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the long way hometoday i threw half my
fridge away
and waited for 25'000
to starve

people like you
jump off roofs and
stick their heads
in ovens

smile-face stickers
don't frown
(even when you put them
wrong-side-up)

life's already hard enough
without trying to
find
what all your curtains
mean

i am guilty
of forgetting about
my tea
the kettle boils
like my head on a pillow

you will never
see them again
or the fears that wonder
about you
i can make you love mewriters,
what thoughts
do you bend in
these cathedral-ribs
shaking with leaves?
(self-conscious,
headache)
 
shopping neon
for
a sinner's devotion
or that boy
in the other aisle
 
(i hold your books
and stroke the pages,
suddenly frightened)
 
'excuse me'
they haven't arrived:
(that was forty-five
minutes ago)
 
blushing and
hoping no one notices
that i've read this
before
as i watch him
slip behind the counter
 
(i devised a plan to
volunteer on fridays
and trap him)
 
as i read
sentence three
for the fifteenth
time
it only lasts a little whileat the bottom
there is
love
little hands
dissolving themselves

in the desperate
sunlight & waves
cut by ships
and continents

open
suspended
trembling as the water
passes through

hollow bodies restless
& agile
waiting for the sun
hungry ghostsswallowing the morning glow and
quiet pills:
fawn-eyed and rabbit-eared to
watch the warmth of limbo
touch the
city

going down down down
to where nothing alive
can see
the palls of grey hanging
from streetlights

and i try to find a metaphor

1. (hide your eyes from
penny candy and laughter--
white caravans and
dirt)
2. something less complex than nonsense;
simpler than art and noble habits
purging in the alleyways all the
virgin snow and eyelights
3. maybe it was meant to be this way:
the cold wakes the neighbors
as fate meets destiny to conspire
a way out

a religion
a brothel
a murder that wasn't meant to complete
me or the mani
you make me write bad poetryi made you up
from pillows and comforters
and anything that stuck
its tongue out from
my drawers

and slept in

next year i will shy away
like a child
when you touch me--
which
if you know me
(and you probably do)
seems very in-character
anyways--

but it's not like what
happened in the bookstore when
you
put your teeth against my ear
and everything felt
like it did last week
in the treehouse
except
backwards

it all seems so out of
context
like i am a little girl again
playing house
and pretending i know what those
funny words that taste
like soap and dirt
mean
and what we are
feed the masses (starve the girl)'eat
there are starving
children in africa'

'so being fat will help
them?'

give the dog some bones
that's all she has
left

zero-zero and your
concern
tasted like cold toast
(rather bitter, really)

she told her
secrets
to porcelin & water
(she keeps the
sink on
to drown out the noise)

one day:
stretch your fingers around
your thigh
fingernails-to-palm

& the heater goes on
higher
(the coats are good
anyways--
no one can see the
fat)

but she's chilled to the
bone
& everyone sees

'i'll never be beautiful'
lilith's childthe grass in eden is
trampled

& never grows

he is a stranger
to the wet warm seasons
& jackal nights

she is an animal
bitten
& sucking the venom

i'm too young to be running out of dreamsthe brave kids
tore them in half
& the pretty
screamed

but it was a secret for us
that the other
side
was really blue &
worms had
ten
hearts

there was a note
of cruelty
in salt water & drowning
being torn
apart
for the benefit of the
species

so we came with a solution:
live forever
or
tear the wings &
bleed them out
give me my shadow, put on my crown.i.
I knew you well enough
to know your birthday
and middle name
[even the shampoo you wore
on my pillow that really needs to be cleaned anways.]

Your bow-arms and thin shoulders;
pretences always daring me to
look away.

A symphony of laughing bones;
a thousand "what if's"
without their "nevers"
and a silly pet name that gave you blond hair.

ii.

What could you ever know
about those little secrets
and apples in your eyes?

Nothing.
Nothing.

