this hell
But now I am shackled to your door
Now I finally got
shards of your broken heart
Time to cut the chains
Cause Every Time
I readjust myself
to fit your whiny needs
But Now…
I am done with You
GregSmith
JL Jun 2015
last night I was the throat
Today I am the knife
Wish me luck
This wound
I cannot heal
I am caught within the wheel

Ive done the math
In my head
Even the square root
Preparing A new trajectory
Readjust
Readjust
Readjust

This new silence I can understand
I cherish our reconciliation
Clarity
I have not known
Silence so resplendent speaking:

*I have no true use for you
But I'd like to watch you cut and lie your way out of this one
jeffrey conyers Dec 2012
Brokenhearted lovers.
Learn to let go.
To try to control anyone.
Means you have no control at all.

Brokenhearted lovers.
Seek ways to heal.
Losing a lover is a bitter pill.

But move on.
Readjust your feelings to be free of hurt.
And it starts the moment you accepts the hurt.

Insecurity is a weakness of fear.
When you yearn for your  love.
Who has found another?

Even if they were dishonest with you.
Accept it as a sign.
They wasn't worth of the essence of you.

Built up a inner strength that you control.
And when the next lover comes along.
They will cherish you more than you thought possible.

Counsel yourself.
All because it's free.
And you'll find in yourself.
A strength that can't be bent.
So brokenheart soul explore yourself.
Kriti Gupta Jan 2015
There's sleep in your eyes with your lips on mine
Six bottles of beer and a checkout time
A pizza to share and a sheet of truth
Time stops that I wish that I could rewind
I close my eyes and feel our hands intertwined
I close my mind and see you by my side
Calling me beautiful every day and night
Hips pressed
Tongues stressed
You could break my heart any time

Will you continue to hum till I cry
And stare at you out of the corner of my eye
Before you kiss my tears goodbye
Going to bed without you feels like there's no end in sight
My heart can't take this
Please come back tonight
Distance is our biggest mistake
Why does home have to be so far away
Come back please, a month is far too long to see your face again
Marsha Singh Feb 2011
I blamed it all on Scorpius—
my secret self, the sting, the lust,
my conditional approach to trust.

I shrugged at Mars when jealousy
and suspicion got the best of me;
I was just his astral devotee.

And my vengeful hate for all unjust?
It all went back to Scorpius,
but, alas, I hovered on the cusp;

I'm Libra now. I'll readjust.
EDB Mar 2014
Waking up the morning after,
I can only recall the excessive laughter.
The great vibes shared in one moment in time,
It was all so beautiful, the highest of highs.
(****)
My glance embarrassingly detects
the frightful fact the mirror reflects.
A bathroom tagged with the night's mistakes,
Rorschach like markings of drinks and rare steaks.
Always said "Yes", lacking all inhibition.
I wish last night I lived its definition.
So I readjust my head and all of the fixtures,
and pray to god no one took any pictures.
Roni Shelley Apr 2013
Sometimes I sit in order to readjust thoughts
I sit to feel nothing, but end up feeling something
Like multiple desires
or scattered emotions that can make me lose my original thought
Where I'm able to hold conversations with myself
Now isn't that something...
Humans as "Transformers"?
We are literally made up with different human beings within ourselves
Optimus Prime
I like that name. *Does everyone agree?
Sam Greig-Mohns Mar 2013
Sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair as I readjust my seat for the sixth time… it seems to be a futile effort.
An overweight man in a grey jogging suit is walking in, his white shoes leave wet foot prints across the faded carpet as he crosses the room and begins taking up the chair opposite me with a heavy sigh as though he has walked a long distance though I can see his car through the half closed blinds.

I think the carpet used to be red, like the long carpets they use in the lineup to see Santa but now it is a muddy color… like the water one might use to rinse paint brushes after it has been used too much.

The woman beside me is wearing a faded floral print dress, she smells like garlic and is snoring softly a rumpled romance novel clutched in one hand as her head nods forward onto her chest.
I watch it rise and fall slowly for a few long moments before finally pulling my eyes away again and look towards the desk where the blonde receptionist is sitting.

Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun and there is a pen stuck in it to keep it in place, the pen is blue… or black I think but there is a red cap on it.
She is wearing those nurses’ scrubs they are a faded purple color with chains of daisies decorating them.  

I look past the blonde receptionist and her messy bun with the blue… or black pen with the red cap sticking out of it to the hallway with its bright lines of light and glossy floors.

Another woman is walking out of one of the doors, I can’t see it but I hear it close loudly in the silence, the woman beside me with the faded floral print dress jumps a little snuffling and grunting her dime store romance novel held up before her like a shield before she realizes it was just a door.

