Long Mannequin Poems
Long Mannequin Poems. Below are the most popular long Mannequin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mannequin poems by poem length and keyword.
Everybody observes the naked universe
But never ask if it's polite to do so
Just like the door to my chest has been opened
Revealing my naked heart to the world
Some people look with disgust
Some people look with pity
But most refuse to look at all
So I may as well be a mannequin
A slightly more complex mannequin
With feelings like paper mache
I'm slightly more reasonable than a drunk
Ever so slightly though I'm afraid
When a door closes a door opens
A chance to take a chance in chance
A chance to dance among the stars
A chance to be something wonderful
Like when two imbalanced souls meet
Their hearts may finally rejoice
For a man is not a man unless a man is a man
But a man is not a man if within he cannot find himself
I could peer into the mirror and see something sinister
And aghast I might take a mallet to the mirror
But honestly parading my insecurities like fashion
Was probably a bad play from the beginning
I found myself before the wall, the wall
Where I ripped my heart from my chest
And there it was nailed for the world to behold
Making a martyr of my own feelings
When the world faded from my fingertips
Like blood from an open wound
The sky outside faded to a very deep black
And I could no longer see my reality
But see that wall was an empty wall
Humanity goes out, inhumanity was bred
I may have been such a foolish youth
But deep inside I knew a truth
I thought I had forgotten how to feel
When in truth I was afraid to feel
When I nailed my heart to the wall
That was when I became a mannequin
And only when I take back my heart
Will I ever become a man again
To find my heart is to find yours
Before a blushing naked universe
Is the tangerine tranquility
of divine signature—
a chlorophyll sanctum
for kindled minds,
where identity softens
into its sovereign form.
Uniqueness glistens
like diamonds in agate woods,
flowing like a brook
through silenced seastorms,
casting resilient ripples
of peace in chaos.
Kaleidoscopic hues
lather liberation
in lilac breath,
woven through rose-glazed silk,
layering thy self
beyond binary divides.
Weaving a raspberry mirage,
condensing orbits once defined,
gravity kneels to lucid silhouettes —
where polarization, veiled in vines,
drifts through phantoms of shadowed memes,
labeling itself among quiet captives.
Appearance deceives—
a haunted massacre,
gnawing at edges
of borrowed illusions,
trapped in the coffin
of jinxed confessions.
Still, I yearn for that foetal light—
a harlequin armour
on mannequin soul,
held by the thinnest threads
of clairvoyant defiance,
tethered to becoming.
Dusk drapes the horizon
in crimson hush,
penning butter-paper dreams
into the murmuring breeze,
where buried silence exhales
fractured fragments of valour.
My first Dollie was white
It sat on the lap of Papa's mahogany chair
I looked closer and saw blue eyes
A miniature mannequin, she was thin
Was it a sin I stood not smiling? But turned within
Filled with joy, the color of my skin was Cadbury brown
My Christmas gift to me all along
Dark girls I meet were pretty and sweet
If they were poor, I loved them more
My brother's first love was an Ebony dove
She was the color of my love
Nobody told me I was beautiful
On our way to sea, I felt it
A nappy haired doll; hand in hand
With my teacher, Miss Daphne, on the pier
I felt a touch, warm as Carib' breeze
It was the arms of God saying I was His
Of Her, my Jamaican Mama wedded to my Papa in Belize
Where mahogany speaks
Mys second dally was brown
She made me smile, and lingered long
peering into iris of her eyes
It was deeper than colorism
It was first pool my spirit plunged in
It soothe my soul
My friend, Denise Taylor was white
Eyes the color of chocolate
Her curls bounced gaily as we skipped to school
Her mood I always savored, was jelly sweet treat
She painted me a picture of light in all its glory.
*
My heart is empty
But my mind is full
So I have all these thoughts
But no feelings attached
My ears hear thoughtfully
But my tongue tastes tepidly
And the person I was 10 years ago
Well, he no longer exists
I feel like a manic mannequin
Masquerading as a man
Once vibrant eyes have gone dark
And I'm closer to death than birth
I write these words in my head
But they're written by foreign fingers
Lacking the deftness
That they used to have
Everyone thinks you die once
But after all I've been through
I think you die a thousand painful deaths
Before the Grim Reaper comes calling
The vibrancy of the mind fades
An aging body breaks down and decays
Hope transmogrified into one day at a time
But it just doesn't get any better
I feel like a software update went wrong
And erased the operating system
Like when Windows replaced XP with Vista
But it was never quite the same
My heart is empty
But my mind is full
But my feelings are attached here
To fill my empty heart
She warms my heart
I'm not sure how
She lights a fuse
And soon.. kerpow!
My love it swells
Her voice
Like angels' clanging bells
She wakes me up
I feel alive
Her face a feast
On which I thrive
Such lovely jawline
Perfect skin
Her posture
Perfect mannequin
I love her walk
I love her clothing
Find something wrong?
I see no thing
Her curves delight
We chat so long
Into the night
Her arms entwine
Her hands just beauty
In beastly mine
I've never liked someone like this
My heart beat falters
As lips I kiss
Balcony we sit
As shoulders touch
I like this girl
Says boy
So much
I wake, I breathe, I move, I fade,
A specter stitched from a torn-out page.