No mirrors;
until you sat with your hands
grabbing cold-shell ears--
over and over and over
until you believed

That if I did--I would remember
because it didn't happen of course;
no never, never.

N
DepartureA hapless loser;
a lionhearted wallflower, if you will.

Browbeaten, sheepishly slipping through the curtains on the window.
Intimidated by the high-pitched noise you hear when there is no other sound in the night.
Bellowing out like a soldier stuck in his trenches.
I am heard, as I impinge your eardrums,
yet you're as steady as a statue during a windstorm.

My mother always told me that I was a well balanced child;
I had a chip off both of my shoulders.
One day the gulls will swarm down and make a nest of our bones
and you will still be as level headed then as you are now.

So go my friend, I bid you adieu.
Cast off your anchors, and feel t
wanderlusti was all sex and stitches
with every color on a TV screen;

(and between me and you)
your teeth, your tongue,
your ferret-hands and knowledgeable mind--
they scared me.

the foreign worlds beneath your skin:
the contortions of your spine and
organs;

you wanted to conquer; to claim
and plant a flag--

and i--i wanted cancer
i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxes
and bags and books or
words,
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;

no--

we infect,
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and melodrama
and nothing to signify at all

yet--

we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
to come;
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
higher minds
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type
UntitledSomewhere in the forest
A wolf cries to the moon
So I begin to ponder
Alone here in my room
As to what the wolf is after
When it calls out to the moon
I think I thought of something
But I fell asleep too soon.
because i have toimpaled
& wreaking havoc on these
young bones

more than endorphins &
planes out of control

pretending that if
not-so-masochistically

i--

p

   a

       r

        a

       l

      y

    z

   e

 d:

a manifestation
instilled in bedsheets
& ghosts
living in sinchurch is no place to discover
you're a lesbian:
like a cat in heat
trapped under those pews

i shut my eyes
and realize the brakes are shot
and all that's left
is a sex chromosome
and society

Browse More Like This

More from ~tubefed

hungry ghostsswallowing the morning glow and
quiet pills:
fawn-eyed and rabbit-eared to
watch the warmth of limbo
touch the
city

going down down down
to where nothing alive
can see
the palls of grey hanging
from streetlights

and i try to find a metaphor

1. (hide your eyes from
penny candy and laughter--
white caravans and
dirt)
2. something less complex than nonsense;
simpler than art and noble habits
purging in the alleyways all the
virgin snow and eyelights
3. maybe it was meant to be this way:
the cold wakes the neighbors
as fate meets destiny to conspire
a way out

a religion
a brothel
a murder that wasn't meant to complete
me or the mani
you make me write bad poetryi made you up
from pillows and comforters
and anything that stuck
its tongue out from
my drawers

and slept in

next year i will shy away
like a child
when you touch me--
which
if you know me
(and you probably do)
seems very in-character
anyways--

but it's not like what
happened in the bookstore when
you
put your teeth against my ear
and everything felt
like it did last week
in the treehouse
except
backwards

it all seems so out of
context
like i am a little girl again
playing house
and pretending i know what those
funny words that taste
like soap and dirt
mean
and what we are
i just wanted to make you something beautifulyour goodbye
tasted like cold
toast
rather bitter, really

kind of poetic--&
a bit absurd
while waltzing
around your bedroom

(hitting my shin
on the nightstand)

a goose dabbing
its beak in
lyrical genuis

a little less than
brillance
& every law of thermodynamics
pressed against
my inspiration

