She: a faceless wonder
 

Alright, the first poem I post here is my most *famous* poem. Meaning that it is the one that I have published absolutely everywhere I can (online), probably as a result of the feelings that it shares. It is the most political thing I have written, getting direct inspiration from Green Day, particularly the most recent album, American Idiot, as well as the single Favorite Son. It even draws some of its verse from Favorite Son, and one of the singles from American Idiot, called Holiday. Alright now, enough babble...

More More More

"More More More" and "less less less"
how much more fickle can a nation get?
more money, more trickey, more deaths—
less taxes, less freedom, less voice for our case
I hate to be another screaming
punk rocker with a bleeding heart
and empty pockets, sitting,
whining like a wanton
but I beg your pardom for just one moment
and ask that you'll excuse me please
because I'm sure even you believe
that people can do rash things whilst they grieve
I know four years is not enough
to dry a nation's fallen tears
but through our grief we can still see
that we can do good with our new years
so many lives could we have saved
so many, too early, met their graves
in a war that could have been prevented
as easily as I am saying it.
No man could easily quite do
exactly what this boy has done
no man could hold themselves so high
as one nation's Favorite Son
for having done such foul (fowl) deeds

I like it, it's really good. Is green day your inspiration?

Lol, yes. Of course, I did have other things in mind, driving it, but in the end it all came back to Green Day. Well, when even the "other" things have to do with what American Idiot is about....it's kind of hard to avoid putting some stuff in that sounds like it. Even they have music that sounds quite a bit like their inspirations. (one example: the song "Warning" opens sounding almost identical to the Kinks' "Picture Book")

ha, you can even look at the title of the thread *points*. I wanted it to be simple, but still represent my...interests.

Well you did it. lol. Don't stop whatever it is your doing becasue it sounds really good.

Thank you. And alright...here's another one. It's not my favorite but...meh, I'll give it a try. It's a bit vulgar, yes, and rather pointless, but...whatever. Also, I'm not nearly as attached to this one, because it doesn't represent my feelings. It's just...there.


Thanking you now

I'm drenched in my own blood
because you left me here like this
I'm sick of it
and I can't get up
And I'm sitting in m;y own ****
because you left me here like this
But I thank you
because now I know
what it's like to know there's
nothing left to lose
the only way I can go is up
though it's a long way off from here
you gave me everything in the world
then you took it away in one fell strike
you spoiled me
but now I see
that spoiled isn't a good thing to be
I know this is a worn-out song
that's why I promise I wont be here long
because nobody likes to make someone else cry
and nobody knows how to tell them why
things are the way they are or seem
but thank you
I'll find my way out
I will before you hear me scream
I'll get myself out of this mess!!!

This is another good one, lol. It is kind of funny. Sorry if that's not the feeling it's supposed to strike.

Well...there actually wasn't a specific feeling I was trying to evoke. I just felt like writing something like that. When I was writing it, I though of three songs: "Pulling Teeth," by Green Day (again), "Survivor," by Destiny's Child; "Fighter," by Christina Aguilera. The ironic thing is, that first song isn't about a relationship at all, but it's about an actual physical injury that Billie Joe had gotten, which kept him unable to do too many things on his own for a bit.

Okay for all of the crazy disturbed individuals out there who actually do take the time to read my poetry, here's something that came out in scribbles on the back of a page in my notebook. It has no title, because there's no point in trying to give it one.

Sometimes we go
sometimes we stay
sometimes we waste
the day away
but we don't care
and we're okay
"I will never regret
this day"
remember to for-
give the absurd
for having just
the thing you lack
after all it's
just that thing
that you said
you didn't
want back

When I wrote this, I was thinking of putting in the tone of a song, just because that's how I am. I like music, and it's some of the best kind of poetry that I have ever gotten the chance to hear. Or read. Or, someday, write. Music is a part of me, and there's no changing that....[/end ramble]

Okay. Here's one that I just penned out. I was trying to go to bed, but I felt it and it was good so I had to write it.

