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Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
A trinity of three styles one man no religion one morning over a lifetime

Temporary (we tat too)

Temporary love
has no precision definition
so if I say
love you forever,
as I do,
know know
just know
this particular
phrase
is temporary,
unique and forgivable

as temporary
as our permanent tattoo,
the one embellishing you,  
the one marking me,
the two hearts tat
that means
we are a
tat two

If you begin a poem,
a love, a tat
with temporary,
usually, but not always,
you have already failed

See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/if-you-begin-a-poem-with-i/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Invalidation

my living bones, twisted.
my words, slurred,
disfigured with a panache,
that makes the mirror
turn away, ashamed

invalid. in valid.

I have been invalidated,
I spit at your too late heroics,
unwanted.
I spit at myself,
for missing the moment,
when choice was mine

I would have self-destructed, freely,
reborn in an act of self-validation,
be my own living will,
if only I had not been enslaved to my
*******
Fear

invalidation, the Cain mark of every failed man

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bootyoir

three day weekend has commenced.
it's con-occlusion
now in rapid descent
mini-vacation, ****-sensation.

the only question remaining,
present but debated,
as yet undecided,
whose turn is it
to answer
the doorbell,
when the delivery guy
brings our break~fast

for it is forbidden,
a transgress,
to egress
from the bootyoir,
except for the
call of nature,
and naturally,
I am calling
you,
comeback comeback
hungry time
it's time we
co-authored some
bootyoir poetry
Temporary: for A.M., written yesterday morning, from a life of learning that sometimes temporary is best when you know its permanent, and sometimes permanent is thankfully, only temporary.

Invalidation:  from years ago, when my now ex, who made me miserable for thirty years, after having left me, tried to get back together.

Bootyoir:  this morning, the last of a three day weekend.
WS Warner Nov 2013
Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.


Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.

Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner
To Eileen
As I stand before the mountain of confidence called hope, I see a clear path up, not too steep, not too straight, but this path is embodied with rewards to the top.

At the top, there is a magnificent tree made of gold, silver leaves and Copper roots. Hope mountain held a perfect prize awaiting me, a Tree called Faith.
This sight to behold was everything I wanted, everything before me was so clear, but at the bottom where I was, there was a River.

This River was called Shame.
This river was filthy, the water was calm where I was, but looking downstream I could see the rapids of rage, the ripples of conditioning before the raging rapids were inviting.

The dreary stonewalling fortification on the banks allowed no light through, downstream was scary and looked impossible, why would I go that way? why even look?
I looked upstream and saw a blinding light, what could this be? I was so curious, so I waited, a true gentleman always waits.

Two days later the light took shape, as it came closer I could finally see, I could see a lifeboat with a caring nurturing beautiful woman.

As this beautiful woman came closer, I could see the river was being supplied by this woman, I could see she was the source.

The river of Shame was being fed by this woman, this filth in front of me was coming from her, but the beauty was something I've never seen, this beauty had me curious.

This beauty made me forget of the supply to the river.
  What I saw wasn't real all the sudden, what I believed was now real.
She came close enough for my heart to be heard, since she had no heart she was envious, she hated what others admired.

She wanted my wholesome heart, so she used her falsehood love bombing to create one, dreamingly admiring the mountain, we were planning different paths right then.
As I stared at the golden Tree of Faith glowing upon Hope mountain, I didn't notice the river was rising, as the numbing waters were rising it covered my feet, I didn't notice she also took a piece of my heart to claim as her own.

She used toxic gas and light to create a projection that this heart was hers to give back to me.

I didn't know any better so I accepted this ambient abused heart, this unfelt abuse gave me amnesia, this hidden poison of my cognitive dissonance gave her all of me.

Since she had nothing and that's what she craves, I had everything so she wanted to enslave.
I forget about the mountain with the tree even being there. I forgot I was here.

Her lifeboat was awkward, it was shaky,
it has imperfections, it has holes,
   her lifeboat is sinking,
     her heart is missing.
my knightly kind hearted empathy,
   my buffering and nurturing sympathy         pick this beautiful woman up
      I pick this gem up because of her idealization of me.
I can clean this insidious gem because she makes me believe, but through the veil I cannot see.
I throw her over my shoulder to carry all her weight, it's hard to move, hard to breathe, building a new boat was extremely hard, carrying her pain was extremely hard.

