Who feel, as stepped back from
Do not fit in
Tense, uneasy, while of self
Are too aware
To these, its impressions
Life's, its liver's
As a show, as its actor
Left with such are.
i like the way she smiles, but all girls talk about each other like that
he smiles at the way i laugh, but frankly he’s just not my type
and i want to love a boy in the way i love the sea
but rather than falling in, i just kinda sink
is it supposed to feel this way? like im lost in a tidal wave
the current’s pulling back and forth
i feel i might snap in half, but when i look in her eyes everything seems fine
i want to love a boy the way i love the sky
i want got be in cloud nine, not just passing by
and i want to want him more than anything my heart wants
but when the truth comes out it’s the moon that he’ll find
i’ll never love a boy in the way i love the moon
so human, far, and flawed, everything i’d loose
in a boy’s eyes im nothing but a seed
maybe i’d like to sprout far from the sea
You told your man you would call.
You told your man to stand tall.
So here I stand with the phone in my hand waiting for a reprieve from the loneliness I grieve.
Wondering if anyone noticed that awkward silence
Finally, the options are revealed
The appeal is second to none
Tantalized by various speech patterns
Shocking, awful, and mistaken
Chills travel down the spine
Afraid of what's to come
At the behest of one's empathy
Words cut through obvious defenses
Crying to no one's delight
The weakness can no longer be withheld
Shaking uncontrollably, violating the hollow ground
Confidence is shattered into a million shards of dissonance
Never to be heard from again
There was a rocky hill where I thought could rest myself,
But when I sat there; saw people as small as elves,
The sky was dark over there,
All that the self knew was- the place where I sat wasn't fair.
But my tired feet still forced me ,
The bats flew above my head with an attitude of fully being free,
The trees nearby shook its leaves and turned gray and dried,
And I felt like being on a pan to get fried.
I could hear a lady's weep,
And could also see a blood-covered sheep,
Must be a sheep for sacrifice,
All I knew was my palms were getting colder than a cube of ice!
Suddenly my breath too stopped,
But I was still alive,
And felt I did not need to breathe anymore,
And also that the whole world was a cruel battledore!
- THE STRANGE ROCKY HILL WHICH WAS TOO SCARY TO SIT AND TAKE REST FOR SOMETIME, AFTER A LONG AND TIRING WALK IN A DENSE-FOREST!!!
When I am dead,
all the things I wrote,
all the things I said,
that made you criticize,
irritated and distressed,
made you uncomfortable
in your heart and the head,
will become dearer,
be the sorrow a real good measure,
will bring tears
if you let the thought stand nearer
and will turn into love instead.
The love that I wanted and you
did not understand.
(27.03.2025)
Pillows and cushions
On sofas and beds
Who needs more
Than one cushion
To rest weary heads
People who buy them
Seem to need more
To place on their chairs
And sometimes the floor
It's got to be
Almost a craze
Getting into bed
Is like getting out of a maze
People are different
With different tastes
Too many cushions
To me are a waste
I like comfort
Comfort you see
Is not pillows and cushions
Well maybe just three
I had to ask for your affection.
The first indication that you weren’t worthy of mine.
Love is meant to be easy.
At least, when it’s with the correct person.
Loving you was shifting teeth,
Picking at hangnails,
An off-kilter set to the jaw.
Loving you was uncomfortable.
Not unpleasant, but something deep within me knew it wasn’t right.
We were building a world on an unsteady foundation.
Forming skyscrapers on decaying bedrock.
They were decadent.
But fated to collapse.
Quite the parallel to their builders.
Oh, why must I wear this uncomfortable mask,
when entering stores, or working at my desk?
Don't listen to erratic idiots or irrational fools:
think about your health, do the right thing always;
if death dealt with our reality so frightening and changeless:
whom do you think would win this race of treacherousness?
Death is not a benefactor of mercy kindling life with spoils,
it steals all we possess, all we hide leaving anguishing tears;
so take down all the white flags for an armistice not allowed,
who committed heinous acts will surrender to a myth so dowsed...
where other graves have been covered with damp and black dirt,
watch helpless mothers weep to seek a pity that diminishes all hurt!
Oh, why must I wear this uncomfortable mask
to please politicians who justify their mandate?
Let's not bump into the rageful mouths that reject this hard task,
they may lynch us, or even hurt us if police aren't watching us;
this is a dilemma for many not wearing it to claim all freedoms:
is there any freedom left, not obeying the Law that keeps us safe?
,
High in the mountains
the air is terribly thin,
as oxygen fades.
The past scoops me up
and hovers over the depths of my emotions,
drawing the lines of reactions
and taking me closer to undoubted results.
Experience guides me
ever reminding me of times gone by
and luring me only to predictable things to come,
somehow holding me captive,
allowing no room for reckless chance.
How comforting, the familiar.
How foolish the secret desire
to venture into the strangeness
of new surroundings.
Yet change is provocative.
A misty glimpse of things anticipated
but not yet reality calls to me,
causing the stirring of the unfamiliar
to quicken my spirit,
leaving me gently shaken, wanting more.
13 % of the population commits 50% of the "mischief".
Mentioning this fact automatically qualifies me as a racist.
The statistics conclude that I've more reason to be afraid of you
than you of me.
The media want us to believe it's the other way around.
Truth be damned. It's all about bling. Ratings and revenue.
Nobody gives a damn about a black child killing another black child
on Martin Luther King Junior Avenue.
Black-on-black crime doesn't make anybody one damn dime.
White-on-black crime is a media blitz and a bottomless goldmine.
blackened...ravenous
crow on shady café chair
eyeing menu
5/25/2018
Uncomfortable Comfort
Unstable state
deficiency of rest
strange agony
unknown pounce
puzzling exhaustion
uninteresting-
stressful fatigue
flowing sweat
rolling tears
salty liquid
undrinkable
but
pressing thirst
body's weak
sickness strikes
illness arrives
death smells
grave knocks
uncomfortable comfort.
Drencho POET Loads.
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