Just like the overweight man in the grey jogging suit as he to tries futilely to get comfortable in one of the world’s most uncomfortable chairs, I don’t think he has ever jogged… maybe he just likes the color.

The woman beside me is slouching a little further down in her chair... in another moment she is snoring again softly, I watch the woman who just came out of the unseen door.

She has a little boy with her, he is wearing black puddle boots and Spiderman pajama pants his coat is blue with black racing stripes down the back… he is tugging at the woman’s hand and saying something in another language.

She hushes him and turns back to the receptionist with the messy blonde bun, I watch as she reaches for the pen that is holding it in place… that one that might be blue or maybe black with the red cap on the end before she stops and picks up a black pen off the desk and writes something on a slip of paper before handing it to the woman.

She looks tired, her black hair is braided loosely and strands are falling into her face.
There are large dark circles under her eyes and she dressed in faded jeans and a grey windbreaker with the crest of a sporting goods store I have never heard of embroidered across the shoulder.

The boy is tugging at her hand again and as she turns to look at him she wearily sweeps her gaze over the rest of the room before she answers him.
Her voice is very soft with a practiced kind of patience most parents have, though I can’t make out her words I am sure they are also in another language that I do not understand.

I watch as they boy runs towards the door and pushes all his weight against it making a great show of his strength as the door slowly swings outwards and he leans back against it digging his boots into the muddy colored carpet as the woman follows him out.

The man in the grey jogging suit that has most likely never jogged before has gotten out of his world’s most uncomfortable chair and is eyeing the other still empty seats around him mentally trying to guess without having to walk over and try them which is the least uncomfortable.

He looks across to the woman beside me in the faded flora dress as she gives another snuffling murmur her fingers slowly letting the rumpled novel slip from them, it slides onto the floor and bounces before landing cover side up. Fields of Passion.

He looks at me and our eyes meet, I roll mine in a dramatic gesture of my opinion of the sleeping woman’s taste in reading... he smiles but says nothing and finally decided on another chair right beside the one he had before and sighs heavily as he settles himself into it.

I hear my name being called by the blonde receptionist with the messy bun held together by her blue or black pen with the red cap.
This time the snoring woman with the bad taste in novels doesn’t stir, the man in the jogging suit smiled a little as I pass him and I smile back before turning and disappearing down the hallway with the glossy floors and bright lines of light.
A totally dull moment made more interesting through super observance and creative story telling =)
FrankieM Jan 2018
Although I’m sure my presence is starting to become more than a little vexatious, I still hold your hand as often as I possibly can. Partially because I find how rough your hands are compared to the rest of your body to be very pleasing, but mostly because I feel obligated.
Don’t take it the wrong way, I don’t feel obligated in the sense that I’m being forced. I just know that we humans come into and leave this world alone, and I know all that you’ve seen.
So I’ll hold your hand while we lay in bed at night, cross the road, and walk through the grocery store, readjusting my grip as our fingers start slipping.
And when I notice you start slipping and losing your grip on this world and all it has too offer, I’ll readjust whatever it is that need readjusting. I’ll hold on even tighter so you don’t have to.
Just don’t give up. I know it’s hard, and I know you know that we humans come into and leave this world alone. But when I hold your hand, I have the entire world at my fingertips.

I’ll readjust as needed.
I never want you to feel alone like I do.
jeffrey conyers Aug 2012
Hurt.
Love endures.
Pain.
Love endures.
Trouble.
Love endures.
Together.
Love endures.
Separation.
Love endures.

We aren't as weak as we think.
We stronger.
Notice when pushed in a corner.
How  we readjust to that situation?
Because love can pull you through.

Defeat comes from surrendering.
Before you even tried.
Love endures over pride.
Sometimes you have to eliminate it.

Because love endures.
A Thomas Hawkins Jul 2010
I want to run away from it all
to escape the rat race's incessant call
to be left to be myself
alone but happy on the shelf
I want to run away from it all

I want to start again somewhere new
Doing only all the things I want to do
No more obligated chores
Washing windows, scrubbing floors
I want to start again somewhere new

I want to buy some land and build a yurt
Live off grid so Mother Earth I don't hurt
Water heated by the sun
Organic gardening for fun
I want to buy some land and build a yurt

I want to sit a write by candlelight
Not a CF bulb or fluorescent tube in sight
No noise or light pollution
would be my perfect solution
I want to sit and write by candle light

I want to be awoken by the sun
not just on special days but every one
readjust my body clock
to natures silent tick and tock
I want to be awoken by the sun