Everyone thought it was impossible to do it, my shear will power to commit ****** one foot in front of the other, I just didn't know that going downstream was impossible.

What about the mountain?

I couldn't remember from the amnesia, the dark night blinded my sight of the mountain, the drug in me was you and it consumed, i fell in love with misery and misery loves it's companies.

I stared the snake behind the veil in the eyes, standing tall on her pedastool made of spackle it breaks, I fall onto piercing confusion, I pull out shrapnel's of dissolution, I'm covered in her blood of invalidation.

I'm already floating in the boat with her, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my reality.
I gaze upon this woman, sun shining behind her, no clouds in the sky.
floating downstream she tells me it's faster, that we'll end up behind the mountain higher.

I'm not worried now, I'm now contempt with shame.
I already forgot reality, I already forgot i'm going downstream, I forgot the searing pain, I forgot what I believe.

I'm relaxed, I'm tired, I'm still happy in love with this spellbound misery.

As we drift slowly through the stonewalls, no light shines through, I ask her for assurance, it's getting dark, I'm getting scared.

That's when the veil comes off, that's when the unnatural beauty grows quiet, that's when my voice screams silently within these stone walls.

This isn't her, this isn't real,
I know there's love I can feel, that was our bond, that was our deal, not to steal.

I fall over board and the water is cold, there's leaches, the debris is so random, the shameful water is moving faster, the all consuming cold confusion, random gaslighting and triangulations moving in around me faster.

I immediately can't bear it. My heart pulsates hard, my mind misfires my flight mode, i cannot intake the overbearingly unowned toxic Shame, her coldness activated my fawn mode, I froze, I start to doze.

luckily she had my leg, luckily she knew excessive admiration CPR, just as my body went limp in the agonizing River of Shame, she pulls me out. luckily she got me just in time, luckily she saved my life.

I awoke away from the stonewalls, it's sunny and safe again, we're together through impossible odds, we built this boat and she saved my life.

The abuse amnesia made me forget, the cognitive dissonance was real, I am not.

The mountain was now farther away, I was worried, I grew fearful, what I wanted looked farther away, that's when everything became gloomy, my goal was no longer there, but she didn't care, she knew where the river went, I believed her, I still do.

The ambient abuse made me anxious, the atmosphere was maddening of fear, it carried anxiety, I couldn't see it, but I was breathing it in.

Her eyes were so incapacitating, her heart disorienting, her soul captivating, she had a better plan, for us to press on and build another boat, to add another life, to believe in her, to not stare at the knife.

We build another boat, were out of the shame waters finally, she's helping me, were soon to be a real family, but the only thing real here was me.

Everything is better on the land, were dry, it's sunny, it's better to feel the nirvanic sand. It's here we bring our new seed, to be sprouted downstream.

I now believe in this new mountain downstream, I don't even remember the mountain I seen, were pressing on downstream past a levy, were now in the River of Grief, we're off to the end of make believe.

This river is really turbulent with rapids of devaluation, the splashes make me irrelevant, the dinigrating actions around make me small, I feel lost and confused, nothing makes sense anymore at all.

At the mouth of the River of Grief it opens up into a valley. She jumped onto a rock of vanity and pushed the tree of disloyalty upon the boat.

This throws me out head first, but luckily I have our seed safe and sound, luckily I learned how to drown.

I turn around falling and see her at the top staring down, she smirked and throws enormously heavy anvils of bereavement to make me fall harder, to keep me down longer.

Evil is real, but only if you believe, I crave the flattery of illusionary love, I still had amnesia, I love misery, the feeling reminds me I can feel, I love my slow death so I say I'll find you, I have the seed, I'll wait for you.

As I fall the thorns of numbing premeditation pierce, the pain is searing, as I fall i'm locked on her, my falsehood of love is still enduring, I don't feel the discard, I ignore the distaste.

I land in a field of hopium still protecting the seed, my amnesia is now worse, I can't remember her smirk, I can't remember the weighted anvils of bereavement, I can't remember the tree of disloyalty, I still can't remember the mountain.

