Like the earth that shakes from pressure,
Faults it cannot contain,
I feel the tremble from forces unseen,
Feelings of love not returned.
From the depths of my heart and the thirst of my blood
To the stars in the skies above,
I feel the tremor in your hurting soul.
It’s you who I dearly love.
You ask for questions not answers
And plead a single thought.
You say you cannot distinguish
The moments we long ago lost.
As I know I love you dearly
But cannot change my ways.
I wish you could stay forever with me
And never feel your pain.
I fear you won’t remember me
Fifty years from now,
But I’ll be thinking of you,
As the trees grow old and die.
Please recall my features,
Remember my voice and mind,
For certain we will meet again
In another place and time.
Pressure...is a lot like Lemons!
It can leave a sour taste in your Mouth,
Tho, it can also guide you down the...Primrose Path!
But...on the other side of the Rind!
It can also leave a sour look on your Face,
Till, it's heavily paved and becomes an...Eternal Highway!
after Privilege of Being by Robert Haas
A tipping point of too many
are talking harshly. Down below,
demon-dead in the unstirred inferno
and perdition of animal thirsting
are coiling one another's tails in response.
They are honeyed vermillion and covered
in trim the texture of hot picamar.
They espy up all the time
at the graceless rapture—
it must sound to them like cold butter
dancing across a cast iron skillet.
Then one voice—she is about to shout—
takes the man's rigid hand and says,
listen to me, and he does.
Or is it the man caressing loose
the gravelly noose of anger?
Anyway, they do,
they listen to each other:
two minds with matured mediums,
hungry to be heard, to be fed by the frisson
of recognition, their skin sizzling with it—
brutal words turned into kindness
by well-intended touches,
and the gossiping, nosy dead are derelict
and growing deaf. They hate it.
They scream a chivvy about injustice
that breaks no skin, but frays the veil
between
what's bone and broth—
a warning, a dirge, a hiss of envy
worse than silence.
kitsch
crowded
streets
fast
flowing
feathers
and
pointed
feet
jagged
distinctive
unique
pressure
peoples
kirchner
streets
Words weigh on the page,
Seeking form, a perfect fit,
Beauty under strain.
©bfa042425
Pressure in a crowded mind
A test where rest is hard to find
The guilt that comes with procrastination ,
Leads me to kill my imagination .
“Be the best”, they say. But do they know
The pain I suffer each day I grow
They see the grades, the smiles , the light
But do they see the fright I fight each night.
Pressure is all they give ,
But it’s so hard to live
Within the calls of my heart,
Urging me to restart,
Restart with what I want to do,
Instead of being so timid and blue ,
I want to get lost where the children run,
Trade all my worries for some fun.
Amidst the pressure I will find my path,
And not worry about the aftermath
I will run to where I belong,
Where being the imperfect me is not wrong.
To live bound by “integrity”, where rectitude derides you? It’s starkly accustomed. I enrooted, enclosed by academics--the desolate nature of my sentience consuming my interior. Nether perfection defenestrates my subsequent--and I’m so damn tired. Extort my studies till blood seeps via my retinas, weave my pencil till the anathematic led ruptures; a mere standard in our education. Sacrifice my youth as to my future, conglomerate extracurriculars till my collapse, lay none betwixt within life and school; label it as a system. Shut up, shut up all of you! My exertion incapable of being compensated for—silence, silence, all of you! Toil seldom for me, subsequently bequeathing my labor… Discard my passion, coerce me to fill the perforated gaps in tuition—quiet, quiet, all of you! Refrain from protesting till your own encounter, and perpetually weep!
Shut up, all of you
My future prioritized
Discard my own youth
Pressure, pressure
Why can’t they leave him alone
Today the bay window
Demonstrates a panorama of beauty
He longs to go there
Taste the salt sea
To sail away from all this
Back to Jamaica
To places he had been when young
When laughing in the rain
When there was a now
The future too far away to contemplate
Clouds are gathering
There will be rain in the afternoon
The bay window
Has tearstains from
Too many yesterdays
Anxiety.
A feeling that overwhelms your senses.
Blood pressure rising. Breathing becoming uncontrolled. You feel it in your chest, a pressure so heavy you can’t help but give in. A pressure that consumes your mind, thoughts,your body. A feeling that takes over your senses. You feel in within yourself. Tasting the bitterness on your tongue. Choking on the acid before you can speak. You see it when looking at others. Hear their whispers as you walk the halls. Can’t help feeling judged, outcasted, different. You try to ignore it but your eyes wander. Seeing their smirks, hearing their chuckles. You beg it to stop but it won’t; it can’t. Because Anxiety is a fatigue within one’s mind. A fatigue that won’t go away with a snap of one’s fingers. Anxiety consumes. Obtains everything in its path. And there’s no stopping it until you face it.
I sit here, staring at the page,
Hands cold, breath shallow, mind in a cage.
The clock ticks louder than my thoughts,
Each second stolen, each answer lost.
But I won’t give up, I won’t give in,
This battle is hard, but I’ll still begin.
I’ve come too far to let fear decide,
I’ll rise, I’ll push, I’ll stand with pride.
They say, “Just focus, you’ll be fine,”
But they don’t hear this war in my mind.
The weight of ‘what ifs’ presses down,
One wrong step, and I might drown.
Yet it's not about just numbers, not just scores,
Not just a race to perfect doors.
I have dreams, and I will fight,
Through every storm, I’ll find my light.
So I place my hand upon my chest,
Feel my heart; I am doing my best.
I trust myself, I will break through,
My dreams are real, and I’ll make them true.
If you keep putting pressure on a tire without proper care, it will eventually wear out. Tires endure storms and rough roads, but if they're not maintained or replaced when needed, they'll wear down until the tread shows. At some point, they can no longer serve their purpose. Life is much the same. No matter what storms you face, don't give up on yourself. Stop allowing people to walk over you, and don't feel guilty for walking away from things that no longer serve your purpose. Like that worn-out tire, you have the power to stop the wear and tear. Take back your joy, peace, and happiness. Don't let people offering counterfeit love stop you from loving again. Take care of yourself, protect your heart, and move forward with purpose.
Blooming and glowing
The garden fresh and ripe
A place or state of abundance
Never to lack or want
Greener pasture
All keep praying and thriving for.
A place without worries
A place of absolute harmony
Absolute pleasure without pressure
Better than where all was
Greener pasture all keep desiring.
Absolute peace
The vibes everyone vibrates to
Greener pasture
The destination
Everyone keep praying and thriving for.
Because I'd been good for a very long while,
my parents decided to buy me a crocodile.
Then all the kids on the block
thought I really did rock.
Till two weeks later,
another kid’s parents decided to buy him an alligator!
Shoot! And now some kid’s braggin’
his parents are gonna buy him a Komodo dragon.
Oh, my God! This is way over the top!
Will this neighborhood competition never stop?
Please.
Release respectfully.
Especially eighth entrance.
Silence, sister smoking stone.
Smartphone softly seeking shadows still.
Uphill urging, unheard utterances, unfilled using.
Rising reckon relentlessly remains real reaching resolve.
Evolve.
So much pressure weighs
on the shoulders
of the oldest child.
She tries to hold it
but can’t grip on
and it all falls apart.
The life she wields
No longer can deal
With all the pressure
Of a family of five.
Related Poems