| Reading between the lines of Love |
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| 02:31am 08/01/2010 |
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Love is a misunderstanding Overly repeated so easily by teenagers today and such Vile words misinterpreted among Erratic people whom are fed with bliss If only they knew the real truth, that love is Supposed to be sincere and honest How could people be so ignorant? At this time and day They should realize the true meaning of love Even if it means to stop and contemplate Wind down and understand How that four letter word affects the world especially the Younger generation that utter the word love so effortlessly, Boundlessly and almost meaningless Oh, if only we were so narrow-minded Then perhaps, we’d live in a better and much more Happier lives, no longer living in wonder Especially our youths Regretfully…the word Love is now a common excuse for many and unfortunately Others don’t realize this excuse for they only Vaguely understand such concepts nor do they have the time and energy to Either way, Ignorance is bliss and love is merely a misunderstanding |
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| The Psychology of Shit |
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| 01:01am 08/01/2010 |
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"You know what I've noticed?" Roger, my therapist, asked during one of our Sunday afternoon sessions.
"No." I said, resolutely, "What?"
"Rorschach Inkblots look like shit. And I'm not saying, 'shit' as in how you feel when you look in the mirror after a hangover induced by one too many shots of tequila and loose women. I'm saying I think they look like literal, from my ass, shit smears. I've always thought that. Even in school when Dr. Fowler would make us memorize all the pictures and their meanings, I remember thinking, 'I could go take a dump right now, wipe my ass, and tack the toilet paper up on the wall. That'll show 'em!' I'd wager that's probably what ole Rorschach did anyway, took a bunch of shits and made something meaningful out of 'em. Then he died and his shit became famous. Little did everyone know, he blew it all out his ass!" Roger then took this moment to laugh at his twist of words, while all I could do was stare blankly at the wall. I couldn't look at him now, not like this, "That's all psychology is anyway, just a bunch of shit tacked up on a wall and made famous by dead guys. At least, that's what I think anyway."
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| Normal © |
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| 12:41am 08/01/2010 |
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There is no such thing as normal
and I want it to be that way.
Not that I have anything to say in the matter
but ‘Yeah!’.
Texas isn’t normal
nor is Washington, D.C.
I don’t’ think in Normal Illinois
there’s an ordinary thing.
When eco-friendly energy takes hold
I hope there will be a ton of turbines in Oklahoma.
And I hope that looking down from a mount
in Arizona or Televive
there will be a glistening.
Roof tops beckoning the viewer
to cleaner cooler dwellings below.
I hope that all along the Mississippi
there will be loaded tributaries
that generate the heat and cool
and the refrigeration for food
that will keep bodies and souls mingling
for lives long.
Normal is not our country.
Normal is not the world.
Normal is not the purpose
of any boy or girl.
It is merely a reference point
into which we all can tip a toe
and let ourselves there by know
we are not completely alone. |
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| a poorly written poem for a friend's pain... |
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| 09:08pm 07/01/2010 |
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mood:  anxious
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If I could take away all the pain you feel,
I would.
If I could make her love you so that your heart may heal,
I would.
I hope with everything that I possess
she will be yours so that you may rest.
Be at ease, my dear, for we're sure she does love you.
She knows how great you are, but you must, too.
We only hope that we are right
and she can help you through your plight.
Tell her how you feel,
though the thought makes your head reel.
It may be what she's waiting for,
for her to know she is the one that you adore. |
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| no subject |
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| 12:02am 08/01/2010 |
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tonight feels like a good night to be damned
ignite this inferno with a phospherous hand
im the little powder keg hunkered down in the dark
with my flint and steel looking for a spark
put on my shoes and grab some rope
to hang myself or to hang all hope
pointing cannons at computer screens
and delivering criticisms via limousines
i put the bible in the paper shredder
and fuck god on the letter header
i climb mountains witless and limb,less
until i pass out or pass the nimbus
defying all known convention
crossing out generations without mention
i look back down on this sorry world
and when the cock of dissent is fully unfurled
i laugh both venomous and caustic
echoing somewhere between death and agnostic
i can't seem to find yahweh anywher eup here
but descent the mountain? "shoot boy, i'd rather be queer"
ill take the public defender who didnt even know it was his shift
because on judgement day ill drink and plead a fifth |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| First piece; Frustration |
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| 12:04am 08/01/2010 |
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Frustration.
It is an act of anger
It is an act of hatred
It is an act of impatience.
When those acts it creates something dark.
That darkness amplifies when the frustration builds
It builds, it creates more anger, hatred, and impatience
It climbs to its peak until...it explodes.