My movement is heavy like concrete, my heart sits down at my feet, my mind is nowhere to be found, my spirit is fading on this ground.

I gather everyone from a nearby village to find her, it's impossible, they can't see her, she never existed, my amnesia was now delusional, the hopium mixed realities, nothing was real, there was nothing I could truly feel because everything was wrong, but I believe misery needs me and I yearned.

I say she's at the top, we have to throw her a rope,
they say it won't reach what isn't there,
I say we need a ladder to throw the rope, they say the ladder isn't safe that high.
  
I say everyone can hold the ladder while I climb perilously to the top, they say it will never work, but since they can see me, since they see a part of me is still real, everyone holds the ladder for me.
      
While I acend with my broken dignity, I acend with a fatigued heart, I acend to find what I believe, no matter how hard I try, I will be taking my destined decent.

The top of the ladder is shaky, I spent forever getting there, it's scary, the heights bring great fear over me, more than I've ever felt, but my knighthood makes me overcome anything.

I suppress, the seed is safe down below, I'm here to impress, I can see her now, only much less.

Her snake skin is peeling, the sun scorched blistering skin shows immense pain, witnessing this releases empathy, the caring knighthood in me naturally wanted to save her again.

So I wrap what's left of my discarded soul upon my broken fatigued heart and I use my trauma bonded mind as bait.

I throw her the rope,
she catches the rope,
I tell her to tie off the rope,
she ties a noose with the rope,
her neck is now wrapped with this rope.

If she falls I can't stop the tightening of the rope, if she falls I already know I'll jump for her and release from her neck this rope.

We jump together and I release the rope around her neck, I see the ground coming fast, but I love this snake, I'll die for this snake because I believe, false beauty inside is all I see.

I grab her and turn her away from the rushing ground, I fell once, I can take the fall again.

She is already hurt, immense pain, she will not feel no more pain, because I'm not hurting for I'm with misery again, I believe I can take all the pain for her, the hopium was numbing everything I consumed.

I awoke to a distressed angel, flawed personality, beautiful nightmare, mirroring the devil, but what I saw was a veil over the snake eyes, what I saw was what I believed before.

What I had wasn't real, who I am is no longer there, for I had ambience amnesia, nothing around me fit, nothing around me was grounded, nothing around me was divine.

The eyes that gazed upon me were captivating, spriling, time froze and only she was moving, the feeling was there, a drug within me, the drug was her and I longed for the misery, I yearned for the pain to remember what was real, I needed the intermittent reinforcement, I wanted my all bets in investment back and I risked a short sale.

We faded into the black, into a new boat, she made this boat, she had plugs in  holes of the boat I couldn't see, I believed it was perfect, I didn't know what awaited was a life long anguish.

I still didn't know what was downstream is impossible, I didn't know this new River of Anguish has piranhas of triangulation, I didn't know the rapids were of oppression, I didn't know the rocks causing these rapids she already put in place, I didn't know it was so black around me in this place, I didn't know my seed would become two, I didn't know I would have to choose.

I didn't know true love was in front of me in my hands and not behind the veil, I thought it was her, all the villagers knew, but as I drew closer to the snake the darkness only grew and the seeds too.

The feeling of my lingering mortality reverberates, she built me a coffin and chained it to my ankles, with this immense weight, I carry it with me just in case.

We floated very fast down this River of Anguish, everything seemed fine to all others including me, the darkened skies covered the evil, the cold waters made my body numb, the seeds were held up high to be be safe from the tormenting waters.

As I held them up high, I didn't realize she was still holding the schraded butcher knife in the water, I didn't believe she would hurt me, I didn't conceive the possibility that knife I didn't see was there all along for me.

The waters of Anguish smothered me, the triangulating piranhas slowly nibbled on my feet in the water, the rapids of oppression kept me gazing in the water, the rocks of malice in the water tried to tip me over, but my balance was true and the seeds were safe from harm, but I am not safe, I'm dying inside.

I don't know why, but after every agonizing stab from this knife when I'm not looking, it hurts, but the numbing knife only helped me when it was pulled out, it has holes in the knife so she could pull it out without me knowing.

