Long Wrongness Poems
Long Wrongness Poems. Below are the most popular long Wrongness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wrongness poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m afraid
I am rotten.
Not on the surface-
no, I learned early
how to look intact.
I learned how to smile
without cracking,
how to speak softly
so no one hears
the decay working underneath.
Rot is quiet.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It happens slowly,
patiently,
in places no one checks.
I worry there is something in me
that spoiled before it was ever loved.
Something that went bad
from waiting too long
in the dark.
Something that learned
how to survive neglect
but not how to stay whole.
People touch me
and pull their hands back
eventually.
They never say why.
They just sense it-
that faint wrongness,
that soft collapse behind the ribs,
like fruit bruised too deeply
to recover.
I try to be careful.
I try not to leak.
I wrap myself in kindness,
in humor,
in good behavior-
as if sweetness on the outside
might cancel out
what’s fermenting within.
But rot doesn’t disappear
because you are gentle.
It doesn’t stop
because you are trying.
I replay every loss
like evidence.
Every leaving.
Every almost-love
that stalled and spoiled.
I ask myself
what they smelled
that I couldn’t.
Maybe I stayed unopened too long.
Maybe I trusted the wrong warmth.
Maybe something essential in me
was never meant
to survive this air.
I am afraid I am rotten
because no matter how deeply I clean,
there is a sadness
that keeps resurfacing-
not sharp,
not dramatic,
just sour and persistent.
The kind that settles in the chest
and convinces you
this is who you’ve always been.
This is what happens
when something good
is left waiting
too long to be chosen.
I fear love will arrive,
finally,
and find me already ruined.
That it will press gently
and feel the give.
That it will apologize
with its eyes
and turn away.
So I keep myself closed.
I keep myself cool.
I pretend preservation
is the same as safety.
But at night,
when everything is quiet enough
to tell the truth,
I press my hand to my chest
and wonder-
was I always like this,
or did the world
teach me
how to spoil?
I’m afraid
I am rotten.
And more afraid still
that no one will ever tell me
I am not.
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
And it changes as the beholders get older
As it ceases thinness and becomes less colder
In the matter resident in the chamber above the shoulder
For every mistake he has suffered a smolder
And his careful reasoning has grown bolder
Oh how sure life is a moulder
I know what it is to melt at the sight
The cleavage wrapped around fabric so tight
And darkness creeps and dilutes the mind's light
Imagination takes off in unguided flight
The desirous persuasion cuffs the man's might
The beckoning conscience slowly loses the fight
One yielding and he is charred with blight
Only to wake up another victim of plight
I know what it is to stray and deem justified
Wrongs whose wrongness remain unclassified
To have excuses modified
To have exceptions fortified
But still the suffering intensified
For we reaped of defiance well defied
Our giving measure came back amplified
Why then won't we be petrified?
Heaven and earth are witnesses
That before us are ills and wellnesses
That though the choice bears offenses
It bears much good and righteousness
That any Godly man harnesses
Though the path narrows and hard-presses
No way else gloriously cloaks and dresses
K. Muitherero.
Have you ever heard some lyrics that
moved you to the core?
Moved you to the point that they infused
in your psyche.
That’s what happened to me with the song
“ If Loving You Is Wrong I Don’t Want To
Be Right.”
Think about it, we always want to be right,
but when it comes to matters of the heart
that goes out the window.
If it means being with the one you love,
you will have no problem being “wrong”
If it means you can lose yourself in your
lovers arms.
However, you will be losing yourself in
all your “ wrongness.”
Sometimes it can take a lifetime to find
your mate.
So crossing the bridge of right to wrong
is no problem.
This write is not talking about anything bad,
At the end of the day, it's all about love.
You might have to lose yourself to find true
love
Just don't compromise your morals and who
you are at the core.
Then as I digested the lyrics of this song; loving
a man that’s married and doesn't belong to you
is wrong and it’s best to stay on the “ right”
side of the tracks.
Alexis Y.
06/16/2021
As I go up the down side
The side that's down
I am holding on
To the promises of physic
Hoping for the innocents of a child
While ever so anointed
Ever so vile
I need to heed the call
I create myself over again (it's not me God does it)
Perfection not my goal
For all is all, all is in
I remember my Savior's call
He beckon me from within
Chance His phone signal never stalled
I just open my heart and listen
Now I down my wrongness
I cleave to the measures of my promises
I am holding on
Handling all the present and past things
Praying for my only Lord and Savior
While ever being so present blessed
And all I have left is life with Him
And all that's desire I have inside of me
Hoping for the innocents of a child
While ever so anointed
Ever so vile
I need to heed the call
I create myself over again ( it's not me God does it)
Perfection not my goal
For all is all, all is in
I remember my Savior's call
He beckon me from within
Chance His phone signal never stalled
I just open my heart and listen
10/31/17
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from anthology "Strong Faith" 2017(c)
They whine more than I ever could.
So it’s ok if I’m wrong, at least I’m normal.
And the taste of wrongness is fine to me.
I promise to help with fine print in hand.
I’m smiling.
I’m not kind, I’m just winding up or down.
Depends on the time of day.
I just tell them how to do things.
How to do things.
Like eating things you don’t like.
Eat a snake skin.
No one will believe either of us.
Any money I take is delightful yet spiteful.
Any money you give to me is an act of self hatred.
And you are living life horribly.
There is no spark in life.
Except in your kitchen.
So the house burnt down.
For no reason the police can find.
So you came a week later.
It was all your fault.
Something, something…
So eat leaves that fell off a tree.
To feel better, that’s why you pay me.
I burnt her house down.
