Submissions by Nixprty
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write the words my tongue can’t speak, and for those who can still see clearly through the foggy windows.
Let Go
Stella?
Yeah I know her.
Stella is a dreamer,
Beneath all the bizarre.
She believed in ghosts.
Believes.
I met her in college,
I can hardly recall the first time I saw her.
She played bass in a grungy club.
Plays.
She asked me to marry her,
She said she always wanted to ask someone that.
She hated tradition.
Hates.
That was a long time ago,
I haven’t spoken to her in years.
She never visited.
Visits.
I can’t say I’d know where to find her, ...
Yeah I know her.
Stella is a dreamer,
Beneath all the bizarre.
She believed in ghosts.
Believes.
I met her in college,
I can hardly recall the first time I saw her.
She played bass in a grungy club.
Plays.
She asked me to marry her,
She said she always wanted to ask someone that.
She hated tradition.
Hates.
That was a long time ago,
I haven’t spoken to her in years.
She never visited.
Visits.
I can’t say I’d know where to find her, ...
#denial
#grief
#loneliness
129 reads
4 Comments
Slow Drip
I turn the sink knob tightly,
The rush of water slowly dissipates as the last of it sloshes down the drain.
As I turn to leave I hear it,
The drip.
So faint,
And so loud.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Continuous and unending,
Rhythmic and random.
The last remnants of a stream,
Clinging to their source like a child to its mother.
The evidence of being,
The whimpers of existence.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Why turn the tap off,
If the water will just drip.
Drip ...
The rush of water slowly dissipates as the last of it sloshes down the drain.
As I turn to leave I hear it,
The drip.
So faint,
And so loud.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Continuous and unending,
Rhythmic and random.
The last remnants of a stream,
Clinging to their source like a child to its mother.
The evidence of being,
The whimpers of existence.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Why turn the tap off,
If the water will just drip.
Drip ...
#addiction
#despair
105 reads
0 Comments
Robotic Parts
You’re looking away
From me
Our eyes won’t
meet
But you’re still
Looking at
Me
I see it
In the lenses
Planted in the
Hollows of my skull
This love
Is cannibalistic
And it’s
Sadistic
To call it
Love
To teach
Me to feel
And teach me
A distorted
Picture
You hold me
And say
You can’t
Feel me
But I’m
Breathing in your
Ear
Its steady
Even though I
Feel lightheaded
And breathless
I feel wilted
I am seeking ...
From me
Our eyes won’t
meet
But you’re still
Looking at
Me
I see it
In the lenses
Planted in the
Hollows of my skull
This love
Is cannibalistic
And it’s
Sadistic
To call it
Love
To teach
Me to feel
And teach me
A distorted
Picture
You hold me
And say
You can’t
Feel me
But I’m
Breathing in your
Ear
Its steady
Even though I
Feel lightheaded
And breathless
I feel wilted
I am seeking ...
#abuse
#hurt
#love
#manipulation
#MentalHealth
164 reads
5 Comments
I Can’t Swim
Power,
In the hands of corpses.
If our country is ever changing,
So too should its "Rulers”.
We can't keep standing still and saying we're trying to cross the sea,
Because we'll never get to land.
I don't want to drown..
In the hands of corpses.
If our country is ever changing,
So too should its "Rulers”.
We can't keep standing still and saying we're trying to cross the sea,
Because we'll never get to land.
I don't want to drown..
#anger
#despair
#politics
104 reads
1 Comment
Leaving
Get up.
Why?
You need to go.
Why?
It won’t hold.
I can hold on..
No.
Why not?
It won’t hold you.
It doesn’t have to, I’m holding on.
NO! It won’t hold YOU.
I don’t.. understand..
I’m staying here, you’re leaving.
But we can’t split up, I need you here.
If you stay, we’ll both die.
But I need you.
I’ll go insane without you.
I’ll call, or uh.. write?
No, I can’t leave you!
You’re not leaving...
Why?
You need to go.
Why?
It won’t hold.
I can hold on..
No.
Why not?
It won’t hold you.
It doesn’t have to, I’m holding on.
NO! It won’t hold YOU.
I don’t.. understand..
I’m staying here, you’re leaving.
But we can’t split up, I need you here.
If you stay, we’ll both die.
But I need you.
I’ll go insane without you.
I’ll call, or uh.. write?
No, I can’t leave you!
You’re not leaving...
#friendship
#manipulation
#rejection
137 reads
1 Comment
Lament of a Creator (Not an Artist)
I often get asked how I got so good at art, it’s an assumption really. The question requires one to assume that I worked to become this way, and implies the existence of a mentor. The brush in my hands is self guided, held only in my fingers. I assume I doodled so long in the margins they spread into a mural.
I cannot imagine a painting before I create it, I cannot see the colors in my head. I cannot grasp perspective, I cannot draw exact. I lack the basics needed to be an artist, and yet I create in spite. Perhaps it’s the red stubborn streak in me that makes me create my works...
I cannot imagine a painting before I create it, I cannot see the colors in my head. I cannot grasp perspective, I cannot draw exact. I lack the basics needed to be an artist, and yet I create in spite. Perhaps it’s the red stubborn streak in me that makes me create my works...
#art
#bittersweet
94 reads
0 Comments
A Letter to the Moon
I admire her,
I suppose that’s woefully inadequate.
She is graceful and clumsy,
Hardly average and wholly kind.
Love;
Meaning connection.
It is held in the shape of her smile,
In the stitches on her converse.
She often calls herself stupid,
I see so much in her eyes.
A mind full of thoughts,
And a voice so full of feeling.