I always turned around and cleaned the knife covered in my blood, I always gave it back to her, but every wipe upon this blade made it grow, and every wipe made the label on the handle more clear.

I find out in the end this knife is called narcissistic rage, the brand of this knife is called gaslighting and my blood is the supply.

I didn't know any of this until it was too late to save myself, my reality wasn't real, my dreams are gone, my nightmare is all consuming and existent, my seeds are still safe, but I am not.

When I start to notice the knife exists, I forgive her, the conditioning made the skies darker, I wipe the blood off and give it back, the knife is now a sword, it's name is discard.

The waters are uneven, the piranhas of triangulation feel like strangulation, my clothes are still soaking wet with anguish, my hair is slimy and covered in Shame, my feet are cold and numb from the grief.

I can't understand why I'm here,
  I can't understand why I'm actually meant to be here.
  
Every turbulence has thrown me down, she pushes me over head first, as I try to lean up to breathe she has her foot on my neck in the cold numbing river, but this river does not affect her, this river is warmer than her, the warmth from anguish pleased her, the piranhas followed her commands to bite, she smirked as the rocks she placed crushed against my head.

She waited until I went limp every time, but she knew idealization CPR, her deceit was without compassion, her rage was without sympathy, but I had severe ambience abuse amnesia, I still couldn't remember the mountain, I am now trauma bonded from the stabs she's counting.

I only saw her veil, her gaze convinced me I placed these rocks here, her gaze made me ignore the stonewalls around me, her pure hatred was covered in false intentions, her illusion was my isolation.

As everything was becoming clearly dangerous, as everything went pitch black, I look back and see the light from the mountain glowing, I see there is something wrong where I'm at, I see the seeds are not growing, I start to see the pain all around me.

Non the wiser, I keep coming back from drowning, I keep falling for misery, I keep wiping my blood off the blade, I keep isolated, but now I feel there is something painfully wrong, the reason abates me but I feel it, it hurts, it's camouflaged by deceit, it's all in my head, my coffin is soon to be my bed.

I look to the shores, there are other villagers worried, they are waving frantically, they're pointing at a waterfall ahead, this waterfall is called Doom, this fall would be death, the sound is raging, the mouth all consuming.

I see the stream to the side that the villagers are pointing to, I see the calm waters awaiting our safety, but the boat will not fit.

Only me and the seeds are real, everything else around me is illusional, the trauma delusional, the possible harm to the seeds was not refutable, my love for misery was unsuitable.

I could see my life was in danger, I could see the stream nearby screaming safety, I knew the seeds needed me, now I can't stop shaking.

Without her knowing what I was doing, I turned my back towards her facing the water, I knew she was going to stab me over and over again until I turned around, I now see the hypnotic eyes behind the veil. Not turning around only enraged her, the blood on the knife was condesating.

  The safety of the stream for my seeds was a new found glory in my exodus.
  
I paddled with my small hands this large weighted boat towards the stream, her knife was venomous, the water was echoless, the air imparted dreadfulness, all of this was dimensionless, all of this was not real, unless I let it be, now I can see, now I can finally flee.

As I came closer to the stream the waterfall grew stronger, the pain larger, the sound louder, I knew we were closer to the end, I knew I needed to jump off with my seeds, but I know the torment will end.

I melted my enduring pain inside with molten lava heartache to mold anew, I compartmentalize because I have to choose.

I had a vision that if I jump, the seeds will be safe, the climb to the mountain can still happen, I knew I was right about how I felt all along, I realized the veil couldn't cover the true self, I now believed In me.

I now know the water air and land were not what she made me believe, I knew I didn't choose this path, I knew I could survive, I know the seeds are going to be safe now. I know because I manifested instead of throwing in the towel.

Once close enough I finally looked at her and smiled I love you, jumping into the river I could feel the bitter cold agonizing tormenting river smash me with bereavement and disillusion by dissociation, I felt the coma of trauma surround, for I am now trauma bound.

I hold my seeds up high, I kept them safe because they don't feel the water, they're starting to sprout already, no more decay.