Like a volcano, raining the fragments of emotions turns anyone around the cause of it.
When the frustration explodes, who knows when it will be plugged.
Hello everyone, I am new here and here's my first contribution for this group |
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| very random |
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| 07:45am 08/01/2010 |
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mood:  restless
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I'm as dark as night in the middle of the day. I know that the state of the weather should not be a reflection of what is weathering inside of me, because first of all, the weather is obviously not directly related to a persons temperment, and if it did, that would make me devoid of all substance or self identity, right? The sun is shining, therefore I am bright. Maybe I should even hand you a yellow crayon, even 5 year olds know that suns are bright and yellow (and they never fail to draw the sun with a big smile).Yes, I know the statement is not meant to be dissected in its literal sense, but I like the dramatic feel of personification. I'm relating my mood to the weather, the external, except I'm stubborn enough to oppose it.The literary dramaticism of personification, with my own competitive twist; I could not have picked a more unfair competitor. The weather is so random, extremely moody, but I chose to involve myself with it. |
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Read 3 - Post |
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| Snow |
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| 11:09pm 07/01/2010 |
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Thick, fresh, pristine, blanket...
Lies.
Photographs that shine
Bright eyes hide bitter pain
A satiny-smooth smile
Cooing voice, sexy style
Fangs behind lovely, perfect lips...
Softly-grinding curvy hips...
Lies.
Tainting where most vulnerable
Painting over weakness
Gripping your willingness
Attaching like a parasite
You surrender and collapse upon
a sheet of woven deception...
An afterglow breeze reception...
Lies.
Crawls upon your sleeping body to soothe you
wrap around to smooth you
defuse you, and most wickedly,
to use you.
(C) eroticmiranda
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Read 1 - Post |
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| no subject |
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| 11:03pm 07/01/2010 |
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I hold our love in my hands
a delicate, fragile thing
glistening in the light
I recall the last time
I held something so precious
I crushed it and was left
with blood on my palms
and a guilty conscience
I hold it between two fingers
and study its intricate design
inscriptions etched forever in time
scared of my own strength
I set it by the window and watch
as it refracts rainbows in my direction
you said it's made of diamonds
but I can never be too sure |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| Pastoral Scene of White |
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| 10:54pm 07/01/2010 |
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Oh pastoral scene of white,
Stretched out before me
Like a fleece blanket
Made out of tiny flakes of white
That only moments ago
And moments now,
Flew at my windshield
Like tiny ice angels
Or fairies.
A swarm
Of diversity
As I can see the shape and texture of every snowflake
Seems so different,
As snow white dust blows across the road
In swirls and whirls
To be lifted and dropped again.
Snow white heavenly blanket
Your touch of cold
Is like fire
As You bite my cheeks and hands.
And yet you are so malleable,
Formable
In ways that you accept,
And crumble in ways that are wrong.
My mittened hands gather a bunch,
Maybe thousands of tiny crystals in one handful,
Taking you from the windshield of my car
And propelling you in a ballistic arc into the branches of a nearby tree.
A couple more bunches
Naturally form the shapes
Of snowbirds.
As I slowly navigate the freeway
Coated in a formidable layer of white,
It's clear
That the interconnectedness of all things
Taken together
Demands respect.
And yet
Until the thaw
Until you have been used and molded
Your beauty remains
Pristine |
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Read 1 - Post |
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| Two Sides |
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| 01:17pm 08/01/2010 |
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music: Leona Lewis - I Got You
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Dont be mistaken
we are not friends
you made that clear
when you stopped caring
you showed me what it was like
to give up
to loose faith in someone
you showed me
how one face has many sides
most never seen
to be a friend is everlasting
that goes on forever
no matter the distance |
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| To...? |
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| 08:59pm 07/01/2010 |
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mood: cold
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I can't stand your arrogance.
I can't stand seeing your face, so smug, so cocky.
Thank God there's not another you in the world;
we'd be in trouble if there were.
Someday, someone's going to slap the smile off of your face
and I want to be there when they do.
Insignificant little boy dressed in a man's body,
trying to teach other little boys the ways of your game...
I wish you the worst of luck in your future endeavors.
I hope you leave from there the same way you left from here,
and I hope you become the butt of everyone else's jokes.
The only direction you can go now is down.
