Emptier Poems

Without you

The world is a bit colder
The street a bit emptier
Without your voice
Without your hand to hold.

Empty

You have begun staring emptier than me, 
the spiritual distortion leaves me speechless. 
Of all the parts you could've picked,
You chose the mole right above my upper lip.
As if you have the power to remove 
birth marks with an empathetic laser surgery...
And sometimes the gaze flutters down and up,
instantly to my eyes when the realisation hits,
and the void loses its ingenuity to greed.

The Hymn of a Forgotten Soul

They do not see me,
only numbers,
a mind wrapped in accolades,
a vessel of knowledge,
but never a soul.

What I do beyond the classroom
is dust in the wind,
unnoticed, unworthy,
a shadow cast by my own intellect.

My mind,
a magnet for praise,
a curse to myself.
neglect my suffering,
worship my GPA.

Scorn my exhaustion,
demand I excel.

Work. Work. Work. Work.
Run faster, push harder,
outshine the one behind,
outdo the one ahead.

Break the cycle.
Be first.
Full ride, perfect score,
rewrite the past in brighter ink.
Don’t be her. Be better.
Don’t compare. But compare.
Lead, but follow.
Stand out, but fit in.

A never-ending tug-of-war,
and when the rope snaps,
I stand alone.
Dangling between purpose and place,
the misplaced piece in a puzzle
that never had a space for me.

In a world of patterns,
I am the outlier, the inconsistency,
the contradiction wrapped in expectation.

My mind—a battlefield,
truth and acceptance at war,
the lines blurred,
the victor unknown.

All I know is that each battle 
leaves me emptier 
than the last.

The End

The End
there comes a point when you must move on.
the push You need comes from within, not from anyone else.
Better to start alone than carry the weight,
even if it cuts deep at first.
What You had slips away.
the happiness You once knew fades,
And nothing feels the same.
You’ll learn to fix it Yourself—
Quieter.
Emptier.
You don’t need others.


There will always be a End

And Little Boy Number Two

Little boy number two
Felt the coldness from the air
That was breathed from the family
That grieved and was fighting for two to 
Survive something new 
And scary and horrible and dismal
The unthinkable and impossible

All along boy number two played alone 
In his gated room that felt bigger and emptier
Than when he lived with his brother
And nobody took notice on little boy number three
Who had become seen
With the figurine he kept warm
from his little fingers he held on tightly
The pair of them would never be alone again

Unfurl Your Sails

Each fragile dandelion Orb of feathered, tiptoed seeds
Invite Curiosity's breath to loft your prosperous needs

Anchor away La Pinta, La Niña, cast off Santa Maria
Heave hoe your Astrolabe Star ward to map Nirvana

Sail well past your daunting precipice in daring abandon
The Perils of Earth's plate, let emptier thoughts imagine

Be bold.  Lift in weightless step.  Jump ship to board Apollo
Hitch a ride to wander in imagination the coming tomorrow

It's Not Fun Anymore

Iconic smell of cigarettes
		were better when Hollywood still gave a damn.

	And it was always a good day when talking about days were fun
	but now, I just want to be full of emptier things.

			I don’t like being outside for too long.
			The walls outside talk too much.
			The walls inside talk too, but
			I can’t hear them.

		I remember when yogurt still had a smell.
		I can’t really smell Paris either.
		Maybe I just need to eat something
		To remind myself that something tasted good

		But there’s nothing good in that, is there?

Storm

The wind howls to me.
It was 9:03.
I could hear thunder.
I don’t want anything to hide under.
I don’t want to avoid the thrill.
The sky has its own twisted will.
I wish I was able to hold an empty glass.
So it can crack and shatter all over the grass.
This day of harsh weather.
Pulls at reality’s tether.
They lost what they lost.
Insurance couldn’t cover the cost.
The town is a little emptier.
They said they’d rebuild in September.
My old barn will be demolished.
This empty barn with no light switch.
This old, haunted place.
This old, worn space.
When the workers came.
They tore through my shame.
This place which was my home for 100 years.
This place where I scared teenagers.
Storms are deadly, storms can cause harm.
But for me, it was a way off this abandoned farm.