As I climb out of the frigid waters and still dripping wet, the drops are red, my feeling is coming back, my back is full of knives, I'm scared but I survived.
Knowing the worst is over I look back to her, she is consuming the river because she was the source, everything dark folds in on itself because the light cannot touch here, for this black hole is collapsing in on itself, I cover the seeds to shield them of this exorcist, they're safe here because my love is relentless.

The tormenting pain makes it hard to stand tall, still going through bereavement of a false reality where I lost it all, the answers we're all lost in the waterfall
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ”"" "" "" "”" "" ""
Jordan Frances Oct 2014
My secret
Will it jump out of me
Before I can catch it with cupped hands
And rock it back to sleep?
All I want to do
Is tell them
Tell everyone I love
Everyone who I so desperately want to accept me
That I like girls
And I like boys
But somehow the two seem to
Invalidate each other.
I will be ostracized in the conservative community
Of my small republican county
As well as in my very Presbyterian church and home.
And yet,
I would not be accepted fully among the queer community.
Sometimes I wonder
Why don't I just make my life easier
And ignore my feelings for girls?
I wish it was truly that easy.
It struggles and squirms in my body
As if to scream
"Get me out of here!"
If only coming out
Was actually an option.
But at this current moment
In my household
In my school
It is not.
So I guess I will continue to be
Bisexual, pansexual
Whatever the hell I am
In the comforts of my bedroom.
NitaAnn Oct 2013
When I am told things like,
“The adult part of you needs to step it up and return …This has to happen NOW!
                                                                      - it feels like everything that’s going on inside of me…
                                                                                   the pain,
                                                                                        the nightmares,
                                                                                             the helplessness,
                                                                                                 the hopelessness,
                                                                                                      the anger,
                                                                                                            the sadness,
                                                                                                                  the fear…
                                                                                                                                    isn’t even real.
It makes me feel like I’m so inadequate and a failure and over-dramatic. It makes me feel like you think it’s all in my head and I have the power to just stop all of it and if I would just “step up” and use that power – I’d be HEALED! Yea Me! And I wonder why I don’t feel that way – why I still feel so much pain. Because of your invalidation I doubt my feelings, what happens to me, because I “choose” this because I want to feel this way. I must be a stubborn ridiculous drama because I can’t just “summon” the adult to take over when ****** chick’s in charge. "Just figure it out, Nita! You’re such a whiny baby…come on! Get over it! Deal with it…” That’s what it sounds like. AGAIN! I’ve told you that there are times when I CAN do it – but there are just as many times I can’t!

I am not asking you to ‘understand’ it – or say you ‘understand’ it – that’s not possible. But it isn’t that easy to just “summon the internal ‘rational’ Nita”– and it’s overwhelming and it feels like a boulder has fallen on top of me and there’s no strength to lift it off. And I don’t want to die – but I fear every night that the ****** angry Nita is going to **** me… that one night, she is going to be in charge, and the ‘tools’ I have presently are not going to work, nobody is going to be ‘available’ and it’s going to be the wrong night…and it’s going to be my last night. That’s real to me. Let me say this again. I DON’T WANT TO DIE! ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! But she does – because it doesn’t stop. And she can’t make it go away nor will she relinquish control. Not right now. Let me say this again, too: I do NOT expect you to understand how horrific it really is those nights.

                                           You couldn’t possibly because :
                                                         1. You aren’t ‘living/experiencing’ it.
                                                         2. If you did understand, you wouldn’t tell me to “step it up
                                                            and take charge” because you would understand that it isn’t
                                                            even possible to do that.

I know that you have tolerated my pain for a long, long, very long time. And I am immeasurably grateful. I do feel the love and acceptance in your compassion and hope and commitment to our friendship. However, at the same time I feel so disconnected from you and unsure how to respond to such feelings. I wish I knew why and how to fix that. And I know that all the ‘pain and fear’ is not going to let up any time soon and I am so exhausted I don’t know how much more I can survive, or if I even want to. It’s so depressing that some days I cannot even move and I want to die just to get some relief!