Featured in Groups

:icondark-asphyxiation: :icontaintedart: :iconwritten-from-within: :iconmindoflead: :iconwriteaway: :iconartist-exposure: :iconemo-club: :iconwritingclub:
×

no one is ever going to want me

:icontubefed:

maybe once
this would've been
poetic
but i'm crying &
there's nothing
pretty
or wonderful
here

i think
my face is scrunched
like a red rag
in the sink
slumped beneath a leaky
faucet &
my hands are shaking

maybe i could make
it
sound nice--
high
buzzed
lustful
but what i have
you won't like

memories
and do you want them too?
stealing & paying
pressing bottles and
pictures to my sternum
the heat
the cold

maybe it's the silence
that hurts
the stumbling
the tumult of words down
the sink and
across the floor
the empty heads
&

i was pretty then
bird-legs and stilted poems
so nice
numbering stars and
crushing books between
my teeth

but no not today
i'm a husk
a balloon
waiting for everything
to destroy me

to prick a hole
start an earthquake

763

73 43 7
:icontubefed:

no one is ever going to want meby ~tubefed

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I actually have angst in my gallery now. Nuu.
©2013 ~tubefed
Category: Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

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Submitted on
February 23
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:icon4sauce4:
*4sauce4 Apr 5, 2013  Student Writer
You know why I like this? Because, even if it is angsty, it's well-done. It isn't generic like most angst poem that get put out there. I confess, I have a few of those types myself. ^^;

Anyway, I like the simplicity in your word choice. It feels so real. Plus, I really enjoy that this could have a double meaning. Perhaps it isn't only about relationships, but it's also about an artist unsure of him/herself, afraid to show his/her work to the world because...no one is ever going to want it. =P
I always love the structure of your work. I keep trying to figure out how to implement this kind of structure into my own stuff. Too bad it isn't working. >.<

Ahem...
Very good work, as usual! :D
:iconbravoplz:
Reply
:icontubefed:
~tubefed Apr 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I tried to make this as blunt and straight-forward-but-not as possible. XD I wanted people to connect, to feel their words and emotions not wrapped up in a little bow and placed in their lap. I wanted it to slap them in the face, pull them down by the eyelids and tell them what they are. Of course, that wouldn't work out (I need more practice/talent >.>), but this is my try.

It's so nice to hear that the structure is good. :p That's not exactly my strongest suit, if you know what I mean.
Reply
:iconforeststone:
*Foreststone Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
This is a really good poem and I'm so sorry I was going to critique but I can't find anything wrong with it ^^; to critique it. I'll someone else critique it!
Reply
:icontubefed:
~tubefed Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
XD Well, I think that's a good sign! Thank you for the comment, and also, I'd love to hear what people think I could improve on. :)
Reply
:iconforeststone:
*Foreststone Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
hmmm what you could improve on....the structure is really good, the style is unique, and the grammar makes my OCD go wild XD(because of the I's not being capitalized :lol:)! BUT there is one thing you could improve on I just figure out! Your wording! Try and have words that pack an emotional punch like instead of crying here:
but i'm crying &
there's nothing
pretty
or wonderful
here
You could use:
but i'm weeping &
there's nothing
pretty (maybe use another word instead of pretty?)
or wonderful
here

That is my critique :eager: Can I move this poem to the "Poetry III" folder now?
Reply
:icontubefed:
~tubefed Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanke ye ever so kindly for the critique, m'dear. I'm always looking to improve my art, however here I will give my reasoning. I used simple words like "cry" & "pretty" for their emotional appeal: there's nothing poetic or eloquent about them. They're words that are overused--lacking art: and in this poem, that expresses the narrator's feelings. They cannot make something poetic, something beautiful out of their situation. So, I chose very simple diction. :la:

Again, thank you so much for putting in the time and effort to help me improve. I am deeply indebted to you. :) And yes, you may move it to wherever you wish. X3
Reply
:iconforeststone:
*Foreststone Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Ah, yes that is a good reason. I'm learning a lot by critiquing other peoples work :)

You are very welcome :hug:
Reply
:iconforeststone:
*Foreststone Mar 7, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
*I'll let
Reply
:iconvioletwriter97:
~violetwriter97 Mar 5, 2013  Student Writer
The word I would use to describe it is strong. It comes at you swiftly and steals you away.
Reply
:icontubefed:
~tubefed Mar 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
My words tackled you? o,o' (Thanks for the comments and lovely words.)

Happy late 16th birthday, by the way...not a creep.
Reply
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