A thing that walks but leaves no trace,
A mouth that speaks, but not a face.
I press my hands to solid skin,
Feel the warmth, the pulse within.
It beats, it drums, it hums, it sways—
But it is borrowed. Not mine—not mine.
I wear a voice that isn’t true,
It speaks in tones I never knew.
They nod, they smile, they call my name,
But I am absent, all the same.
They say I’m here, they say I breathe,
But nothing here belongs to me.
Not the air, not the ground, not the bones I hold—
Just skin too loose and blood too cold.
I watch them dance, I watch them sing,
I try to move, but I am string.
A puppet stitched with hollow thread,
A mannequin that mimics red.
The world is warm, the world is bright,
But never quite within my sight.
I press my palm to window glass,
And let the world just watch me pass.
I smile, I nod, I play my part,
I bow, I clap, I feign a heart.
They look, they see, but never quite—
I flicker dim, I steal the light.
And when I leave—oh, when I go—
No rivers bend, no cold winds blow.
The clocks don’t pause, the birds don’t hush,
The world forgets me in a rush.
No footprints pressed in salted dirt,
No echoes where my ribs once hurt.
No hollow name upon the tongue,
Just silence—soft, just silence—young.
A ripple smoothed before it swells,
A whisper swallowed whole by bells.
A shadow stretched, then pulled too thin,
A door that locked me out, within.
And so I breathe, and so I fade,
A ghost before the grave is made.
A thing that walks but leaves no trace,
A mouth that speaks—
But not a face.
Every piece of furniture I am becoming attached
Is that possible?
Nah cannot be
You cannot become attached to things - personal things
Just like you cannot become attached to people
I am tired of being the mannequin
Guinea pig - whatever you call it
For God to try His hands on
I am not too sure if I want to be the first in everything
It seems I got hit the hardest
Just like the first born
The parent likes to try everything
And learn it along the way
And they go easier on the later born
That is the way I feel
First it's a yay
Now it's nay
Make up Your mind
Or You can have both
Just take both off
As I don't want it neither
Tired of dealing with You
Don't want to deal with You no more
Go - no go
Don't matter to me
As I don't give a hooter
Lol whatever
I am getting to a point where I don't really care
See who gives a hoot
I no longer COOPERATE
You can do it all on Your own
As I no longer want it
You think I do?
Well You can shove it
As it no longer means s to me
Just the way You want it
Because I cannot do anything that You don't want me to do
But I am doing it
So there
Hope You are happy
And be blessed
And don't ask me for anything
Because the answer is going to be "no"
I mean it
Don't
Words from perforated ceiling tiles squawk
as megaphone filters blare
in crackled sequence
around missing stations
and call letters that aren’t acronyms
I hear these words, but shake my head
I know they are for me,
sent by well wishing advisors
wearing t-shirts imprinted
“I’m with stupid”
(and the arrows point at me)
Still I don’t heed the warnings…
I can’t, for dreams require reaching,
top shelf visions waving with
hope filled coupons
offering no discount for the heart
“Don’t want what you can not have,” they shout
As I continue to climb the frozen escalator,
cleaning my shoes on the bristles,
then checking my appearance in the sunglass
refection of a mannequin missing one arm
(and I feel happy for this plastic person)
For it has no idea how it feels
To be out of style, yesterday’s sleeves
worn of worried first impressions,
heart beat delusions and needs
at the end of the line…to check out
and yet, until the time comes for me to “check out”
I will reach for that dream, regardless of
invisible sales clerks on their eternal break,
because I will reach that register and I will ask that question
to which she just might say yes
(and then who will be wearing the t-shirt)
ThE BaLaNcE
Your eyes brighten boulevard ho-hum
Sweet music spreads beyond yonder valleys
Flees all pain when beside you darling chum
Its only love that your good heart carries
Treasure trove of gentleness pleasing all
Sprinkle happy smiles and pleasant surprise
Mannequin of joy in spring and in fall
Untarnished charm while the ocean dries
Plumes of hate fly everywhere in air
Cosmos delivers you gullible tag
Only love in this bad world isn’t fair
Hate pushes love to hoist its glorious flag
Penchant for love grace the infinite sea
Its nectar be served to well-deserved bee!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak, 2016
Joe and Shelly’s house is on fire!
It is simply and surely ablaze!
The flames are incessantly higher.
Yet we see him sitting there, in a daze.
Mr. Hamilton runs straight in there,
We see him through the transparent window.
He runs promptly back out with burning hair,
Did you get our neighbors Shelly and Joe?
You will not believe it he tells us.
A mannequin was in Joe’s chair.
Firemen come without a fuss.
The smell of smoke permeates the air.
Tables, computers, cherished photos too
Quickly curled up and died that night
Made Joe’s almost ex a little blue,
What he might do next gave her a fright.
Revenge Joe never came back, that conniving scamp.
He had cancelled his home owners’ insurance a month ago.
Enjoyed the rest of his days playing a guitar in a hobo camp
Making his fearful wandering wife a pauper, that little ‘ho.