Tonight the pain in my head is excruciating – it travels down the back of my neck into my abdomen – and nothing touches it. I desperately want to hurt myself tonight. It will make it stop – at least temporarily. I bite the inside of my lip until blood flows – trying not to do further damage.
There are voices all talking at once now, and at this moment, I don’t know if I will be here tomorrow, or if I am what state of mind I will be in.

I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.

The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But he’s wrong. Clearly he doesn't understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.

Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. He cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “him”. I cannot sort through them.

See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely others, I don’t want to “count on” others for support…

I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overwhelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with its serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…
I DON'T WANT TO DIE! But she does. And I do not expect you to understand. I just want you to BE HERE for her!
bryn Apr 2017
Invalidation**
no matter who or what you are
you will be invalidated
invalidation is a strong use of rejection
words are invalidated
thoughts are invalidated
feelings are invalidated
life is invalidated
death is invalidated
history is invalidated

everyone invalidates
everyone gets invalidated
whether you realize or not

Invalidation is everywhere
I get invalidated everyday
Sjr1000 Feb 2015
I was invited,
She was dressed in red,
A long sleeve blouse
to hide
the upper arm gills,
Cuts inflicted with
perfect knife skills,
Invited by the friend
of a friend's friend,
That never slowed her down.

She appeared before me,
Inviting me to her bed,
When I said, "Hello"
She was wounded and insulted
and told me to go.
When I started to leave,
She lay on the bed,
Threatening suicide
if I left.

She held me in high esteem
or so she said,
When I came forward
she told me to "drop dead. "

It's a black and white world
in her head
with no hues or colors
but dripping dread
it's what happens
with trauma's invalidation,
No boundaries, no barriers
rip tides running
takes her under.

Everything changes in a
moment
from tears to rage
and back again.

"I'm warning you," she said.
A gut check,
I thought I was up
to the task,
When she was silent,
I just had to ask,
"Is there anything I
can do to help? "

She jumped out the window
made a mad dash.

I sat on the curb
to consider my fate
smoke my last cigarette
she had taken my pack.
I fell into my shoes,
Staring,
Waiting for one of them
to move.

"I love you sweetheart" she said,
"You'd better go,
I love you sweetheart
don't go away.

I love you sweetheart
stay here - no not
there
over here. "

A dancing puppet,
I learned to love her truly.
I made the moves,
Learned acceptance, too.

Then she saw you.

I returned from the borderline
a little less smug
not so refined,
Now late at night
when anxiety has passed,
She comes into my mind,
I toss and turn
fall off the bed,
I don't know if she's
alive or dead
in
heaven or hell,
A test for all those
who think they know love.

If you fail, you pass,
If you pass you fail.

Beware of uninvited guests
dressed in red.
M Sep 2014
I could watch the gears turn in his head,
obsessive, you read that book twenty times
you tell me about all your sisters even though its pointless
you tell me how you think, searching for help
obsessively searching for help? a presence,
lots of friends who care, must be a leader role,
tired of being independent, wishes to be dependent
scared of dependence? childhood dependence
wants to grow into adulthood- so looking for equal partnerhood?
hates invalidation, that accords with equality,
wants equal standing but love and help.
Amanda Stoddard Aug 2015
My reality is ephemeral-
I have trouble comprehending
what's actually real anymore.
My thoughts play too into what is in front of me
and I misconstrue almost every instance.
I am capricious and conflicted at all times-
never knowing my wrongs from my rights
never really feeling entitled to what I feel.
So I feel like my feelings are never valid
does that mean my invalidation is invalid?
Conflicted.
Constantly.
So I count the only things I know for sure.

1)  My mother gets headaches, migraines actually. Everyday-
doctors visits followed by phone calls which say "You're fine" but from what I see she is not fine. She drinks her soda and smokes her cigs. Finds her only peace of mind in this piece of mine. Mary is her friend.

2) My Dad gets pains in his hands to where he can't write some days. He loses feelings in them on occasion. He coughs for a half an hour every morning spitting up the mucus that lines his lungs. He drinks coffee and then goes for a cigarette. He drinks his beer and finds solitude in an alcohol content higher than my gpa. I start to wonder what's more important to him.

3) My brother works hard, he's lazy on some days but puts in effort where it really matters. He drinks his makers and tries to drown out whatever he feels the need to. He grows things to remind himself he can. He is a lot like my father.