I want to run away, you wanna come?
One is great but really two is twice the fun.
Loving life the way it's meant
Two poets in a tent
I want to run away you wanna come?
Kewayne Wadley Dec 2016
Sometimes, things wear out.
Creating holes and gaps often complicating the simplest of things.
Sometimes love is a lot like socks.
Some are long, some are short.
Hell some even come up to the height of knees.
Some are bland. Some are colorful.
Baring the fruit of comforting something bare enough to be considered as precious.
Devilish things, socks.
Sometimes they create more problems than they are worth.
Coming apart at the seams,
Getting caught between your toes.
Constantly having to stop and readjust your shoe when no one is looking.
Or flat out just take your shoe off and fix it.
I thought I brought the right size.
Carefully reading the label,
Sometimes that one size fits all is just a lie.
In time all things wear.
Just don't be foolish enough to not enjoy the comfort of the simple things.
This at all isn't comparing you to a pair of socks, no not at all.
If ever I was to become overweight.
You'd be the pair of suspenders that hold my pants up when my belt can't fit anymore
Becky S Nov 2013
a venerable set of pearls
got placed on her bare skin
as she felt the coldness
rush through her body

she glanced down
to readjust the gold clasp
seeing her matte red lips
in their polished reflection

the cream-colored pearls
felt so heavy on her neck
and made her nervous heart
seem to sink into her chest

they were her grandmother’s
her mom told her long ago
as she imagined seeing her grandma
walk down the aisle so beautifully

she held onto the pearls
with fond memories of love
as she opened her mouth
and said the words

“I do”
This poem's assignment was to really focus on observational details. After hours and hours of searching for the perfect item, I came across my grandma's pearls that were handed down to me from generations. I decided to base my poem's subject on the idea of the pearls.
I am like a plane

I read somewhere or heard somewhere
I think on NPR

about what it's like to see the world!
from a plane window.

Imagining is having the sights before you!
from a plane window.

The clouds and the blue blue blue
It's the atmosphere.

Dear God! You're actually flying
Except you're in a whites only plane.

Oh! If only it could be bottled and given to the masses
Ms. Marlowe introduced me to Prometheus.

To search for a way
to have what you imagine in yr dreams and in books and hopes
to be before you
is a ropebridge.

It only snaps in the movies baby!
If you're any different
and it snaps for you,

you got death.
Which is what you wanted all along,

no?

When I was a child my mind was ratchet like a plane in turbulence
it is rickety
the space between Trinidad and Tobago makes me readjust my insides and outsides

Climbing Climbing he shakes and flatlines
He becomes a hero he knew all along

Modern Medicine can make freed slaves become the mothers and fathers of the rice cripsies
Tash Carter Jul 2014
I love how playing " house" wasn't just a game we played in my generation. Like the king of Thebes , Oedipus who unwittingly killed his father and married his mother. It reminds me that , even before slavery exisisted people found love in all the wrong places. But I have to remember mortals have iniquity too . I love dressing up around midnight when all the children are inside and the blood ******* men are out . I call them night crawlers.

I love doing laundry after a long night out , changing my bed sheets to fresh ones covering up the aroma of devilish sins . I love the brisk walks back home ,  unable to afford catching the bus because I spent my last on hard liqiour that only benefits the darkest souls . So you walk . Finally reaching your destination you stop and stare at the darken house . Taking your time to turn on lights , not wanting to look in the mirror , flashbacks of what had happen on your night out , triggering an asthma attack as if someone was gripping you by your neck and provoking you to be his ***** ****. His **** .

Getting a text saying "dress **** , it's girls night out." So you slip on your red dress , spike heels , adding glitter to your chest . Could've put on something different but wanting to play the devil advocates and be anything but Christian . Swaying my hips from left in right hypnotizing everyone. Dancing to the rythem of the song , attempting to unbutton the buttons off every men pants. Spraying my best perfum on to make the legs off every man buckle , making him uncomfortable and having to readjust himself . Pouring another shot only to become more aroused , looking at the clock 12:32 . Twelve representing the number of *** smacks you we're given and thirty two was the page number of your favorite *** position in coma sutra

"Eres hermosa pero haces cosas feas" you are beautiful but you do ugly things . A Swedish and Puerto Rican woman told me .

I let those words sink in as if I was trying to remember and meditate on it .Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach , instead of rushing to the bathroom I ordered a double shot of 1800 taking it to the head , closing my eyes as I let the warm hard liqiour go down my throat . Scared to open my eyes because when I came I was already filled with alcohol . They say when you drink everyone becomes your your friend , funny part is my friends handed me their belongings as they sashayed their way to the men's bathroom . Leaving me behind as the gentlemen left with a smirk on their face . God I hope they can aim .

