Long Cut Poems
Long Cut Poems. Below are the most popular long Cut by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cut poems by poem length and keyword.
As a kid my hair was a very easy fix,
just pull it back with a rubber band into a ponytail.
As a teen a ponytail was not going to work,
off to the hair shop with picture in hand.
I sat in the chair and said,
I want to look like this picture.
I sat dreaming about my great new hair style,
as I looked in their mirror I was horrified.
I did not look like the picture I showed them,
what had happened to my head of hair.
I will fix the professionals,
next hair cut was on me.
That is when I started to cut my hair,
I still laugh when I get asked -
can they have my hairdresser's information.
I have found some great new friends,
hats in all sizes - styles and colors.
sober now,
and every second screams louder than the last.
the silence i begged for
now drips like acid through my spine.
when i was high,
the world floated —
hazy, dull-edged,
a soft lie i could breathe in.
without choking on memory.
without shaking from truth.
but now i wake up
to light too sharp for eyes that have seen too much,
and sleep with shadows that whisper
every name i try to forget.
they say this is healing.
they say pain is proof i'm alive.
but if this is life —
raw, bleeding,
a wound i carry like a badge —
then maybe i liked dying better.
i miss the numbness.
i miss the nothing.
it was kinder
than this endless parade
of remembering
everything
i ever did
just to feel okay.
We did when we said.. we do....
Now it’s no secret that we don’t
If not for the sake of one
We wouldn’t fake a happy home
We keep pictures on the walls
Of happy times and better days
But we both wish we could go back
And see the err of our ways
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
There’s one 8 by 10 prison
And several 10 by 12 inch cells
They’re all void of passion
Yet it’s here that we dwell
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
There’s no use in denying....
We’ve gone from lovers to barely friends
If this is what eternity holds
Well then I guess we’ve both been damned
These ties they bind like shackles
The weight of our vow brings a tear
Don’t ever trust a smiling face
When it’s been framed in for years
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
There’s one 8 by 10 prison
And several 10 by 12 inch cells
They’re all void of any passion
Yet it’s here that we dwell
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
Truth be told we’re living lies
Comfort is why we compromise
We’d just assume see us split up
So we could chase our own desires
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
There’s one 8 by 10 prison
And several 10 by 12 inch cells
They’re all void of any passion
Yet it’s here that we dwell
Cut me out of the pictures
Free me from this living hell
Cut me out of the pictures...
Free me from this living hell
Forks over knives
shattered
where the heart is
frozen.
Great expectations
love me or leave me
home alone.
What lies beneath
the notebook
can't buy me love
without leaving a forwarding address
back to the future.
Before night falls,
sense and sensibility
climb an angry mountain
to kill a mockingbird
for love.
The birds
take the lead,
homeward bound.
One flew over the cuckoo's nest
to catch a thief.
Stolen kisses
fly away home,
up
the spiral staircase.
Wings of desire
smile
for your eyes only.
Places in the heart
return to me
with your permission,
face to face.
(Each line is a separate movie title.)
The book holds every thought I’ve never had,
each spine a doorway to another mind’s terrain,
where silence isn’t empty but a comrade, glad
to let me disappear inside a stranger’s brain.
The smell is dust and lignin, old and sweet as grain,
democracy in alphabetical rows displayed—
the poor man’s university, the free domain
where knowledge asks for nothing but the time I’ve paid.
The paper’s edge is innocent until it’s not—
a blade so thin the eye can’t see its honed intent,
and then the sting, the line of red, the burning slot
between the atoms of my skin where something went
precisely wrong. No warning given, no event
to justify this pain that throbs beyond its size,
this microscopic violence that the page has sent,
this proof that beauty sharpens what it occupies.
26-7-2024
Underneath the skin, coiled blood hissed.
And behind his sinister grin,
A hundred teeth hid a recoiled tongues twist.
His speech blunders, but within his eyes seethe,
Words wherein they need not leave his mouth kissed.
He spoke no lies, and often wonders those bequeathed by his gab gift.
But the truth lies asunder between his own words and honest habits.
What I mean is that he often preaches despite his own practices,
A conscious unclean, an empty coffin for each his inciting blacknesses.
24-7-2024
I forgot to live at seventeen
Years of loving the living dream
Hid more of my skin
Been hiding underneath my sleeve
‘Sincerely evermore,
The Ego; The Esteem.’