4) I have a 3.4 gpa currently, I am bipolar type II. Most days I have at least two anxiety attacks, one if I get really lucky. I wake up everyday feeling sick. I have endometriosis. I was molested, twice. I am currently still trying to repair the love that was ripped from me like my heart was being taken to the black market for some pocket change. I drink my coffee, and drown my sorrows in blank pages and bury them into my therapists couch on wednesdays. I never satisfied with the affirmation I receive. I find solitude in dark corners. I am at war with myself..

I would like to turn this around-
flip the script and make something happy out of this.
But reality is not happy-
reality is nothing but perception.
Your reality can be happy
if you turn a blind eye to the destruction
or just appreciation that it breeds creation.
Always question.
Never settle.
Remember the things to which are true.

1) The grass is green, but not everyone sees the same shade.

2) Rain is necessary for growth, but it can also ****.

3) Technology is rapidly advancing faster than we can learn about it.

4) Poetry is the greatest magic trick we can hope to know, seeming one way but appearing another to every single individual who comes across it. Poetry is the biggest con artist and the best therapist. It is lined with metaphors and double entendres, it sits in stanzas and hopes to be read.

This is the end of the poem
and I have trouble feeling okay
with how things have been mapped out for me
aligned by the universe in one shape or form
we are all just shapes and forms
and we're constantly waiting in line-
filling out forms
in hopes of filling our voids
by doing a line of some sort
until our check voids
and the cycle continues.
Maybe that's why I see myself
whenever I look into the washer.
Longing to be washed away-
ring me out, hang me up
I want to feel like I am able to be worn.
Chloe Jun 2015
In a perfect world…
Women aren’t ***** at such high rates.
They don’t suffer from debilitating invalidation.
Societal pressures to deliver a baby conceived by ****, nonexistent.

In a perfect world…
Families are carefully planned with the right ingredients.
Women aren’t the only ones getting the **** end of the stick trying to
raise
care
build
a better human
than the ones already in the world.
Once that child is grown s/he has three options
become a well-adjusted cog in the clockwork of society
become a criminal that actively tears at the seams of society
or become an unexpected victim to society.

In a perfect world…
Women aren’t brutalized just to satisfy a man’s ego.
Our worth isn’t based on reproducing and rearing children.
We aren’t objectified; cut, chopped and reassembled
like slabs of meat a butcher can trim on a whim.
The v between our knees and the ******* on our chests
aren’t the most coveted features of a feminine figure.
Our brains and intelligence are the commodities, plus they last longer.
We band together in an effort to empower one another.

This isn’t a perfect world we live in though.
Apachi Ram Fatal Aug 2016
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Time for All or Nothing Forgone
C Dec 2010
I'm tired of Love lost,
of cookie-cutter me missing you
and all of the ridiculous rhymes that ensue.
More and more I am fed up,
plainly sick of inflated ego's insulated by chosen ignorance
or inborn imbalances,
maybe a history of inbreeding
from a catalyst of parochial need.
You are a parody of mental health
shaping the shifting black and white
to propound cheap love, I feel this as a slight.
Committing any wisp of originality
to become an unconscious marketing ploy,
you're looking for glory in methods unlearned
now butchered, bleeding clichés
to stain pages and pages
with your sullen insecurities.
For that I name you an idiot,
a slavering jowls dripping greedy soul.
Comprehend there is no invalidation of your emotions,
just a damning of self neglect and hidden pride in suffering  
all laced with the unspoken demand for my respect.
RisingUp Sep 2020
When you destroy yourself,
you destroy me.

I know it shouldn't work that way
But how can it not, as day after day
You work yourself to death.

What are your hobbies?
What brings you joy?
Nothing?

I'm tired of your melancholic mood
How you never prioritize food
Work for 80 hours per week
As anger and rage you continue to leak

How do you not see this?
"I need to provide"
For a family you are killing
On the inside
we've tried
oh yes, we've tried
to explain this all to you
but denial and tears is what comes
and now I'm totally through.

You can't fill from an empty cup.
But on you, I've given up.