I look forward to seeing your fall from grace. |
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| Blood is ticker than water |
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| 11:38pm 07/01/2010 |
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mood: discontent music: silence
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Next of Kin
My brother was my only friend
Always a patient ear to lend
He'd tell me how elves and saints were all heaven’s sent
Whenever I hurt or needed to voice my wench
He would tell me tales of princes and nobles from France
And no matter how little time together we'd spend
He'd often remind me how much it meant
My brother was my only friend
He often held my hand while I tried to sleep
When dreams of ghosts would come to haunt me
Even when daddy made me cry and cringe
And the others shut me out or ignored me
He never failed to be there, beside me
My brother was my only friend
When we’d run freely after kites
When the day inevitably turned into night
When the fright of the world crawled up my spine
And when I passed out cold in that alley
My brother was my only friend
When from dozens beatings he made me escape
Protecting me from the venomous pain and senseless rage
Supporting and soothing me and at that tender difficult age
When love was constantly mistaken by hate
When drugs and alcohol ended up in my plate
When neither friends nor family I could face
When I thought that saying sorry was too late
When I believed this world would drive me insane
When I imagined that being alone was my fate
He’d promptly pick me up and carry me away
My brother was still my only friend
Even when I shouted and got angry
When I cut myself or needed money
He’d calm me down through the phone
Saying that it was ok and I should come home
My brother is no more my only friend
Earth swallowed him up suddenly
No more advices or complaints
I’ll hear from him contently
All I do now is light up candles
And stare up at the sky where he now stands. |
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| Wrote this about my ex, when he as annoying the hell out of me!!! |
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| 08:08pm 07/01/2010 |
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Oh Crap!!
Oh crap!
I sinned again
I lusted after you
And you lusted after another
And now I'm mad
So why would I care if you're sad?
Tell me why
Oh humor me
I really would like to hear
All your crap
And waist five minutes of my life
Oh crap!
I sinned again
I lusted after you
And you lusted after another
And now I'm mad
So why would I care if you're sad?
Won't you enlighten me
Please tell me
Why should I bother?
Why should I care?
Oh crap!
I sinned again
I lusted after you
And you lusted after another
And now I'm mad
So why would I care if you're sad?
repeat
Suddenly you're mister innocent
By Wilmary
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| I wrote this in August |
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| 08:00pm 07/01/2010 |
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Frustration
It's so close
It was so close
And you didn't let it happen
My heart fluttered
As we both flew away sheepishly
I feel so unaccomplished
I wanted more
And left empty-handed
I may have this bracelet,
I may have this pen
But I don't have your lips
Safely saved on mine
I came through the frustrating door
And left with the same feeling
When will you be ready? I'm already there
By Wilmary
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| Rapacity |
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| 07:47pm 07/01/2010 |
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Like a comet tearing through the shadowy darkness of a night sky,
I sense myself losing the gaze of those once dear to me.
My radiance is fading, my essence drifting away.
I was a leaf blown in the wind,
held in warmth one moment, then released into the callous frost.
I was a drop of vitalizing rain, but now the sun has sucked me dry.
My time has ended.
My hunger is insatiable.
My thirst remains unquenched.
Like all others before me, I mean nothing now.
Is there no one who will lift me from the bottom?
Is there no one who will see my waning light?
The Mistress is ruthless and demanding.
Her arduous requirements are not easily met.
Yet I succeeded.
I did all there was to acquire her penetrating stare.
Even so, I find myself engulfed by the madness of the rejected.
My wounds will not heal.
My scars dictate my mentality.
My eyes have been sewn closed.
As I enter a world without the Mistress,
I sense an ominous presence beside me.
I wandered until I was lost.
Now I will never return.
The rapacity of the Mistress and my own ignorance.
Together, ruin is left in their wake. |
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| new member |
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| 02:37pm 08/01/2010 |
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my poems can be found at www.poetry.com/user/chad-m.-zaputil/34140279/
tell me what you think cause I'm new to posting my stuff on the net. |
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| Mathematics |
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| 07:48pm 07/01/2010 |
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Breathe in breathe out, think fast walk slow
Hand on her back, you see, they don’t know
Fight or flight? Walk away or struggle on?
Be calm, stay strong, this heart weighs a tonne.
Keep your eyes on the ground they haven’t seen you yet
Pretend your somewhere else don’t get so upset
Thinking in numbers, feeling in shapes
10, 9, 8, look for easy escapes
7, 6, 5, your laughter breaks me
Trapped in a prism, I can’t be set free
Falling off this triangle, I’m suspended in air
Your eyes linger as she threads fingers through hair
Only then do you see me, 4, 3, 2, 1
It’s too late, it’s over, the end has begun. |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| Fall, Double |
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| 12:55pm 07/01/2010 |
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Fourth eye open.
Third already blind.
Seventh try.
Sixth sense inside.
Thirteenth reason,
And the twelfth reminder.
( Read more ) |
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