Hardest Poem to Publish

They tried to change me

But with time everything changes

Except the photos, they always stay the same

Like a fishplate, now I've digested the truth

The radio is never answered here

The thoughts I can barely remember

Which slip like time from my grasp

Are slowly coming back to me


Manipulated mirror images twist into reasons                                                               

Sewn into the nucleus of my existence


It's the hardest pill to swallow

When I'm scared of letting things go

It feels like I've been cut with a thunderbolt

Sometimes I wish I didn't have to think

Sometimes I wish I didn't know

Poems do not burn, but poems breathe

They are cracking through the common purview

The ratio between them is hyphenated

And the drugs seem gooseberry at this point

Life is a sport, another gymkhana

I am sleeping with the body of a dead person

A fissure in the mountain

Failing to do our duties in a pompous galaxy

Before we could ever know

Renegades have dropped like fallen stars

It's a kind gesture, birthed from the colossal pain

A lurkspur lines the neck of my bladder

And acts like a wandering chef

I was told

A bellybutton's initiative is never to be ignored

But I am one that ignores even the most imperative pains

I thought the violin would play tides in my veins

The day burned to ashes

The detumescence caused an autobahn

I got caught in the traffic, the returning critic

Numb like I've never been before

I suspected the belief has been portrayed

On the maggot-infested sanctuary

In my wet dreams

In my dreams of getting laid                                                                                         

The mirror is a gorgon                                                                                                     

It looks back at me and it eats me                                                                                       

It gulps me down and it shreds                                                                                     

Every flaw and tear I shed                                                                                         

Now I'm a piano in my head                                                                                     

I can't help but niggle in rapport


When I'm sore I water the lily in my heart

In my dark night sky

I dream of your deep set ovals

I could never forget the moments we shared

How my guts spilled everywhere

I love you more than I could ever do

Although I don't say it, I seem to be frozen

When I try to utter, "Ich liebe dich"

As if something happened along the way

Which made me stop, which made me unable to

When I lost you in that wild rose garden

In the idyllic temple of a forest

I keep my darkest secrets and store my fondest memories

In the place where I grew up believing in monsters

I spread myself thin like violet ink

I go back there often When the winter sun is shining like a million diamonds

Cut in half, glistening like raindrops in puddles

Wishing it could always be perfect

The apple rots

Everything changes, but the photo stays the same                                                                           

The photo stays the same


Reminding me that life is beautiful in every way

The chalk of your golden breath warms my ache

Reminding me that life is beautiful in every way

The photo stays the same


In your eyes stars beam

The past is a faint sparkle

Harvest in the meadow

Not once have I mentioned it

But I think about you fucking me

Fucking my clouds for brains

Causing a semantic change

An inner rebellion

I move with the shift

Tried to fit back into my body

Feeling unloved like a book on a shelf

Beached like a whale, like a celestial shadow

The perfect moment to die blossomed

Sculpted out of our earth

The life pour is vital


Ringing in the deaf ear

With white powder on the nose

White powder on the banknotes

I pulled the hull off the strawberry

Sang for my eternal muse

Breathing in the forever sunlight

The crisp morning air, crisp like dried sunflowers

In a cataract of tears, in my ignorant ways

In a pool of desires I promenade


Red like intestines, red with an infection                                                                             

Red with a shower of thoughts                                                                                             

I traced along the line                                                                                               

Looked in the souls of fools                                                                                       

Creamy with wick                                                                                                                 

I couldn't bare it any longer                                                                                                                       

So I turned to the hills of wonder                                                                                     

Dreamed someone stole my dreams                                                                                 

It was a pink-fleshed, elaborate moon thief                                                                     

Drinking from the petals                                                                                               

I fell at the mud at your feet                                                                                         

Ready to suck your cock


Waves of water licked the salt of my arm

Swayed back and forth like the hum of submission

Mirroring the intolerant facade I bring

On the banks of something rather incomplete

A lingering scent hangs under the nostrils

I remember it well, like those days when i was a child

The dull repetition

Coming home to nothing

I turned over, closed my eyes, went to sleep

Who I was and who I am are mere reflections of the person

I'm destined to meet

Two separate entities in the one body coexisting

Jockeying for position


I seen my father and his cold lips

Dressed as a ghost, blind to my eyes

As if I were second hand smoke

As if I was never born


Being punished for who I am.



  • RDS

    A great wide-ranging epic with fine details, thanks for sharing this poem that brings to my mind a tension between tease and torment. I can attest to poems burning if, in a fit of madness, you set fire to your notebooks..

    • XIdlepoetX

      Thank you for your kind words. I'd never know what it's like to burn a poem because I've never done so, and I couldn't imagine it either. I seem to get attached easily, even to the ones I'm not necessarily proud of, or embarrassed by, or think aren't anything worthy. I like to keep my writings so I can look back at a later date and see my growth as a poet, and like I said in the poem, I'm scared of letting things go, which also applies to my work, but I probably should have said my poems don't burn, but they breathe, instead, to be more specific and personal.

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