Sometimes I think I put on the wrong body
Sometimes I think I put the body on wrong
Liars spend their days
touting insincerity
oozing insecurity
Do they stand a chance
when their tongues
no longer dance
Like a lone flower
in the silence of still air—
a graceful young girl,
modest in her quiet glow,
unseen by the insecure.
I need a break, a minute’s breath of space;
The furious tempo driving me along,
a fussy temper, fervent all day long
to strive, stress, toil, scramble to keep the pace—
—the pace of a spent poet keeping face;—
enough to numb a hand that once inked strong
words, and made paper sound loud as a gong.—
and what a base disgrace…to lose the chase.
How many spears did that old poet shake,
which time has flung away(, or swallowed whole,)
that today we marvel at his masterworks?
What thousand wonders hide behind the break
of history?, what secrets, grand or droll,
lay low and lost within his epoch’s lurks?
Instead of monsters under my bed
- they stare at my face in the mirror
At what point does a child become the direct descendant of a wound breed from insecurity.
A world that preaches love is this almighty being that comes to everybody.
The same world that writes the script for a judging mind yet screams to erase.
But what if I’m different?
Easy to like, but only under certain conditions.
But what if it’s me?
Easy to want, but hard to hold.
For who decides these monsters for me?
Why does it feel as if I’m choosing the monsters that crawl under my bed?
I don’t want them!
But I suppose you can never tell where the monsters will hide.
Don't make me yawn
Just pick
One color
It doesn't much matter anyway
What color
You pick
Any will do, aside from the original
Apples the fruit of life, use to grow all over the earth.
Now they have been killed and replaced to make the earth a place of cement.
The juicy and lovely apple, was free to eat for those that choose it as a treat.
Maybe they killed so many apple trees, to make us pay for them.
The animals and people now have to go without the apples for we cannot see them grow freely.
Making us all very hangry.
The world as we know it continues to change, and suits the rich and the ones with fame.
The food was free and use to grow for animals and people, now we must work and pay for things that were free, like the apples and many other kinds of food that use to be free.
I was never here for passing time,
Never here for love denied.
I thought we’d walk this road as one,
But love has left me far behind.
If I love you, how can I not break?
When you are not mine to take.
To watch you smile, yet stand apart,
It slowly shatters my fragile heart.
You say that friends we still can be,
But love and friendship don’t agree.
For what’s a friend when love runs deep,
To stand and watch, yet never speak?
I gave you all, my heart, my time,
Yet love was never truly mine.
I was just there—just one more name,
But to me, you were my flame.
I mattered not—I see it clear,
Just words I held, just dreams too near.
But now I go, I leave, I fade,
No more a shadow in your shade.
How lucky are the ones who stay,
Who hold your light, who share your way.
But I must leave, I won’t pretend—
I can't be "just" a friend.
I take my feelings, take my pain,
And whisper softly in the rain.
No more wishes, no more fight,
Just letting you live your life.
The thirst for effervescence,
A sweetness I’ve always craved,
To be a child of such incandescence,
So that no soul can claim I’ve failed.
Yearning to be witty, even reverential,
Merely to be something good,
Desperate to claw up some potential,
So that no soul can claim I am pointless.
Lusting to be known as an ingenue,
Perfection in a woman’s form,
An image id walk through flame to,
How can I be true when I am based on pure perception?
one side of our eyes
evil persist, other side
stagnant thoughts of good
Al Juman style haiku © 1/12/2001
A poet I aspired to be,
Yet words that mattered were in opposition with me.
A pen I could hold, a book I owned,
But the feelings were never my own.
A writer's soul is a shattered vase,
Tired from the pain and strain it etched to a lonely page.
However, mine was untouched, free
From the shadows that lurked behind a poet.
What do they have that I lacked?
An answer to that I craved so bad.
I am a terrible poet, with unpolished words
And simple thoughts.
I could never be equals with such greatness.
When they write, it summons gods.
When I write, I just wrote words.
I repeated them so often, they sounded so forced.
Shakespeare would tell me to give up,
Maya would say I've tried enough.
But my poetic dreams would come to a cease,
That thought makes my knees weak.
Writing has always been my release,
Yet being the best at it just seems too much.
dread, rising up while all hope is dying
safety and surety of joy, a soul ignores,
apprehensive, worried, insecurity’s complying
pouring out tension from deathly doors,
bleeding heart whose shadow is petrifying
I cashed my Social Security check
But even now I'm quite afraid
Because after adding up all my bills
I still owe more than what it paid
Embrace your insecurities with grace,
Yet, don't let them dictate your pace.
They're shadows that may come and go,
But never allow them to diminish your glow.
It's fine not always to be on the peak,
Cool and collected, a demeanor unique.
Value the journey, not just the goal,
Secure your insecurities, make them your soul.
Blaming won't lead to growth,
Own them, let that be an oath.
Insecurity is a part of the ride,
But don't let it steal away, your pride.
Be comfortable with the Sway and flow,
Learn to let your inner strength grow.
In this dance of life, play your tune,
Embrace your insecurities beneath the moon.
she is beyond beautiful
too good for me
dazzling sky blue eyes and perfect pink lips
why is she dressed like that?
for other men?
his insecurity caused him suspicion
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