23-6-2024
It’s hard not to just focus on the faces
Sharp eyes straight onwards
The pupils follow what sight traces
I can’t help being this awkward
Sometimes I feel so hollow from slight gazes
Do you ever just want to hide?
Confined to the bright places
I’ve just gotta swallow my pride
Wherever the light chases is where I get borrowed by the tide.
20-9-2023
Angry men who’re hurt by the system,
Always complain they aren’t heard by the system.
Acting out,
Maybe acting a victim,
Maybe I just act a little different,
Or maybe I’m stuck in the same boat with them.
Regardless,
I wonder what they’re all mad about,
Wonder if it’d be different if their mother’s had kissed them?
I wander about,
Lost in the desert searching for a kingdom.
I’m praying but still disallowed,
I lived a life of sin from birth,
Damned to roam,
The river bed earth forgot since its drought.
They’re in my skin,
And they’re finding a way out,
Meeting the harsh winds that are fining me down.
The hostile sky,
Burn in my cottonmouth,
I’ve no directions,
Follow the sun from north to south,
Return of the Moon,
I’ve just got turned around.
Could I be dying,
My life accursed.
Without lying,
Dying first could have me sleeping sound,
Because if the reaper’s calling,
I’m surely finding my way out.
I write with repetition throughout,
I’m not very creative,
I’m reliant,
I’m eaten up by doubt.
Five lines about me,
I’m still nothing when I scream and shout.
He said he’d watched a tutorial.
He said symmetry was a myth
fueled by Big Geometry.
I laughed. That was my first mistake.
My second was passing him the scissors
without asking him about his dominant hand.
(It was vibes. His hand was vibes.)
Snip.
He called it edgy. I called it
accidentally spiritual—
because seeing your own scalp
before coffee
is a kind of awakening.
He apologized by making pancakes
in the shape of angels.
I joked, You know these look like ghosts.
He replied so sincerely, I don’t see it.
And that was the moment I knew:
this is who I chose. The kind of man
who conflates confidence with capability,
specters with satiety, and bad haircuts
with love.
I could have done worse.
That bald spot grew over,
like a lot of mistakes—
as if nothing had happened.
But when I hear the snip-snapping
of blades testing the air, I still flinch.
Just a little.
Which is to say, I’m older now,
but still not immune to vanity,
or apology, or pancakes,
especially when they’re fueled
by good intentions.
I introduced you to all the significant ones in my life,
....you still left me.
I hosted you with a lot of joy,
....you still left me.
I cut links with all the girls and focused on us,
....you still left me.
I worked so hard and got everything you wanted
....you still left me.
I compromised my principles to make you happy,
....you still left me.
I restricted my interactions and remained faithful to us,
....you still left me.
I bound myself in your ring,
....you still left me.
I smiled at every mockery,
....you still left me.
I faced every embarrassment with courage,
....you still left me.
I remained strong in bed,
....you still left me.
I stooped very low to hold your hand,
....you still left me.
I spent everything I did not have,
....you still left me.
I fasted and prayed for us,
....you still left me.
I sent friends and family to talk to you,
....you still left me.
Only these lessons and more that I learned,
....have never left me.
It started out as an accident,
Pushing the blade into my skin,
But I can't deny the feeling of relief,
Flowing out from within.
My anger and frustration with the world,
That has accumulated over the years,
Finds it's release at the first drop of blood,
Along with my pain and fears.
It's looked down upon to harm others,
Only frowned upon to harm one's self,
The release of my emotions through cutting,
Is better than storing them on my mental shelf.
I think I've found an addiction,
My emotions escaping with the blood,
If I tried releasing them with my tears,
I'm sure it would create a flood.
Autumn sky glows yellow against blue hue sky;
turns windy, rainy a long languorous day.
Swirls of fresh intoxicating aria.
midmorning showers
rootless lingering rainbow~
scent of petrichor
Outdoors allure afresh, stunning once again.
Sun kissed fragrant richer fruitful harvest fields.
Woods once rich with leaves fall round and round with wings.
quenching nature's thirst
harmonious double arch~
whole world auspicious
An evening walk to the pond a calming sense;
near the bank we saw large bear paws sunk deeply
into the mud, quietly cutting our walk short.
black bear foraging
spawning fish bantering play~
heart beats in slumber
9/7/2020
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