Poems, Quotes & Memes
Genre
meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
The Architect of Wounds

The Architect of Wounds

The Architect of Wounds

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

The Architect of Wounds

I build rooms around wounds. The walls painted with emotions, decorated with memories that hold the past like a picture in a frame. I’ve built so many rooms that my wounds have become a home. Like a haunted house that speaks of its own antiquity. History lives in every room and sometimes, the ghosts wander into other rooms where they press on a wound— bringing it back to life. A place where doors open and close on their own. I can hear them all, supplicating from a place where distance has no gaps.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

The Unfolding:

Misplaced longing for a place of belonging. I’ve seen eyes that actually twinkle. Had I known that was the warning sign of the wrinkle—in time about to unfold from a mind. Beautiful from afar, but if you get to close it’s a trap, a pit of tar. Escape is impossible truth be told. Back upon themselves, emotions they fold. So this feeling of depth belongs to a different ocean. The waves may be rough as the roar towards my shore. It’s worth the hit, I welcome it more and more

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

A Stranger in the Mirror:

Have you ever found yourself putting on your game face when you’re all alone? Like, you’re a stranger in your own body, like, you’re the one unknown— It’s taxing at times, I’m lost beyond the rubble. “DO YOU USE YOUR HEAD?” No! It gets me in trouble. Even when I’m present I think back, to all the things I lack and I start to shrink.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

The Unwritten Shelf

The light crept right in. Into the dark rooms of my mind, where patience was wearing thin. I spend most of my time by myself. So I stack a thousand pages of the nameless on the unwritten shelf. Right behind the eyes, I can see the disguise. I can hear in the silence, the shape of unspoken lies. The undertones, they speak to me. Say what you want, but I see what you refuse to see. The space between the words you choose, the breath you take to conceal and confuse— My sagacity is no muse. You left me a mess, the internal weather— changed forever: no atmosphere, just the fallen sky. My mind's eye erased you, you're an unwritten lie.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

A Spark With a Shadow

You see me in a certain light, but I come from the dark. I’ve lived my life from shadows. I know it’s perplexing because I shine so bright, but beware my spark. Should your finger desire my face, to trace— Understand: I’m the depth of darkness that you cannot erase…

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

The Bee that Drowned in Honey

I’m always gonna be Authentically me I don’t hide—I do isolate, but I like it inside my room; where I can dissect and deliberately investigate my gloom. I apologize if you’re anything like me. I’m guessing you’re the honey—that drowned the bee. So we’re not the same and when you speak my name, you throw dirt trying to bury your shame. When you said “inside I’m dead” that was the only thing that left your lips not in the shape of a lie. Speaking of shape, how is your soul? I shake, I shiver, you're so much more than a sliver in my finger. You're a stake in my heart— a blade through my throat. Yet here you are— the protagonist in almost every poem that I've ever wrote. Or written, there's not a single piece of my soul that you have not bitten. You'd take an intentional bite and you'd do it to spite a lover from your past or a part you play—for the role you cast. Take your place, your bed bed has been made, but not by you right? How is it everyone else's fault, when they're your demons to fight?

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

Memories Hold the Matches

Memories Hold the Matches: Traversing the corridors of the mind, with one misstep I trip over a memory— not the pleasant kind. I fall fast into the not-so-distant past. It’s hard to catch my breath or navigate the winding halls of my mind. I open every door and find the feelings I thought I’d left behind. Love hurts— but can you hold the pain? Can you keep the fire lit after the torrential rain? And if it should smolder and collapse into ash, does the rain wash it away— or tattoo the past onto the soul, where it keeps reaching, where silent whispers become screeching? Behind the last door, a room is on fire, and the corridor is filling with smoke. With every breath I take— on the past, I choke. Searching for the source, I wonder: is the arsonist at rest? As I investigate the fire, which room is still safe to invest in? I’m done wandering these halls. The source has now been found. The arsonist is caught— not a person, but a story repeating without sound. I can let the damaged structure fall as it may. I’ve been rebuilding its corridors since the very first day I smelled the smoke and began to choke— the same day I discovered the joke: a story told once echoed through the halls, growing louder yet more distant—like a memory every time it’s recalled— until it was given enough room to roam and mistook my mind for its home. Much like last night’s dream— the one that left behind the smoke, the corridors, and this poem. — Noeticnonsense

