Unserious poetry by an unhinged poet
Poetry
I want to take away my tenderness Give it back! But I can’t undo the agony of a willing heart attack My muscle aches from every bitty bite you eagerly snatched Bleeding out from forced shapes we willingly mismatched So instead I’ll learn to fail Switch up the
Poetry
I cry like clockwork. I drink the milk. Consume her flesh. Run her ragged with unreasonable demands. She offers a hand, I claw at her arm. More. More! Give me more! I should be satisfied with clothes that don't fit. Food that grates my senses. Roofs that are
Poetry
Once upon a time there was a brave and gentle knight. Her armor polished to the point it reflected the palest moonlight. She heard tall tales of a princess captured by a terrifying beast. To everyone’s surprise, the dragon was a brilliant shade of pink! She rode across hot
Poetry
I am not an open book anymore. I am available to be opened. Ink spills over countless pages, You’d need a lifetime to turn them. I don’t want to watch you read, sit idly by in clear blue sky, Please let me read your pages well, your shoulder
Poetry
Me talking doesn't equal them listening them listening doesn't equal them understanding them understanding doesn't equal them remembering them remembering doesn't equal them acting them acting doesn't equal them staying them staying doesn't equal them committing If they
Poetry
One day I’ll meet a person, She’ll be painfully familiar. Time tics on, beckoning, I slowly start to hear her. Waves on gentle waves, pictures getting clearer. Coloring my pages, a song sent from her soul. I’ll try to keep from falling, but I’m bound to
Poetry
Would you water your plants more often if you could see their pots shedding tears of relief?
Poetry
There’s something in a name. Identity boiled down to it’s essence. The name you chose for me seemed to spill out, Never a question. Certainty, The death of curiosity. There was joy in your voice, Elation at the choice, But when I looked into your eyes, Peeking, painfully
Poetry
What if there’s nothing wrong with being a bit of a bitch? Who demands the wounded to sew up their own stitch? What if the real problem lies not within but without? The failing lies not in feeling, but having none to talk about pain. Bottled up it causes
Poetry
I can feel all the things that used to paralyze me banging at my door. I am not answering. My back bows and threatens to break under the weight of their ceaseless—relentless—banging. Their voices are garbled, like ripped throats gesticulating sound pushed from lungs wrapped in barbed wire.
Poetry
She wears a necklace with a sparkly red heart He chooses a fitting silver knife Both chains made of steel Truth in the spark He stabs his necklace Straight through her art
Poetry
My grandmother is an elf. Beautiful books collect dust on the shelf. Her lessons echo from deep down the well, yet kindness can no longer ring her bell. My grandmother acts out in pointless cruelty. Comes across to others a fiend begging release, but broken down inside, she’s really