See I'm 5'1 but my spike heels give me the confidence of a 5'9 woman . I don't see how women could dance the night away in heels and still be able to walk to their car .

If my great grandmother was to see me she'll rollover in her grave and beat me with bible scriptures .
Romans 3:23
23 for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,
Romans 5:8
8 but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
I'm not perfect nor do I pretend to be . I'm like a grill that is being used over and over again on Fourth of July , that is being reused until broken . Not wanting to be fixed because your tired of the burning sensation that goes up into flames touched for the first time . Scared to call for help because my late night outing , drinking more shots than I should , waking up to loud snoring only to pull me close and call me "Athena " . The only man that should ever know me inside out is god because he helped create me . Not wanting him to smell dried candy kisses on my skin mistaken me for a pile of sins .

Thank god , thank god that my guardian angels Michael and Gabriel doesn't judge me for what I do in the back of cars and sometimes bedrooms . Thank god for placing friends in my life that knows more than what type of food I like or what to add to my liqiour to ease the burning sensation , thank god , for allowing the bus driver to pullover and ask me do I need a ride home because that brisk walk was gone trigger all the night crawlers . When I make it home I'm gonna slowly undress myself as if someone was in the room waiting to fill my canvas with warmth . No make up , no Jewry , no perfum , no red dress , and no spike heels . I wanna be naked and truthful . The naked truth is what I wanna call it .

I'm slowly finding my way back to god , crawling to him as if I was baby . Reminding myself in order to forgive you have to seek forgiveness and forgive yourself . I forgive myself from all those nights I put on my **** dress , spike heels , sweet perfum , an entertaining the bulging erections that didn't belong to me . I'm not their wife . I'm gonna stay at home and look up at my ceiling and smile at my guardian angels . My Angeles , my Angeles thank you for protecting me.
Turns out,
I’m an idiot
who knows nothing and does no good.
I watch the moon go down
every couple months
to readjust my calendar
and pour my non-organic coffee from
glass pots made in emerging markets.
You may say we’re losing the world
or that the Earth should be preserved—
Fine.
I **** at the feet of your bourgeois children and their plastic, antibacterial lunchboxes.
For me there is no world to lose.
MMXI
Lorna Bradley Jul 2012
the sting your stubble left is still lingering on my lips,
like invisible mosquito bites that tickle more than itch,
as i wrap my arms around your neck, i ask:
just friends? and readjust myself in your lap.

so you pull me in closer, you nod to confirm:
the two of us, we’re nothing more than zookeepers.
throwing fresh meat in the den of the lioness,
controlling those animals lying deep inside of us.
would really like some feedback on this! anything would be great! even let me know if you absolutely hate it!
Lauren Gorger Oct 2014
A friend once told me that all of his inspiration was lost, it was a half past 2.
I wondered how much of himself it would cost to wander a bit, and try something new.
Maybe this is out of the blue, but perhaps we can find inspiration in all of its absence, too.
Inspiration is in me and it's in you.
It's where you sit right now, just enjoying the view.
It's the smiles that graze by you, if only a few.
It's the change in the space that could never be replaced.
A positive embrace that becomes written all over my face.
I told him, "sometimes, we must change our questions and readjust our eyes. And by surprise, the sunset becomes the sunrise."
The difference between a decline and an incline.
The distance between looking forward and falling behind.
Inspiration that is in front of us -
The heart invested trust that sends us a rush that is never undone.
The cold-hearted lust that turns to love under the sun.
Your words are not lost, they have only just begun.
To wander is to observe.
We find inspiration between the fine lines of all the words that we've heard.
I told him that I think we deserve to imagine our world...
To become what you desire to serve.
To see all the lessons learned and unlearned, in the midst of your hurt.
My last words curved, without a slur -
"Stay grounded. There is always inspiration implanted in the dirt."

- L.G.
miso Nov 2013
Time and space unidentifiable
Afloat midair—hands and feet
Reasons and instincts, a hazy distance
Focus.

Stumbling awkwardly—a dull thud—all faults are revealed
On one ankle, a societal ***** tightens
Calloused by sharp emotions, numbed on hardened skin

I, on show behind the glass case—but that isn't me
All the truths became fiction, therefore I became a lie
Cake this mind of mine with makeup, don't let the sadness smear
A whirlpool, a hollow core, conflicted once again
At this point—although overdue:
Can this muddy rock still become the promised pearl?