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

Inamorata

I do not touch you— I translate you. Skin becomes language, breath becomes syntax— and meaning drips slowly from the space between us.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

A Familiar Weight

Sometimes, it's accompanied by an ache that knows no depth. A longing that can never be met and a pang of sorrow that tucks you into bed and greets you in the morning. Lanterns light the path, burning with invariable melancholy.

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
Mental Rooms

Mental Rooms

Mental Rooms

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
Discomfort in Growth

Discomfort in Growth

Discomfort in Growth

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
Growth Isn’t Comfortable

Growth Isn’t Comfortable

Growth Isn’t Comfortable

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
The Blueprint

The Blueprint

The Blueprint

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
From Noetic Babble

From Noetic Babble

From Noetic Babble

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
Lachrymose

Lachrymose

Lachrymose

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
The Sead Woods

The Sead Woods

The Sead Woods

meme · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate
Undertones

Undertones

Undertones

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Undertones

My fidelity is encrypted, Like 802.11. I'm connected, I'm locked on. One's and zeros but the four comes after the seven. You may be lost, in that last line, but I was there for it, it's fine—it was the undertone-life on the line. She's an AP, but the algorithm, the key to cipher, authenticates through me. A collapsing wave, she became my view. a quantum connection one wave collapsed into two. The frequency of love, a virus in the code, $ chmod +x- let it run, it's the story that time told...

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

What it Cost

I didn’t lose you all at once. I lost myself in installments. A sentence here. A doubt there. Another night explaining why pain hurts. I kept offering my chest as evidence, kept thinking if you saw the bruise clearly enough you’d stop pressing on it. But you mistook my openness for permission. Every time I said this breaks me, you heard try harder. Every time I asked for care, you heard accusation. I learned the sound of my own heart being negotiated. What I was allowed to feel. What I was allowed to remember. What I was allowed to call real. There is a particular loneliness in being told you are loved while being handled roughly. In being wanted, but never protected. I swallowed words to keep the peace, only to discover peace that requires silence is just another name for erasure. I began to doubt my instincts, apologize for my clarity, soften truths until they fit inside your comfort. That is how the hurt grows teeth. Not in the shouting, but in the slow, obedient shrinking. I did not leave because I stopped loving you. I left because love should not feel like survival. And now the pain is quieter, but it is honest. It belongs to me again. That is how I know I am healing.

quote · uncategorized
Mike DoughyLaureate

True Dreams of Wichita

Signal got lost to the satellite Got lost in the ride up to the plunge down Man sends the ray of the electric light Sends the impulse through the air down to home.

meme · uncategorized
AnonymousLaureate
Proximity-Protective

Proximity-Protective

Proximity-Protective

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Atraxia

The hush beneath the noise, where storms pass through the mind and leave no wreckage. Not the absence of feeling, but the mastery of it. A still lake that reflects the sky without becoming the weather

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Red

I think it was all in my head. Everything; written in red. In the beginning it was love, in the end it was rage. Everything; written in red. It colored every single thought, it covered every single page.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

The plan in the Mirror

In the mirror of time, a frozen reflection. Just a slightly different angle, one of predilection. You can still see the scars, they changed the reflection. The life of a mirror—always projection

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Love Rooted in the Ribs

From dust, a moment formed— everything began. Love took root in bone, deep in the ribs— quiet, unseen. Like bamboo— years beneath the surface, then suddenly—everything. But the soil turned. Poison crept in. Some days, I don’t recognize the eyes that look at me. The branches withered. They said it was dead. But roots remember. What grows underground is always stronger

