Poems about fit



Clean And Fit

Clean and fit
Up on our feet
Get the chance
Play their role
In it
Our world
Clean and fit

clean,  fit.

Author: Stu Harley
Date: 03/04/2020


Fit the narrative

Every song I hear I
Think of us
I've cried for futures that
Will never exist and for
Emotions I don't have words for yet

(but I do know some, like
And regret)

fit,  narrative.

Author: Electric Kindness Machine
Date: 01/04/2020


I had a fit of vanity

Wahid. * don't spread yourself between my thighs, and expect my breath to come in gasps because i forgot your name. sprawl on a bed and weep for nothing, i won't wipe your tears.

Ith-nain. jilted lovers are the worst kind, don't tell me about the romance of a broken heart when you don't have one to break. don't spin beautiful tales with perfect grammar that follow a flaxen haired princess from a tower into the jaws of a dragon.

Thalatha. a cocked hat, painted coal black, some unidentifiable baseball team inscribed on the the front with mercerized cotton.

Arba'a. don't take your ears in my hands and close my mouth slowly, i want my words to leak all down your clothes and stain your skin and carve me into every pore, microscopically and geometrically. i want to damn your soul to a hell that doesn't exist, slice your anima into three point five inch wide pieces and strew them across my palm, counting your molecules of existence with glee, don't stop me.

fit,  vanity.

Author: beth winters
Date: 01/04/2020


Perfect Fit

The bitter truth smarts and shuts one down
Will leave you freezing cold
When you discover the angelic heart, you love
Another hand enfolds

Tears will fall in burning streams of heated rain
Upon your heaving chest at night
Asking yourself what you have done wrong
How can you make things right

Not for an instant or a sweet moment in time
Do you think you will ever heal
As he was the one, your only true love
Oh, how he made you feel!

The pain of betrayal is fierce and destructive
Yet can only consume your soul
If allowed to burn into seething hatred
Glowing in fiery coals

There is one with eyes glowing ever so true
He is waiting all alone
So dry those streaming tears of heated rain
His hand only fits your own

fit,  perfect.

Author: Neva Flores Varga
Date: 31/03/2020


Where Do I Fit?

Where do I fit, Father?
Where do I call home.
Where do I find shelter in this world so alone.

Where do I fit, Mother?
I've done all you've asked.
I went to the mountains, to the beyond, much further than those from our past.

Where do I fit, Brother?
We travelled so far. We've sought to find shelter underneath distant stars. We've laughed and we've cried in all these long days, looking and yearning to find something we've lost.

Where do I fit, Creator?
Where do I shine. Where do I find the people similar to mine.
This world seems so far from what I had in mind. So far from the noble ideals from my youth. So far from the place I thought I certainly knew.

I fit no where. Not now, nor ever. I am cursed to find loneliness in a life soon surrendered.

Where do I fit, dear Reader?
I'll ask you this time. There are not many days left before I am done. Is it all lost from me to never return? To wander this earth on this formidable quest. Alone. Afraid. Adrift and bereft.

I fit nowhere. Not now, nor ever. Where those who once knew me will find me again. The same as I was and forever will be. To roam this cold place with a distant echo of times before still ringing in me - Remember. Remember. Remember.


Author: Bartholomew of Roseville
Date: 23/03/2020


Dismantled: Pieces that don't fit

I'm that girl
That you don't look at more than twice
Maybe that once was a glance and that twice made you want to look away
I'm that girl who would rather stare at the empty spaces of corners at parties, instead of reaching out for a handshake with my name and number, sequences written on my palm.
I am every fiber of mistake, at least that's what I believe
I do not have the perfect smile and teeth, but I bite and grit when I'm nervous or overwhelmed with anxiety
I am pieces, born into a world I was meant to fit in, but it seems all I'm capable of doing is falling beneath cracks that are not puzzles or made for fitting

I am dismantled

I am that girl who will never find another hand to hold
I am a locked door, without a key, the only way I'll ever let you in is if you break down my walls and doors
I am a treasure chest, absent of gold and jewelry
I am an overdose away, a figure in front of a racing train

I am that girl, who will never find her place

N. j.

dismantled,  don,  fit,  pieces,  t.

Author: jennee
Date: 19/03/2020


Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur

"How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme?
You told me once the very wish
Partook of the sublime:
Then tell me how. Don't put me off
With your 'another time'. "

The old man smiled to see him,
To hear his sudden sally;
He liked the lad to speak his mind
And thought, "There's no hum-drum in him,
Nor any shilly-shally. "

"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school?
Ah well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic—
A very simple rule.

"For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small!
Then mix the bits, and sort them out
Just as they chance to fall:
The order of the phrases makes
No difference at all.

"Then, if you'd be impressive,
Remember what I say,
The abstract qualities begin
With capitals alway:
The True, the Good, the Beautiful,
These are the things that pay!

"Next, when you are describing
A shape, or sound, or tint,
Don't state the matter plainly,
But put it in a hint;
And learn to look at all things
With a sort of mental squint. "

"For instance, if I wished, Sir,
Of mutton-pies to tell,
Should I say 'Dreams of fleecy flocks
Pent in a wheaten cell'? "
"Why, yes, " the old man said: "that phrase
Would answer very well.

"Then, fourthly, there are epithets
That suit with any word—
As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce
With fish, or flesh, or bird—
Of these 'wild, ' 'lonely, ' 'weary, ' 'strange, '
Are much to be preferred. "

"And will it do, O will it do
To take them in a lump—
As 'the wild man went his weary way
To a strange and lonely pump'? "
"Nay, nay! You must not hastily
To such conclusions jump.

"Such epithets, like pepper,
Give zest to what you write,
And, if you strew them sparely,
They whet the appetite:
But if you lay them on too thick,
You spoil the matter quite!

"Last, as to the arrangement;
Your reader, you should show him,
Must take what information he
Can get, and look for no im-
Mature disclosure of the drift
And purpose of your poem.

"Therefore, to test his patience—
How much he can endure—
Mention no places, names, nor dates,
And evermore be sure
Throughout the poem to be found
Consistently obscure.

"First fix upon the limit
To which it shall extend:
Then fill it up with 'padding',
(Beg some of any friend):
Your great sensation-stanza
You place towards the end.

Now try your hand, ere Fancy
Have lost its present glow—"
"And then, " his grandson added,
"We'll publish it, you know:
Green cloth—gold-lettered at the back,
In duodecimo! "

Then proudly smiled the old man
To see the eager lad
Rush madly for his pen and ink
And for his blotting-pad—
But when he thought of publishing,
His face grew stern and sad.

fit,  poeta.

Author: Lewis Carroll
Date: 16/03/2020


The word distance doesn't fit in here

I wonder

If the miles between us

Ever think to let go

Just let this pair of

Young, hopeless kids

Finally touch each other's faces

But every morning i wake up


In this bed fit for one

Yet seemingly growing by the minute

And i see the miles don't care

About us or

What we feel

They only care to

Keep us away

That's what they're there for

Not that they

Are trying

To keep us apart


They aren't meant to bring us

Closer together


distance,  fit,  t,  word.

Author: Julia Betancourt
Date: 12/03/2020