It falls so casually from her lips,
She is oblivious to the profoundness hidden within each mumble.
Intellect and insecurity,
A distinct abnormal normality. ...
I suppose that’s woefully inadequate.
She is graceful and clumsy,
Hardly average and wholly kind.
Love;
Meaning connection.
It is held in the shape of her smile,
In the stitches on her converse.
She often calls herself stupid,
I see so much in her eyes.
A mind full of thoughts,
And a voice so full of feeling.
It falls so casually from her lips,
She is oblivious to the profoundness hidden within each mumble.
Intellect and insecurity,
A distinct abnormal normality. ...
#friendship
#happiness
#love
151 reads
2 Comments
Thoughts of You
You are so pretty.
Is that too shallow?
I mean.. it’s true.
You’re so oddly breathtaking.
And so breathtakingly odd..
You scream a lot,
But I can only recall our quiet moments;
They feel special,
They feel like OURS.
No one else’s..
You hardly know me,
I’m sure you don’t really want to.
Do you ever think of cutting your hair into layers?
Do you ever think of talking to me?
You have such a pretty smile.
I like that song too!
Can I draw you?
Do you want me to draw you..?
Can I ask for more?
...
Is that too shallow?
I mean.. it’s true.
You’re so oddly breathtaking.
And so breathtakingly odd..
You scream a lot,
But I can only recall our quiet moments;
They feel special,
They feel like OURS.
No one else’s..
You hardly know me,
I’m sure you don’t really want to.
Do you ever think of cutting your hair into layers?
Do you ever think of talking to me?
You have such a pretty smile.
I like that song too!
Can I draw you?
Do you want me to draw you..?
Can I ask for more?
...
#crush
#love
146 reads
1 Comment
Self Hatred
Inescapable and loud,
It screams at me.
I am enamored by the beauty of the world all around me,
I am unable to find any within myself.
I cannot find such abundant flaws in anyone but myself;
I suppose I should think that unfair, but I have no place for anger.
I am unhappy with myself,
I feel joy in everything I do.
Self actualization,
Bleeding into self hatred.
I am so in my own head,
And so separated from myself.
I am loved,
I am unlovable.
The inked edges of my face and body become smudged as I run...
It screams at me.
I am enamored by the beauty of the world all around me,
I am unable to find any within myself.
I cannot find such abundant flaws in anyone but myself;
I suppose I should think that unfair, but I have no place for anger.
I am unhappy with myself,
I feel joy in everything I do.
Self actualization,
Bleeding into self hatred.
I am so in my own head,
And so separated from myself.
I am loved,
I am unlovable.
The inked edges of my face and body become smudged as I run...
#depression
#SelfWorth
148 reads
1 Comment
Looking good man!
Can God punish me for that?
Can HE read between the lines I draw?
Can HE hear what I truly want to say?
There are whispers behind my words,
Spoken by lips smudged in red.
They are carved into me,
They are barely audible.
If I try and wipe it from my skin,
The cut will only grow deeper.
He will smile,
HE won’t forgive.
Can everyone else see it?
Burning on my flesh and eating at my tongue.
It runs down my cheek,
It stains all of my clothing.
They told me I could be forgiven,
I...
Can HE read between the lines I draw?
Can HE hear what I truly want to say?
There are whispers behind my words,
Spoken by lips smudged in red.
They are carved into me,
They are barely audible.
If I try and wipe it from my skin,
The cut will only grow deeper.
He will smile,
HE won’t forgive.
Can everyone else see it?
Burning on my flesh and eating at my tongue.
It runs down my cheek,
It stains all of my clothing.
They told me I could be forgiven,
I...
#LGBT
#love
#UnrequitedLove
115 reads
0 Comments
Remorse (Regret)
I thought if I closed my eyes,
As I burned you.
I wouldn’t have to listen,
And hear you
Scream.
I understand now how that makes no sense,
My eyes and ears aren’t connected.
But I thought it worked,
For just a
Moment.
I didn’t hear anything,
But I felt you flinch against me.
Not fighting back,
Rather you were
Taking.
It wasn’t until I peeked through my eyelashes,
And looked at you.
I realized you it wasn’t my closed eyes,
You just...
As I burned you.
I wouldn’t have to listen,
And hear you
Scream.
I understand now how that makes no sense,
My eyes and ears aren’t connected.
But I thought it worked,
For just a
Moment.
I didn’t hear anything,
But I felt you flinch against me.
Not fighting back,
Rather you were
Taking.
It wasn’t until I peeked through my eyelashes,
And looked at you.
I realized you it wasn’t my closed eyes,
You just...
#anger
#ImSorry
#regret
145 reads
0 Comments
He
He doesn’t like children’s books,
But I do.
He doesn’t like children’s movies,
But I do.
I wonder if I could sit down with him,
At dinner maybe,
If he’d like me.
I suppose he liked everyone.
He was allowed to like everyone.
He likes what he’s allowed to like,
He doesn’t like to be told what to do.
He doesn’t like other children,
In fact,
I don’t think he likes himself.
I never knew children could be like that,
So in their own heads.
He could hardly keep his on...
But I do.
He doesn’t like children’s movies,
But I do.
I wonder if I could sit down with him,
At dinner maybe,
If he’d like me.
I suppose he liked everyone.
He was allowed to like everyone.
He likes what he’s allowed to like,
He doesn’t like to be told what to do.
He doesn’t like other children,
In fact,
I don’t think he likes himself.
I never knew children could be like that,
So in their own heads.
He could hardly keep his on...
#aging
#MentalHealth
98 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Nixprty