Therapists can confess too.
We take the police reports.
And talk them down.
A poem about the recent loss of my identical twin sister. I love and miss you, sis...
--------------
there were two of me
once
not in the way people mean
when they talk about reflection
or similarity
or matching outfits in photographs
i mean two heartbeats
that learned each other
before language
before memory
before the world could name us separate
you were not beside me
you were with me
woven through one another
a second nervous system
a quiet, constant knowing
i never had to reach for
blue eyes
identical to mine
but still entirely yours
and now
reality keeps insisting
i am singular
as if that is not an amputation
as if i have not been bisected
without anesthesia
in a way that leaves no clean edge
no visible place to point and say
“this is where she was.”
i walk around
with an invisible wound
something missing
mutilated
i was torn apart
and whatever held me together
went with you
people look at me
and see a whole body
but i feel
disfigured
expected to live
without a vital organ
who am i
without the person
who made me make sense
who am i
without the witness
who knew me before i became
someone existent
they tell me
you are still here
in my laugh
in my hands
in the small, indescribable things
but that feels like
being asked to accept fragments
as a whole
i don’t want traces
i want what was ripped from me
as something outside of me
someone i could turn toward
someone who could look back
and lay your head on my shoulder
not this silence
stitched over
where you used to be
nerve endings exposed
left this way
there is no buffer
to help make sense of the world
turned inside out
like all the parts meant to be protected
are suddenly visible
and still
somewhere beneath the damage
beneath the wrongness of being only one
there is a thread
that did not break
i feel it
in the quiet moments
once filled with your voice
not gone
just unreachable
like a room in a house
i no longer have the key to
there were two of me
once
and even now
in ways i cannot prove
or properly survive
there still are.
You were the witness
Of my gradual disappearance
I evaporated one look at a time
Beneath your harshness
You so vibrant
Me cloaked in my shyness
You not seeing
Or wondering whyness
My smile lost all its brightness
My spirit its lightness
You became more brilliant
Rising in heightness
As I faded into my blackness
You became sheer whiteness
I was all wrongness
You were always rightness
In the beginning
You gifted me your kindness
Looking past my frogyness
You were my royal highness
A princess gifted with open mindedness
With you I felt a level of significance
That proved to be a risky business
I felt like a strong person
But in the end l lacked fitness
Do you remember
My exuberance
The way I danced in my freeness
How you saw much more
Instead of so much lessness
I could just be myselfness
Before all the craziness
The impatience
I exchanged my substance for faintness
Yes you were the witness
To my gradual disappearance
Our no longer in syncness
Somehow losing the us significance
You the unaware witness
With no remembrance
So I let go of your promises
They were never meant to be
The realization of my happiness
Do not worry, I am not currently going through this.
Form:
As I sat thinking the other day,
A flow of thoughts brought these words to say.
Some were fleeting, some longer lasting,
Like the evening shadows the sun was casting.
Quenching my thirst for knowledge to be known,
Neither rightness nor wrongness had a need to be shown.
Titles and labels were thrown to the floor,
As aspects and insights began to soar.
How can the beginnings and endings be understood?
If we look inside, then they could.
It’s looking inside, to determine the intention,
That reveals a truth that fuels comprehension.
It’s the essence of Truth that we must perceive,
To see its value so we can believe.
Through perception to conception, we begin to relish,
The connection to perfection, we then can embellish.
Most things that taste good are bad for you the true
Nutrients is the closeness to the wrongness now aloof
When you swallow the truth and glorifies you
It brings you closer to the essence of life truth
GOOD TASTE FIT RIGHT TRUTH-aloof
Now those things that are fitting for you conform
And fit on you they don't just fall and hang loosely on you
Like a drape hanging down and the tightness there is
It's the embrace of there is a molding a bonding aloof
The truth finds his way when you're loose
GOOD TASTE FIT RIGHT TRUTH-aloof
Now if it tastes good and it looks good doesn't mean it's good
And if it sounds good doesn't mean it should be ever good
You see the only good in me is the God in Me
So if I walk away is He still abide in me
If He takes HIS breath away I am no longer alive
nah my true essence I'm a vapor I just went poof
GOOD TASTE FIT RIGHT TRUTH-aloof
7/11/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
There’s not two ways of talking,
Two different points of view,
Many different angles to deflect,
Crazy pavements, something new.
There’s not another teller,
Presenting a link or chunk,
Framing circularly the story,
To nurture any cell’s hunk.
There’s not a plus one man,
Chewing a whistler’s closet,
There’s only freedom’s red,
To validate the vouch offset.
If Christianity is just an opinion,
And if atheism is only another,
Then crease the distance away,
To note the claim that’s sour.
Truth is the centre of entropy,
With love as its pursuit,
Freedom increasingly appears,
When you love and newt.
Christianity does not stand,
It’s wrong, in between, out,
Jesus was not god, scream,
Hell evades the bible, spout.
Fundamentalists lack sense,
Extremists yell strict, plight,
Homes should not be broken,
By crusaders twisting right.
Wrongness equally parasites,
Upon the strict and the stead,
So let contradictions vent,
The people who nurse lead.
Theology is not an opinion,
Relative, proportional, relational -
And atheism is not just another,
Reflective, pseudo and corporal.
Atheism is true, not Christianity,
So Christianity is false, not said;
Theology is faith unleashed,
Pulling a negative entropy head.
Science is behind atheism,
Winking at the lips in method,
Meandering like lightening,
Through guesses of the cathode.
If you seek truth you will find,
But if you say Jesus lives today,
Physically, then you need to stop,
Saying I can’t say the other: nay.