Authenticity Poems - Poems about Authenticity

Each morning drifts like mist— soft, uncertain, but somewhere in its hush, I feel the weight of something turning dark nearby. I once imagined this place would be still, that the walls would not echo with things unsaid. But peace, it seems, is not something we always share. Patterns repeat— whispers circling like wind in a cage. The days loop like shadows on the same old path, a wheel that...

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"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." (W. H. Auden) They sit in their glass-paneled chambers, these judges, tuning their ears to the hum of silicon— eyebrows raised at every metaphor too deft, too dressed, too drenched in sense. Who wrote this? they ask, tapping screens that blink like oracles but lie like...

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"To Walk Beside You" I met you in the silence Between laughter and retreat, Where fire met still water And wild hearts dared to meet. You saw the storm inside me And called it too much flame, But it’s the heat that forged my spirit, Not a thing I’ll ever tame. You asked for open softness, For a love that wraps and mends, But love is...

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I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer a soul bare-r (but not always my own); a word-weaver. I pull at thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs and cirrus, frayed dungarees and threadbare memories until I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems. Sometimes I get caught in my own knots— I cut myself loose of those naughty strings. I...

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In our society those who are pure are mistaken for weak. They are taken advantage of "Whipped into shape" by society "Oh you don't eat enough" ends up being "Are you going to eat all of that?" "Why don't you have any friends? Are you depressed?" to "You have too many friends are you that desperate?" Being "whipped into shape" by society...

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I come from the borough of Queens, New York My classmates call me a Klutz and a dork Those names pervaded my soul, taking a toll Being at the bottom of the totem pole. Then Dad took me to the town of Tortilla Flat I walked into a store, bought a ten-gallon hat I started talking like John Wayne, also bought...

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To unmask a false identity is to identify genuine authenticity. It's painful, no, it kills me, but it's the only way to heal what's deep. Pain in my body, it was a lie to me. Deep regrets built in from long ago. No. Deep pits that have since grown cold. The shame was underlying, and i craved the construct of what...

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Unveiled and untethered , I stand tall , A reflection of truth , without disguise or fall. No masks to hide , no scripts to recite , My soul's raw beauty , in pain sight. The armor shed , the walls laid low , Vulnerability's gentle glow. Embracing flaws , and imperfections too , A masterpiece , in progress anew. In authenticity's warm...

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What a tragedy Nothing but life No love just reality People making promises They say they'll keep But I've been wondering Where's the loyalty Mindless sayings and Heartless love Who on earth are We supposed to trust Family supposedly The best remedy But really just a lot of misery...

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We’re on October break, which is a 6-day weekend. For the last two weeks, everyone’s been making plans. “What do you think of Cancún?” Sunny’d asked me. “The only people going to Mexico are on the cheap or trapped in a trunk.” I’d answered. After two weeks of weighing every conceivable terrestrial destination, amenities and available attractions, we...

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When people comment on the style or way I write and the words I use to express and convey my thoughts and views. I tend to stop and ponder my road less traveled . Acknowledging, appreciating , admiring the authors, teachers scribes of many nations and the outer regions of the universe ,...

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Once at my lowest, yet I stride, With the poise of a boss, I take my pride. Light beckons softly at the tunnel's end, In lands of the blind, the one-eyed man ascends. I need no admiration; the draw’s reversed, She sent her photo—a sweet smile rehearsed. Alone in...

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Demarcation Lines . for public domain With demarcation lines obscured from what is clear, what is absurd, what makes sense, what makes no sense, our soul's exchequer bears the expense. And so too our capacity for dreams, to treasure our own, not another man's schemes, or programmed plots from computer game scenes, or scripted stories on tv screens. Loose the sense of who you are, but...

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In pondering, less is more....

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Dragged down by her own arms and eyes, to the surrounding sheol of the they Authentic life gets buried in the dirt of averageness, as the world’s prey She is a being in the world, whose only true life is resoluteness Especially since she falls into dedistancing, reaching averageness In the vulgar tomb, psychology...

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