the robber sneaks into
my space of illuminating
trying to piece together
the things that make me
soon enough he thinks
he has it figured out
placing screws in the abyss,
knowing that if I tock he did
i want to tell him that
nothing will work
no matter how hard
my hands are broken and nothing
make them tick again
as much as they can try
as much as i'm already turning my
cogs to start again
the robber takes my broken hands
but just for a bit
"let me borrow them" he says
when he brings them back they are
rusty and used
i want to tell him that it hurts to tick,
how just because i was condoning
the robbing; i wasn't accepting it.
but i don't say a word
i just croak a broken tock
and let him rob me
all over again
'Hands off,' says the bag of cash to the robber.
Or, wishes it could have said,
Because it was an inanimate object,
While the robber was not.
The bag of cash was just a cotton satchel
While the robber was all flesh and blood.
'Where are you taking me?' the bag of cash silently wails.
It doesn't see the light of day
When the robber stuffs it into the trunk of his car.
Alone, the bag of cash occasionally jumps up in the darkness
As the robber's sidekick -- his car
Rushes him to an alien place.
'I have been forsaken,' the bag of cash mopes.
Once the robber takes it out,
The bag of cash will have to die.
It cannot imagine the horrifying thought
Of the robber slitting him open.
Its organs -- the wads of cash -- will all spill out in a puddle.
What did the bag of cash deserve
To meet with such terrible fate?
But the bag of cash hears a gunshot
Once, twice, and thrice.
And a flicker of hope lights up within it.
It sees the light of day again as the trunk opens
And, to its delight, sees the robber
Cuffed by the wrist and wearing a scowl.
'I can go home now,' thinks the bag of cash,
As the police officer takes it into his arms.
And once it's home, back in the vault
It can relay the frightening experience
To other bags of cash, bursting with paper bills and eagerness.
when a robber has successfully opened the front door
when you were almost certain you were to be victimized
when you are alone and the phone is the only cry for help
then you realize that while you call
life can flash
and you are vulnerable
the police will take a while to come
in that trajectory of time
a robber may do his doings
and you may hurt
that's when you realize
that no matter how strong
no matter how brave
no matter how smart
no matter what bat, knife or defense mechanism in reach
as a woman
smaller than average
weaker then a fully developed man
you realize that you may hurt the perpetrator
but he still has a good chance of taking over you
because you are the biologically the weaker piece
and vulnerability, the rabbit in the open
you can't run
because the outside is worse
you can't hide
because there is no hole to go to
...then you shake in fear.
and my faith has grown stronger because I could have easily been hurt, but I wasn't. God was there with me--and I realized how much more I need to trust him.
In any position of vulnerability, hopelessness, fear, danger--feeling like there is no rabbit hole to hide in is awful. I do not wish this to happen to anyone.
although, I do want to share a point--I live in a low income community were crime rates are high. Yes, I may be naive, but I believe most robbers here are simply desperate because of need and poverty. They are willing to take from their neighbor, but I forgive them. I also do not blame them. I blame circumstance and the tough world created by humanity--the good and the bad. I do not know if they are desperate drug addicts. I do not know if they have starving families. I do not know them. But what I do know is that they are broken inside in some way. A person must be broken to have the courage to break into a home and take what is not his and possibly hurt someone else.
Why are they hurting? Why aren't we helping them by offering a way to heal? Sure, some will refuse and some may have evil intentions, but those that don't? Those in need? driven by desperateness?
what about them?
you broke into my home
searching for anything that can be
you got a hold of my heart
stole it and just as easy as it was to get
was how easy you ran away with it
i never got a hold of your precious face
you just kept on running
because you kept that mask on
even when i got a hold of you heart as well
I much admire, I must admit,
The man who robs a Bank;
It takes a lot of guts and grit,
For lack of which I thank
The gods: a chap 'twould make of me
You wouldn't ask to tea.
I do not mean a burglar cove
Who climbs into a house,
From room to room flash-lit to rove
As quiet as a mouse;
Ah no, in Crime he cannot rank
With him who robs a Bank.
Who seemeth not to care a whoop
For danger at its height;
Who handles what is known as 'soup,'
And dandles dynamite:
Unto a bloke who can do that
I doff my bowler hat.
I think he is the kind of stuff
To be a mighty man
In battlefield,--aye, brave enough
The Cross Victorian
To win and rise to high command,
A hero in the land.
What General with all his swank
Has guts enough to rob a Bank!
i loved the way you could put me in a trance
with your arrangement of words
and it robbed me
you took the breath out of my lungs
you made my mind twist and turn
you robbed me of all ability to have a sense of self control
i would do anything for you
bend over backwards and fly to the moon
and back again.
you made me feel alive though
you did not rob me of that
i always felt alive with you
and now that you have her
my robber is gone
and i dont feel as alive
and im sure you rob her of things too
and im sure she would do anything for you
and im sure you feel the same way about her
but one thing i am not sure of
is how someone can love another so much
even though all chances are gone
even though they have too been robbed
even though the one they love is with another
they still hold on to the hope that something might happen
because you will never rob me of my hope
that one day
you will love me too
And it's a Green Day song this time that
brings all my feelings rushing back.
For one, we were going to go to this concert together...
Not that that would have made me stay with you
longer than I did. I didn't really plan on anything.
I stopped planning things when I realized
there's other things to worry about that
sometimes are avoidable.
I guess it's fair to say I want to cry.
Except I won't. I'll continue to do this stupid History assignment.
A rotten thief was at work last night
He stole thirty sheep from Mr Wright
He wasn't aware of the thievery
He had his head on a pillow's livery
There he snored till nine o'clock
After he arose he went to check his flock
He noted that thirty sheep had gone astray
To whit he called the police in an urgent splay
The local constable came in a hurry
To investigate as to why the sheep did scurry
He detected a tyre indent on the muddy track
It bore a pattern akin to a badly stitched sack
His instincts told him who did the stealing
It was the fellow who jumped out of Mrs Ray's ceiling
With the crime solved he bade Mr Wright good day
To pursue the robber who'd got away
I'm a hooligan --
at least they say that's what I am.
I wear it like as a badge of honor
along with me cock ring
3 time broken nose and 31 stitches.
I set rubbish bins on fire
overturn police cars,
close my eyes like a vise
to the rozzer's teargas
and bust the occasional window
for a five finger discount.
who gives a flying fuck?
I've smashed more faces
in the end,
kicked more goolies,
broken more arms
and kicked seven shades of shit
which is six more than
Steven Seagal with his
Beckham mun and all.
There ain't nothing
I wouldn't do for me team,
me lads and me mum
and Bob's your uncle.
So fuck off you smeggy shitstain
and let me finish me Guiness.