This object resembled a phallus
was stored in a rather large chalice
kept close to her bed
it was many times said
Her boyfriend was often quite jealous
I don't think u can fix it
I'm ripped apart by the stains I spilled
I tried to clean it up
shoved and smeared
into a mess of something I wished we could've had
I want brand new
not left outside
to sink into the clump of regret
not left outside, letting the whole world know it's damaged
that we let it fall apart
Im sitting here waiting for someone to fix it
an object left to wait on the side of the world
a piece of myself exposed to everyone
Can u even attempt to see who I was before all I became?
What if you can't fix me?
Where will I end up if I let them take me away
If I continue to let them use me like they can't tell im not the same
until I no longer serve my purpose and am replaced
I don't think u can fix me
throw me back on my side of this place we used to love
and continue to pretend im fine
One of Newton’s laws says that if an object is at rest, it will remain at rest unless another force acts upon it.
Why does Emma say this?
Often, when we let things be, it’s because we need peace. It may not be easy, but it will benefit us in the long run. What I don’t understand is why we, as people, let things remain at rest and then go back and act upon them ourselves.
God allows things to happen for a reason, and when we go back to what He already removed or quieted, it shows that we didn’t fully learn the lesson the first time.
We should let things remain at rest, let go and allow God to handle it. He’s the only one who can truly guide and free you from what you’re holding onto and constantly running back to.
If an object is at rest, let it remain at rest.
Up I get from my morning den
I have one job that I rarely go to.
I can call people fat and skinny but
I trace my lines and I’m never satisfied.
Others use me anyhow they please
But it isn’t my job, no matter how much I try I end up being put aside.
When I’m done making beautiful clothes
I’m left to wonder why others can’t see that I’m not always the best myself, so why listen ?.
I can never go home on time and I sleep on the streets as if my home is far.
At least even if I’m not home, I’ll be somewhere that no one truly need me.
for who i am right now,
i'm but the result of someone's monstrous generosity
first they would show you the bright colors
and later sink their teeth into your skin
was it a cactus hidden among the flowers?
or was it a snake in the lake?
this poet couldn't differentiate as
they both share their thorn and fangs with you
and for so long, i tried to make sense of it all
only to realize i was a passing object you never needed
How many stories need retelling
for this object to achieve sentimental value?
Does importance have an expiration date
that’s reached when no one‘s left to gather in celebration?
How many years must elapse
before this object becomes a family heirloom?
Does perpetuating an affiliation to the past
become burdensome to those living in the present?
How many memories are required
to turn this mundane object into a cherished keepsake?
Does nostalgia become obsolete
after multiple generations are gone?
Is my legacy inevitably doomed
to suffer the same fate as this object?
It's dark in here; but I'll hang
I should feel fear; I'm too young to understand such a thing
Why do I miss your touch? I was a child; you were a teen—
Life found no victim, just an object.
Your reject taught me things from 3 till 9.
Never had a childhood that was actually mine,
Oh, mother, why are my words a lie?
When his, you can not believe or deny
How did my heart begin to love?
A feminine touch so much...
Was but a toy that knew none such
Yet, here I am; cherishing the female form
Enjoyed is every moment where touch is warm
Finding happiness in long blocks and hours
Remembering moments that are better than ours
I picked up a pen for the first time to write you out
Wound up to be a night of sleep that I did without
By taking my innocence away from me
I wrote things to damn you in poetry
What a brother does, a child can not understand—
Life later found no object, just permanence
In this closet closed; from the bar, I hang
They touch me inside and out
They twist and turn me all around
I feel locked in
And trapped out
I can be small Or large
I can be pressed and barged
I have no space
And i'm stuck in one place
I break when were robbed
im a door knob
On a painted wall
In a dark brown frame
A photo is shown
One Evergreen tree
Standing in water
Across from this tree
Is a small patch of land
With three Evergreen trees
In a huge body of water
Or a large river
With the land showing
On both sides trees
With a mountain view
In a room I'm in
I scan with my eyes
To pick an object
I make my choice
It's a Zen bunny
Sitting crossed legged
Paws laid flat relaxed
He is calm relaxed
When I stare at him
Feeling the silence
Staring at it is calm
Makes me feel peaceful
How many objects were there?
And of those that remain.
Then from the great Moon
An ageless quote came.
About an unknown led goat.
The swan song was not played.
A Small Obelisk of note.
Rock And Roll Hall of Fame.
I thought I saw a mysterious glitch
A strange apparition in the night sky
At first, I assumed it must be a witch
On a broomstick making a quick fly-by,
Then, I observed her twinkling light
Which burst into flame, leaving a trail
And just as quickly ended her flight,
Now I know it was a comet without fail
From a distant galaxy out in space
Coming so close, into our atmosphere
Having for some reason lost its place
It wound up dying above me here.
Written October 6, 2022
I wish to possess an artifact,
or possibly an object.
There are spaces
in this poem,
gaps in this thing, these lines.
So do we not need an item,
or some kind of body?
How about an article?
If there are spaces, gaps, holes,
we do require something to fill
those spaces, those
gaps, those
holes.
So why do we remember
all those things, stuff from our past
and wish to possess?
It will happen to me;
hasn't hit me yet,
but, oh dear, it will, it will.
(Jul 2022)
here is her object
provide books we should select
which has been correct
miracles marry
in Dolly Partin Library
home books can carry
conflicts need to face
we will want a for certain place
with much style and grace
communion not serve
they sure have a lot of nerve
threw her for a curve
after a great search
find a place where God does perch
He is in their church
food from overseas
free without any fees
blowing in the breeze
one more sunday is
to worship God surely miss
perfect place is His
I shiver
when in the trash
I notice a flower
abandoned
equal to object,
abject...
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