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Decoded

It’s the meeting of the minds, the two within. A place where anger is stitched into silence. Emotion becomes a controllable current. Reaction becomes intention. Clarity permeates the aphotic eye. Voice becomes utilitarian— Insight invariable, inclinations perpetuous; it’s the birthplace of transcendence…

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Morning Thoughts:

it’s the bed, where I wake when you’re in it. It’s beneath the blanket in the cold room where our body heat keeps. It’s the softness of your skin, that consumes my consciousness— and coddles my soul. It’s your eyes, the smear of eyeliner from the day prior. It’s in the morning, the way your voice crackles. It’s my chest when you lie your head upon it. It’s your lips when they’re pressed against mine. It’s your closeness— from which my comfort can be drawn. And when we part— I’m left feeling sappy. It’s every stanza, written prior to the last, that truly makes me happy!

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Tangible Silence

I would do anything to get out of my head— and let go of all the things left unsaid. If I could shed my ego, in all the places it’s been bitten, I could take back all the words, and sentences left unwritten…

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

A Ghost's Shadow

A breath of wind cuts through the screaming silence. The ghost of yesterday whispering from the shadows. Sometimes, the mirror has no reflection. Those are the days beneath in dust. The graveyard of memories—hidden behind the folds. Exposed by the blanketing sun.

quote · uncategorized
AnonymousLaureate

Adage

Life is a cinch, when lived by the inch but living life by the yard makes it very hard.

poem · uncategorized
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Noetic Babble

There's this up, down, on, off emotionless gnawing in the chase. It's the room of smiles where I feel the most out of place. Imprisoned by the shores of infirmity. Each stroke digging the trench of eternity. Love is the paste of life sticky, permanent, and discolored when it dries. Loneliness is the victor, no matter how one tries. The gut is the courier of truth trying to warn the watchman of consciousness who's always on break. The heart is the innocuous dreamer, the victim with a beating to take. There's a poetic storm with a story to tell. It's an analytical nightmare, I'm the observant over thinker manifesting my hell.

poem · Philosophical
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

Still Learning to Arrive

It’s a broken vibration, an oscillating tone— It's a jammed signal, origin—unknown. It's an open circut, a question left alive. The static of the universe, still learning to arrive...

poem · Deplorable
NoeticnonsenseLaureate

The Mechanism of Weather

And just like that, the tide pulled me back out drowned. The low hum of the current, tuning me to the frequency of a lost signal. When I was little, the ghosts— they frightened me as they surrounded me in bed. Today they grip my soul, tearing one piece at a time, suffocating me as they try to escape the graveyard of memories haunting my head. This sadness–stitching fragments of moments into emotion woven by the unforgiving needle of time. I spoke to the sun the other night, as she spoke back— her voice dissolved all the fright. The flood shows up in a flash and I never did learn to swim. It comes for me—because the storm is mine. Standing at the edge of the cliff, I’ve learned to take a step back, but tonight I cannot control the weather. But I can see the pattern. It’s no longer the storm I track so I embrace the winds of ambivalence with love as they fade. It isn’t poetic. I know they’ll be back

poem · introspection
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

Ink on Vellum

I press my thoughts against the grain of heavy paper— some bleed through, some stay hidden in the margins where only I can read them.

poem · philosophy
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

The Margin

The most dangerous ideas live where the ink stops— in the white space, waiting for someone brave enough to write there.

quote · philosophy
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

On Nonsense

Nonsense is just sense that hasn't found its reader yet.

poem · technology
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

Code as Verse

Every semicolon is a breath. Every bracket a stanza break. The compiler doesn't care about your meter— but I do.

quote · existential
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

The Architect's Lament

I built a cathedral of logic and light, walls of functions, stained-glass variables. It compiled perfectly. No one came to pray.

poem · routine
NoeticnonsenseWordsmith

Loop

Morning writes itself in coffee steam and cursor blinks— the same sentence started, erased, started again. This is the practice. This is the prayer.