Title: Tastes Like Tofu

I'm breathing through my mouth
that's the only thing that's working right
I see through my eyelids
my eyes are bulging out my skull
I hear through my forehead
my ears just wont listen
I'm surprised that my fingers
are still feeling right
and everything tastes like tofu

Maybe I'm just plugged-up
or maybe I'm just drugged-up
but something tells me
that for some reason
when the fog in my mind clears
the fog that exists will remain

I'm breathing through my fists
my lungs are too poisoned to wor
I see through my wallet
It's the only thing I can use anymore
I hear nothing at all
my ears refuse to endure this
my fingers are repulsed
at the repetition of it all
and I'm gagging on all of this tofu

I've caught my breath just to see
I'm the only one breathing
I've opened my eyes to see
that everything has turned grey
the sounds in my head are clear but there
is nothing left worth listening to
my fingers have grown numb
and I've been stricken dumb
because everything tastes like tofu

So long ago
before I can remember
there used to be color
there once was fresh air
and music was sweet as a rose
but those days are over
of crimson and clover
the poets beamed
and babies screamed
before anything tasted like tofu

And yet another one to fall into my lap. I wrote it last night.

Voices Carry
Once upon a time
there was a girl
someone stole her voice
and gave no regret
they stripped her
of everything she knew
and everything she cared for
in a second it was gone

She struggled and squirmed
and wriggled and writhed
and she fought her
falsely gentle captors
with all the strength
such a girl could muster
which may surprise you
but did not do much for her

She lay trapped in a cell
bruised but not broken
scarred but not scared
voiceless but not thoughtless
stripped but not starved

Every day she fought
as they ripped from her
every bit of humanity
they stole her identity
for the sake of insanity
after a bit she didn't
have enough strength left
inside of her to keep fighting
she grew tired soon
but she gave it no rest
and she gave them no time
to spend their precious wealth
or maintain her waning health

Into a foggy subconscious she slipped
where coconut drinks and spirits were sipped
and she woke to a soggy room
wet with the tears she never let out
then they seized her
and teased her
and spit on her worn flesh
and she let out a sigh
and then all heard her cry
as it broke the stone walls
and the cold unforgiving stalls
in the dark of the night
"LET ME GO!"

And with all of the strength
she had left in her bones
she ran as the walls crumbled
and the clouds subsided
and she fell to the ground
and bathed in the sun
and everyone ran to her side
and they, all of them, cried
all the tears she never let out
for the girl who lost her voice

Alright. Here's a little piece of....work....that I wrote yesterday. I'm a dancer, and though not a very good one, a dancer I am. During class...4 classes, 4 hours, right in a row, every week...yesterday I was like 'hey what if I write about dancing...' and during class I was like 'when I get outta here I'm gonna be writing something...I feel some poetry coming on'....and yeah you didn't need to know that it's pretty corny, but...here's the result of that little mind flash...I don't like the title, and I'm really not a fan of any part of it, but eh, it's what I came up with. And I'm too lazy to fix it.

Wounded Satin
You see my bag
it's got my name on it
you see my toes
they're blistered and sore
you see my face
it's smiling with enjoyment
oh why does it puzzle you so?

How is it that something
so uncuruably painful
can bring such joy
to my face?

I wish I could tell you
what it is that compels me
to do it but you see
the truth is I don' tknow
myself

Perhaps it's the beauty
to which I aspire
or maybe in some twisted way
that it's fun
I don't know but all I can say now
is "I'm done"


yeah. really crappy. and cheesy. but meh. I wrote it. there's no taking it back. please comment (not on this one, on the other ones...I like them infinitely better. Particularly "Tastes Like Tofu"; I think I struck something with that one, even though poetically it's not that good....)

Here's another one. I actually wrote this one the other day, but I never bothered to come on here. Because there's some poems, like Tastes Like Tofu and More More More, that I just HAVE to publish everywhere I can, as soon as I can. But then there are the smaller and more incoherent poems that are left to be burned or lost on paper, because I am never sure whether I should put them online; whether they're "worthy", so to speak. We've had this weird testing schedule, because we're doing some standardized test, so we had like two hours of class for a 40-minute test, and when we were done there was nothing to do, so I just started writing this. Clearly, I had the song Minority in mind (once again, Green Day is present at the scene of the "crime"), and I wanted to write about being in the minority. Which for me, no matter how mainstream I am, is a given, because I'm lefthanded. But I "wanna be in the minority" for other things as well. This poem is me, "struggling" with being both in the minority and majority, and thus not truly a part of either.