A lurking presence of my fading self
In an unknown place, out of reach
There's the brutal wind, crashing-
Stumbling again, trampling in dust

Did the colours just fade?
My vision has never been this grey
That vibrant self of mine, where has it gone-
Is it gone

"Without conditions you must struggle,"
Those people aren't my enemies, don't misunderstand
There simply was nobody by my side
Walking this place alone so no one could hurt me—backfired

The world looks so noisy from the outside
Better readjust that person of mine
So I can at least fall asleep some day, even if by accident
To recover from this senseless jetlag of emotions
Traveled within the strict space of a room

I'll breathe it well—the last cold gush of air
To those creatures who coexisted within me
Have you all been well?
Tatiana Cody Dec 2010
I like you because you have let me be me,
Whatever that means.
Whatever that means.

You'd never mold me, change me, or readjust my seams.
You like me for me.
You like me for me.

I'd let you change my accent, my haircut, unimportant things,
Just don't cut my wings.
Just don't cut my wings.
A true story.
Dustin A Owens Jan 2016
I'm sorry, my dear.
I try not to miss you, but it's hard.
I feel discarded even though that wasn't the case.
You ended our partnership by completely justifiable terms,
And you are the most wonderful person I could've met,
But I can't move on even though you felt I'd be happier doing so,
Instead of waiting for you to readjust your life
When the truth is I'd be happier waiting.

I'm sorry, my dear.
I'd like to apologize; you're still on my mind nearly every hour.
You're an intruder of my thoughts, but welcome in my arms.
You sit in silence in my subconscious,
As it yells to you to answer, to assure me that you still love me.
And it drives me insane, because I know you still do.
What I don't know is if you still want me or not,
But I know that I want you way too much.

I'm sorry, my dear.
I don't know where to go from here.
I'm not sure if I should fight for you, or if I should go completely.
I'm leaning towards a compromise to be casual with you,
But I'm unsure if that would do me more harm than good.
I never understood what bitterness and jealousy was
Until I loved you, and I found myself finding other men vile
Merely for sharing a common passion: you.

I'm sorry, my dear.
I should leave well enough alone.
Perhaps it is better for us to be apart,
But I just don't see it yet.
But all I can see in the future is you or a void of confusion and emptiness,
So you can see why I'm having such a hard time picking the latter.
I know I should live in the moment and not the past.
But the past was the happiest time of my life.

I'm sorry, my dear.
I wish I could make you understand.
I just had to get it out.
Shylah S May 2013
First day of 8th grade ***-ed class,
Sitting awkwardly beside you in my seat.

Closing our math binders in sync,
The health teacher strides in.

"Take out your folders class!" a loud voice booms,
I scramble to find it.

Taking out blank paper to write notes,
The teacher launching into a fast paced lecture.

"Thistopicisveryimportantblahblahnolaughingblah--"
Losi­ng track of the words I stop and look to your sheet and copy,

To only see you have written one word--your name.
You notice me looking as I smirk at you.

I try to hold in the giggles,
Even though it isn't funny.
You reacting the same way.

I look up and catch your eye and I feel my tummy doing turns,
Why do you do this to me?

You look like your blushing but I couldn't tell as we both looked away,
Do I make you feel the same way?

We mirror movements without noticing it,
Life isn't making much sense to me.

I slump in my seat already bored of this lesson and let my hands hang loose,
I then realize how close to you I am, your warm breath blowing down my neck.

I can feel you look at me,
Me wavering under your gaze.

You do something surprising,
You slip your fingers through mine under the desk,
Hidden away from view.

I feel myself panicking my breath coming out faster,
Blushing like a cherry red tomato.

I readjust my grip reassuringly squeezing your hand in a friendly gesture.
They say your first love never lasts.

But a girl can dream.
Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna: “In the lower and higher, a certain anti-demonological air carried a Keri towards the sails of the Procorus rituals, extending the Eurydice ship that came from Rhodes. He had on the floor of his cell some branches of Tamarisks, like Tarayes that vanished due to their quality when they expired in his own monk's feet and became perennial in his Oikodomeo, to raise with the Taray the re-transformation essences of the lexeme of greenness conventional in Patmos, being very deflowered in periods with high tempers, only with some secretions in which Procorus felt adventitious of its reflowering, from there and then in the anemophilous advantages of the winds released from the belly in sedimentary veins of Rhodes. In its alchemical anemophilia or movement of the inseminating winds, the subtle soil vanished with the force of the Lion of Sulfur that derived from the Cinnabar, and with the Anemoi wind that was impregnated in the capsules of the Tamarisk, under the feet of the acolyte. In the aquifer of the groundwater phreatic layer on Patmos, remnants were scattered so that in Pro Nobis they lay their demonologies, sponsoring Persian magics of the Post-Gaugamela Lid, I get in the Ex Varna with re-transfigured iridescence on Mount Tabor.