Disconnected

I stare into the void of glowing screens,
A modern-day oracle, my silent confidante.
How did life lead me to this pixelated precipice?
A chasm waiting to be bridged by strangers' stories.

The hum of algorithms weaves a tapestry,
Threads of lives unraveling, intertwining.
Wars rage beyond the glass, bloodshed unseen,
Yet here I am, eyes fixed on the luminous abyss.

Digits dance, mocking my inertia,
Their binary whispers a curse upon my mind.
I neglect the tangible, the touch of sun-warmed skin,
Trading it for the cool glow of virtual existence.

Forever waiting, forever scrolling,
I seek solace in the electric hum of connection.
But oh, the irony—the more I consume,
The emptier this lifeless screen becomes.

Give me flesh, give me laughter,
Not just pixels and phantom notifications.
Let me break free from this digital echo,
And find meaning in the warmth of shared moments.

The Warmth of a Cold Heart

"It's time to go." 
Death's cold voice echoed through the cries of the crowd.
A kid of skin and bones in tattered clothes looked at death with much emptier eyes.
"I'm scared." The child trembled.
"What awaits me is void, filled with nothing but fear.
I want to be with my family, far from the noise of bombs and guns, 
from the earsplitting cries of victims."
Death reached out a cold hand.
"What awaits you is the pleasant heat of spring,
the warmth amidst the cold. You will suffer no more,
for you are now free from the exploits of war."

Our Last Shared Moments

I.
you lead me gently,
my soul brushes against yours;
i’m taken over.

II.
i'm drifting closer.
please let me into your skin.
will you want my love?

III.
my gullible heart,
now emptier than before,
heavily guarded.

Weeping Joker

Who are we in this wicked land
The boat I row in the sea of truth
Is getting emptier day by day
 
My hands are getting tired
Where am I heading
My mind is getting cramped
The same question that never stops fading
 
Happiness is an overrated feature.
The spoon to feed that to me
Have fallen into this chopping sea
I’m wandering as a perfect insane
who are labeled with multiple names
 
Decades past,
white hair replacing the dark ones
That’s the only dark into white things
Ever happened in my life
Simple in virtue, steadfast in duty
It's only nice to be on a plaque
The weight of these words made me fall apart from this world

Not So Much What Could Be Described As Poetry Per Say

This could not so much technically
be described as poetry per say 

Rather more like just writing down
every single thought

That enters my empty vacant restless
head

And trust me I don't mind honestly
admitting to the fact 

My head is probably emptier than 

Most 

Now I just thought and it has got
me thinking 

i wonder if there is an actual contest
or award for that I can enter 

Because I could possibly be a world
champion or at very least a close
second

Or record holder for the most pointless
nonsensical existential thoughts in a
calendar lifetime

And boy ohh boy of late I seem to be 
or have hit my absolute prime and stride
like I never have before

Sorry to bore but that is my one and
only hobby and thing I may actually be
truly any good at all 

Saying and thinking a hell of a lot of
simply nothing of any relevance at all

We Will Not Forget

"Te recuerdo como eras en el ultimo otono..."
 (I remember how you were in the last autumn.) 
---- Pablo Neruda

Dawn seems much later --
the nights much longer
than they used to be...
I am achier, and morning light 
comes tardy. Our cats and I
are in the house and you, alas, 
are not. Missing you, 
they mourn, like me,
your touch, your voice, 
lightning looks you aimed our way.  
The house, the town, the world -- 
life itself -- are emptier, lacking
your zest, the flavor of your presence --
your voice, your smell, the looks 
in your shining eyes. We will go on, 
although in ways much changed:
without your laugh, your sneer, 
flashes of your ire and then
regretful, rapid calming. 
We do, and will, still remember,
these cats, and I, and 
we will not forget.
No.  How could we?
The void you left
will not be filled and 
we will not, will not,
will not forget.

Tatters

Why
Did I
Get sucked in
Like a big fish 
And play with the clowns
There went my rent money
I'm a laughing stock at cards
My life's a big circus as is 
The only poker I know is fun
My
Oh my
See my face
After that loss
I'm at loss for words
My insides are empty
My wallet is emptier 
My hair's on fire, I need help
Where is my cotton candy lady

connie pachecho

1/5/23

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