Commonplace
Gauche as a southpaw
I am not like most
I don't really fit in
the majority
But painfully mainstream
in interests and beliefs
I don't really fit in
the minority

with a look that's all too
commonplace
you cannot really pick out
my face
from any other sheep
here in the herd

My right hand is my bane
my left hand is a pain
I don't know where I'm going
'cause I don't know where I am
and it's hard to go anywhere
if you don't know where you're
coming from


I wish there was more, but I can't think of how to get to where I'm going (poetically), and I am as always stuck with a good idea and nothing to do with it because it doesn't have a place to start from. Oh well. I know why I don't post them - they're not finished. But, oh well. And please comment. And rate this thread. (based on overall opinion of my poetry and comments) :) thanks.

gah I feel so unloved. I am not getting any response here. :(. Please, if you read, comment? o__o.

I just read all of your poems here, and I really like them! Definitely see the Green Day influence, hehe. :) Hmm, I think "Tastes Like Tofu" and "Voices Carry" are my favorites. *goes off singing Brain Stew as loud as she can*

*dorky smile* thanks. I swear. Ever since I started listening to Green Day, if I write a poem, it actually turns out...good. Billie Joe and his lyrics...make me so happy! The thing is, whenever I write a poem, I just think of it in terms of a song, and like "would I want to listen to Billie singing this as a lyric?" pathetic I know, but it works. And I mean it could just as well be any other singer...or myself (for I am a singer), for that matter. But it just seems to fit best with him, because the way he comes across to me is perfect for the style I've taken to writing with the poems that are here...I need to start writing another poem...

That was a good moment for me, creatively. And if you didn't catch the reference, "Voices Carry" is also the title of a song from the 80s, by 'Til Tuesday (?). It wasn't inspired by that - more like the feeling that I don't have a voice myself - but I felt like entitling it such. Tastes Like Tofu...I show that one to everybody, and they're all like "but it has nothing to do with tofu...?"...especially my asian/guatemalan friend. He's not exactly the type that can seriously appreciate verbal art; he thinks that reading (unless the book is written in pictures, and is read from right to left) is a waste of time. He draws all the time, but there's no variety and no feeling to it. Just drawings with no meaning. Somebody else, upon hearing the title (he never read it) was like "have you ever tasted tofu?" and I'm like "um, yeah...that's kinda the point". So yeah, anyway, I need to end this rant. And get writing...perhaps there's someone around here who would actually like to see some more. Somewhere...

I've read all the poems and i really honestely liked it!! :) I can see the Green Day influence too lol.
And can i say you something??? i understand you, i fell somethings that you fell.

I write a lot too, but in spanish. I'd like you to read it but i'd not understand i'll try to translate it :D




Don't fell unloved!!! :console:

Insomniac
 

Alrighty. This one isn't finished yet but I felt the need to update and I just started writing it like a half hour ago. This is just the first three stanzas. I'll post the finished product as soon as I'm finished. This isn't very good but I don't do well to go to sleep very quickly.

Insomniac
I sit here awake in my bed
Poems whirring through my head
photographs and memories
and thinking of the days gone by
and thinking of them with a sigh
I lay back my head
and I close my eyes
but sleep has not come yet

I put the headphones in my ears
and adjust the volume so I can hear
the words of one John Lennon
or Strummer, Jones or Billie Joe
to try and block out the world
around me
but it isn't working
sleep still hasn't found me

My motivation's bit the dust
I'm too lazy to get up
but sleep has not yet wandered in
and I'm about to go insane
I'm staring at the crack in the door
my head is aching
my body is sore
but sleep has not yet come

To be continued...

I like it! :D I want to read the continuation!!!!!!!!! :)




EDIT: I like your location, lol

I return that statement.

Ha ha this one I wrote awhile ago. didn't like it too much, but eh. I decided to post it anyway.