Procorus says: “This Tamarix or Tamarisk, has poured the limits of our Oikodomeo, to retain the surface plate and reuse it in absorbing the fire under my feet, compelling them to readjust under the igneous soil concentrated in the cinnabar residue, carrying the dermal prototype towards the saturated bottom of the salt larvae, which imposed themselves on the bruised beam of their skill, in some bundles of Tamarisks, showing themselves innocuous in the cloister imagination and right here asphyxiated by some Chaldean tribes, who felt themselves from the stand of illusionism of the Ex Varna ”.

In the compaction of this epic hyper fantasy in that instant, the dedication of the Gift was born to interpret the subtlety of two-dimensional variety that would seem until now, under the layers that were contaminated out of nowhere, by the mere fact of the whim of the augur momentum, which is finally restricted in the morphism of the Katapausis and the chamber of San Juan Apostle, being finally supported by layers and shawls of subterranean aqueous filters, towards a restructuring of the Euclidean plane and towards the vicinity of the plantar pedestrian zones of Procorus that were three-dimensional already in the construction of the Oikodomeo, for the foundation of the Náos or temple, which would be triggered when the Hexagonal Progeny arrived to build the Vernarthian temple with gifts of multi-purgatory construction, for the Oikos in Abode of the social unit of Aquarian spirits or Aqua that is terminated at the end of Capricorn dehorned. In mutual edifying peace and between both zodiacal proximities of the Oikodom, here every day spectra purged and rubbed each other in the archetype of the Megaron, which was intended to give in oblations and votive connections in the massages that the spirits of the Vernarthian universe gave them in their spiritual mortar, reconverted in their eternal fight to live in friction and in the brown partitions of the Megaron bloodless to inaugurate it as a solid bulwark, in the weak regions of the Hetairoi that cellularly snatches vitality co-energized in their extremities, of total imbalance and of bumpy patrons maneuvered on their feet crawling towards the karmic Saetas of Velos Toxeumas and Dorus unscathed. But feverish and threatening their integrity, when they fell and stepped on the Euclidean edge, opening from the designs of the Hellenic palfrey, becoming parametric in the paranasal of Kanti and their neighborhood spatiality in the Parthenon of Fidas, with Ikríomas or scaffolding that made them collapse of its coordinates with Mamdilaria and Agiogitiko wine baths on the Vernarthian body between the columnar of its Sabines and of the Greek colonies of Lacedaemonians of the 4th century BC. C., already entering into borders of synchronicity from the Erechtheion, falling from the Caelum, near all his teachers who helped him install the final tiles of the temple, next to them drunk with Nepenthe, by nozzles of intense rain of vine in the silent afternoon of the Inter-Cosmos of Athena, Handing them the poison of Velos Toxeumas, a priori... and before attacking any skin that wants to revive itself in the inoculated Vernarthian dreams.

(Procorus, manifested himself solidly in his solitude when he saw that Lacedaemonians and beings of the night accompanied him, in contrast to the dark light that allowed him with a single chandelier to expand more inaccessible in the semiglyphs and in the grooves of the Megaron, which glowed synarchically. in the plans of the new Monastery of Saint John the Theologian)
Parable Ad Libitum Ex Varna
Jenna Richardson Jan 2012
Constantly moving
She fell into orbit around a desolate planet
Prepared to change, rearrange, alter pieces to fit flawlessly

A planet devoid of gravity made it seem impossible
to stay grounded in a system doomed for destruction

Promises exchanged, plans made
Easily pushed aside
preferring an unfamiliar one-sided view
through a crimson tinted telescope lens

Desperate for her dark reality
to converge with a bright future
no matter how brief the eclipse may be

She struggles to weave her life through the threads of a hopeless universe
leaving her, in time, to readjust her orbit around another.
Niko Walsh Apr 2013
The tell her that she has the world
at her fingertips;
she knows and understands and helps,
and loves and learns and gains
everything that she could
ever want.
They tell her that she can charm her way
through anything--
I mean, listen to her voice!
look at those eyes!
Tell me that they could not possibly
lure
you
in?

But what they do not know
is the strength of the string
that is looped around her fingers,
connecting the world to her hand,
letting it twist and twitch with every
flip of her wrist.
They do not know that the strings are
loosely-looped nylon,
slipping and falling and simply
requiring
so much work.
She cannot look away, and must always
readjust.

What they do not know
is how hard she works
to keep the world
at her fingertips.
Jack Turner Apr 2012
Sometimes life never seems to follow a plan,
At the times you least expect it someone new comes in.
You thought you had it mapped, had figured it out,
Then this someone new starts to pull your attention something more,
And all you can do is scrap those old plans and throw them out,
Beginning again, one step at a time, one foot then the other down on the floor.
Time to readjust and replan just how things should go,
To see how life goes and see if she means anything,
To see if shes meant to be, if its meant to be more.
Lets roll with this just one step at a time,
And find out what you really mean to me.
Anshul Sep 2014
why do teens do this ****?
or i should say why are teens, teens?
the fact is that at this forsaken age there's
a whole bunch of chemical reactions in your brains(if any)
so hold on, its goin to be alright
just readjust those reactions
relax
sit back
let the moment pass
think about whats happening
  think rationally
and you're good,
adios
CJ M May 2016
What if we got lost tonight? Tell me, would you be glad to be with me?
Because there’s honestly nobody I’d rather be with than you.
It’s just something about you, baby girl, that’s got me wondering if I could know you a little deeper,
If I could be a little closer to you,
If I could be a little louder with you.
Tell me what your pretty eyes see when you look across the table at the image of confusion and chaos known as me. Tell me what you hear when my voice cracks in the morning as I laugh at something stupid.
I’m so numb right now that I can’t think of what I’d say to you, my lips trying not to curl as I notice you bite your lip. How is it that you can’t see you’re taunting me?
Your beauty so noticeable and your purity so undefined that you make children purr, crooning like kittens cuddled into blankets in your warm grasps.
My god, you’re so beautiful. Why am I falling for you? Soothing voice that sends chills through my spines as my body shakes off the dusted burdens of past loves, making room for only you as I readjust my nature to fit yours.
What is it about you, wonder girl? Two years older than me yet an eternity apart. You’re quiet yet speak volumes in your eyes. Sweet and sensitive nature and a Latina sashay about her, yet you see nothing but pure inexperience in her eyes.
Nothing but pure outcast.
We are two, yet we are similar. And I’m drawn to her because of it.
Senior seduction unintended yet ever so real it should be a shame, if only I could get her to even remotely look my way.
She is my phantom, another thought in my mind that might never be fulfilled, another dream at night never turned reality.
Talking in her face and making her laugh at corniness, kissing her lips and looking deep into those pretty dark brown pools, feeling her warmth as our hands connect and her head rests on my proud shoulders.
I will be forever haunted by the dream to feel that love.
To feel a reaction of two cold souls making heat from snow.
To feel the emotion so long cursed and so long denied.

To feel Her love.
Thomas EG Aug 2015
My eyes
They feel tired
My lashes yawn, quiver
I am weak, as I lay down
I enjoyed myself
It was good, it was nice
Everyone was so nice, to me
I dream the friends back to me, now
I pull them closer
But, really, there is no one here to pull close to me
So, I readjust my body parts
My external organs
And trudge through the emotion
The thick over-exaggerated feelings
I rest myself
Then hold my head up high
I am not afraid, tonight
Foolishly, I joke about them
Your new "friends"
For they do not know you
(Not like we know you)
It's just not the same, nowadays
And yet I had a nice time
I had nice company
Your aura was sweet
As were your lips
Foolishly, again, ours meet
And I am calm
And I am glad
That we have each other
That we are friends
I had a nice night :-)))
addy henderson Nov 2014
You are my rose
though there are millions of others
i happened to pick you on my stroll
i took you in
if i dont hold you right your thorns may hurt me
but all i must do is readjust
hold you tighter
hoping my grasp wont slip again
Stephanie Oct 2018
Can I trust you
The way I’ve trusted
Those
Before
You?

For the first time
The world looks
Like a
Dangerous
Place

The lens shifts
From rosy
To grey

I have
Believed
Something good
About humans
With a complexity that
Shapes each life

And now this
Monochrome
Film
Covers my eyes
And I see something
Plain
And dark
And worth fearing

Do I know you
In my soul
With my intuition
In my gut
Or am I a fool
To believe
That you wouldn’t
Break my heart
That I won’t become
Another song
Another movie
Another shattered being

Is it a right of passage
That I’ve never endured
Perhaps it’s a lesson
I've been waiting  
To understand

Trust
Fear
Hope
Resiliency
Soul
Path
Healing

Where I sit now
Is in between the lenses
The way that
A dreary day
Makes your eyes squint
With cloudy
Overcast
Light

I readjust the glasses
Over and over
Again
Trying to find the
Position
That both
protects me
And let’s me see
With clarity
What lies ahead
Allyson Walsh May 2016
We were lying in the field
Behind my apartment
A mid-day meal
Wooden compartment

Your eyelashes extended
Your forehead and hairline
You intended
To find a fault line

The earth crumbling beneath
And car alarms sounding
Uncultured heath
Fractures abounding

Your dark skin mixing with dirt
Dangling from the rift
Dropping unhurt
Found gold to sift

Leaving with your small treasure
And I in the dust
Aim to measure
And readjust
For WY

A dream.
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
Have you ever had the experience
A coincidence becomes dissectable
And every nuance  and subtle twist
Can be seen for the impossibly relatable
Series of razor thin events connected
By the most tenuous reality imaginable.