Guilt Trip
It's not my fault
you did this to yourself
but somehow
I'm feeling guilty
I made my own choices
I know they weren't right
But in the end
we were both wrong
and it was you who payed
most dearly
and now it's me who sees
most dearly
the cost of the mistakes
we both made
and now I've been hanged
by my own wordy rope

This is all copied and pasted from my greatestjournal. too lazy to go find the hard copies and type from them. And the explanation for the first one is a comment that I wrote in the poetry community I posted it in, in response to a good review. Because I'm too lazy to give them titles, neither of them has a title.
-------
I don't feel like
listening to music tonight
It wouldn't be right
somehow
I would be lying
my happiness dying
If something could die
that has so long been dead
there's a wicked tension in my head
And if my soul has already bled
to death I wouldn't notice tonight
Angry silence couds my mind
my jaw has set my teeth to grind
maybe if I'm patient I'll find
that final thread of hope
that maybe there is gladness
still left in this world

The reason for my anger is not clear
and its target I truly hold so dear
but nothing is more blind than hatred
and nothing spills as much young blood
though still nothing explains my
lack of acceptance of my cursed drug


----
^I'll tell you the inspiration. Heh. I'm a Green Day junkie. Last night I watched Behind The Music: Green Day. And it made me feel all weird and angry at the punk community or well, I'm not really sure exactly who I was mad at, but you get the picture, because they were like ew Green Day you suck because your record is popular and we don't like you because you sing about love and you have melody to your sound. ew. And yeah, I took a moment to sit and think about it and I was like "and all this time I thought they were punk. Hmm." I'm not really sure what I ever really thought but meh. Pop-punk, same dif. And I saw these two 90s looking girls who were like "Billie Joe is SO HOT" and I was like ew. Omg is that what I sound like? So I took a moment to reevaluate myself and for some reason I couldn't listen to music, which for me is a tragedy because I love music, like I need music like I need breathing. I've even been known to change and go to the bathroom with my headphones on. So yeah that was like a huge thing for me and I was angry so I had to write that. **** those clichés of teen poetry. And here I thought I was exempt. Anyway there's another poem that I may or may not have posted here called unreliable *just remembers that this poem has no name* *hits head against computer desk repeatedly* and that one's about the song Good Riddance. So yeah. Whether or not you wanted to hear it (which more than likely you did not), that's my story.
*******

Sickening in
self-destruction
coming from the
wrong direction
teaching lies and
selling guise
of common "mistakes"
or hypnotize
into submission
mass illusion
peculiar confusion
hypocracy
in democracy
is all that's left
to be said

I really like ur poems. I think I like "Voices Carry" the best. Kinda dark, but I like it...

Jo, i know what you mean about the 90s girls they're pathetic (well maybe i sound like them sometimes when i say "Billie is so hot" but anyway).
And I think iI know why you couldn't listen to music cuase that happened to me not one but a lot of times.
I love the poem!

Yeah, well...dark is how most of my poems tend to come across. It's kind of difficult to write a poem about happiness without it sounding like corn puffs or being about love, with which I have no experience. Unless the poet is a true master. Which I am not. And yes, well many people say that they like that poem the best. Me? Well, it's sort of a love-hate relationship. The only ones I can find it in me to truly like are the ones with a strong political sound, which usually come out not to be very good but somehow I like them anyway. :violin: . But I need no sympathy because I am not a person who sees everything as sad and dark. Satirical, perhaps... But so as not to waste a post, I shall treat you (or bore you, whatever it may be) with my latest. It is kind of pathetic considering what/whom it's about, or at least whom I had in mind in writing it, which is why the title (yes, there's a title!) is, well, as it is... Anyway, this one isn't as dark...at least, I don't think so. But it is kinda lame....

Fanaticism (Forgotten?)
So if I came up to you and sat
Would you let me stay and chat?
Would you offer to pay
and if I should refuse (which I would)
would you insist? And mean it?
Would you remember me
five years from now
When thinking of
the days gone by?
Would you write about me
in some hidden world
to keep me safe
from prying eyes?
Or would you forget
as soon as I left
those beautiful eyes?


It took me like reading it a dozen times before I realized that I rhymed "eyes" with "eyes", which furthered my feeling of its lameness. But for some reason I like it, perhaps for the meaning it has, so I decided to keep it.