So there l was ... sitting  on a bench
In the very mall I practically lived in
Back when I was a kid of the eighties
"20 years since I had even ....drivin
   The cracked and humbled asphalt  parking lot  

College called  - I answered  
Job  offer - ouldn't refuse
First wife walked-while I strayed
Second paid me back my earned dues
Third passed my name on into tomorrow
And the next ones due - Doc says is two

Mom called ....had cracked her vision
Time to readjust her optic imbalance
So here at the mall her optometrist  catered
While I kept tripping on that crazy window display

Why was it so familiar
I knew I knew  
But had not a clue
Where why or how that motorized
Chunk of plastic oscillating there ...like...like....?

Next morn it was back to the routine
Of a now eight year old commute
25miles on the turnpike then 3 mile of side street
To the .....o.m.g.  It was sarge  at the mall
It was sarge that musta always waved ...... it was sarge
   That what I nicknamed him
Funny how you can miss something
And not know that it was gone
Until that moment of clarity
When suddenly it will dawn... upon...you
That you should have noticed a week ago.

There had been a time when the routine route
Had just become a part of my future
And he stood there waving like a mad king
In that small patch of green behind the chain link
Beneath the curving memosa limb
Leaning on the triangle leg of a kids swing
Comical the first week anoying me the next
But every day rain or shine he was there
Smiling as he waved --enthusiasm portrayed
On the round cherubic ageless down --syndrome face
Infectious as a yawn everyday his hand waggling
Back and forth, back and forth until a week ago
When he was gone. Just a worn down spot in the grass
So.... Today I shall make commuter history. By pulling over
I parked among the honking horns .the shaking fists
And walked along the lawn through the gate and to the door
When a lady laced with smells of cinnamon rolls and coffee
Opened the door and began to cry when I told her why
His name was Harold he prefered Harry 52 just 3 weeks ago
And thats as old as he will ever get. We had coffee and a roll
As she told me of his life and times and I said his waving
And his smile would be missed. By more than just me I did insist

That day I didn't go on to work I set off for the mall
Where I entered into that novelty gift store
Then I left with a package that contained some yellow plastic
A motor and a battery and I had splurged on a solar panel
Then I parked again where earlier I had been
On silent steps and unspeakable joy I mounted what I carried
To the leg of the swing directly in line with the worn down grass
Then I turned it on and watched that yellow hand wave
Waggling to beat the band just like Harry did .
When I knocked she answered with puffy eyes you can't disguise
So I wasn't sure as I pointed toward my tribute -manic and gaudy
I felt as though I had crossed a line till then I had denied
But then Harrys mother looked real close . then busted out laughing  till once again tears filled up and ran from her eyes
It  aint the same , nothing replaces but I see smiles each morning
As his audience of jaded commuters replace the driving faces
With entheusiastic smiles that lightens up the commuters  route
And all those endless miles.
Mitchell Jan 2013
The thing's been done before
Water fountain's jammed up
Spilling over the metallic silver side
Popped ballon's lay limp red plastic
Between the greasy black finger's of
Tearless nuclear children

An awakening is upon us
Not much time

I sit with my beer
Listening to the buzz of of it all

Tell me where to go
My shackles
My freedom

Chair creaks beneath me
A voice speaks through me
Readjust

The mind's voice
Rests

Then everything begins to build up all over again

Rare dollar bill tough as leather
Thinly spilled for  faceless men
Battles they believed in
For reasons they now have
Eternity to ponder next to kin

Newly washed hands
Eyes closed
Freshly fallen snow
Stomach stinging with laughter

Recoiling mind
Unfortunate passing of events
Do not spend life in misery
For the ministry of happiness's door is open
There are no locks
Only the one's you ordered for

There is a way through the labyrinth of self-doubt
Lack of worth and confidence

It must be there

I admit I have not found the door
Though in ear these mysteries are whispered:

Clues from necktie wearing blue-jays
Grinning two toothed fish
Snapping turtles with their tongues tied
Alabaster granite for Her teeth
Smelling of chestnuts and volcano ash

The light at the end of the tunnel is being mended by no one
Prepare thyself for the worst
The heat and sharpness of the sword is precise
The game was designed that way

Attend the hatches
The moon has abandoned us
Tonight

We ride together side by side into darkness
Our wills the only thing to truly save us
Watch the gulls as they float in the warm wind over head
If they pass or disappear, pray we not be lost or dead

— The End —