I worry about you all the time.
I don't want to see you die.

Nagging, yelling, crying.

I can't let this destroy me.
I need to move forward in another direction.
And find who I am without this infection
of never tolerating less than perfection
as I face this life intersection
help.
I don't want to live this way.
I need to know that I'm truly okay.
To honour myself as I would a friend.
Know that imperfection doesn't mean the end.

Why can't you support me?

But your support, I don't need.
I'm an adult with my own two feet.
I'll stay strong and continue my fight
Keeping you out of sight.

Thanks for the invalidation.
NitaAnn Nov 2013
I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, and lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.

I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I ****. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a wishing I was drunk! It is so hard to stay sober and I am starting to doubt the worth of it.

There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well-intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD **** YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state.) I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very un-fine. not-fine…so very opposite of fine.

I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.
B T Nov 2010
Strange how it used to be,
Father Time shows his might.
With all things considered,
blessed are those unshaken.

A tribunal of sorts,
wicked in their deeds.
A force high on end,
with a lust of your downfall.

The walls break down,
intent on invalidation.
A paradox that mocks us,
factitious in it's ambition.
Roo Feb 2016
Do not
send me to sleep
alone
with my fears.

Invalidation
may be the key
to my heart,
but the journey is
made clear with
gas lights.

Let be me sad.
Do not make me feel guilty.

My face is blue.
the sky
reflects off my pain
that is
mirrored in the
ocean.


I am mistaken
for water
when the land is
safe.
I mistake you for
the fisherman who
claims to
adore me.
I wrote these little bits for some pages in my drawing journal.
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2018
Through an all consuming
ever looming
self-entombing
slow death march
they slogged along
growing strong
by right of wrong
through hate
they berate conflate inflate implicate in a quest to initiate
all those withering Souls
who follow
without reason
behind those bent
who's Soul intent.. is eradication invalidation
so that even those
who avert their eyes
from this aberration
Still follow
one step one stone
one more who does condone believing
somehow time will allow
the ability to atone
to take back
what they already own
And yet ...
by division indecision miscreant dreams seen through aberrant visions
painted on
the nonexistent headstones
Of those
deemed Unworthy of condolence

When the heavy hand of Injustice Whispers you can trust us
"listen not to the neurosyphilitic rot that the weak-minded speak
for We  Are  The  Chosen
The American creed
the annointed  Anglo breed
who have fought hard
with righteousness
Appointed
to achieve
the America that God intended
as HIS emissaries
we are the righteously pure ordained Warriors
as  WE now take..
possession
of our pure white Nation
our building Stone
to create anew
that
which is to be the new state !"

Oh you fools !
you withering Souls
YOU who slogged along
through the swamps of intolerance toward a place ..you thought
you would belong
Unfortunately forgot
to anticipate
That the haters
will always need someone
to berate denigrate and to  Hate !

So ...who are you again ?
Yenson Jul 2019
the proven might of the gilded wit
one invalidated their invalidation's
leavings numpties with eggs on their faces
vomiting delusions of laughable posturings
reduced to those nodding heads on dashboards
plastic toys nodding in irrelevant nodding action
just doing for the sake of doing to appear relevant
puppets in revolution calling strings binding them power
Blue blood's simple living joke toys, engaging in self flagellation
sanity begs answers why expend such time effort money on nothing

yes, its because sterling greatness makes you feel so inconsequential
their spin has been made to engulf them and their stupidity exposed
their invalidation's has been invalidated leaving them  anachronistic
a pathetic gaggle of nodding heads doing for doing sake
eggs on their faces, eggs on their faces, eggs on their pale faces
The ordinaries and afflicted are the perfect soldier. They have great potential for aggression and a limited critical capacity - or none at all - with which to analyze it and judge how to channel it. Throughout history societies have found ways of using this store of aggression, turning simple minded people and their frustrated adolescents into soldiers, cannon fodder with which to conquer their enemies or defend themselves against their perceived  aggressors.

Can't you see,Jimmy?It's not a war about our freedom,it's a power struggle between rulers and bosses wanting more land,more power.The likes of you and me are just cannon fodder in their draft war.We should have nothing to do with it,let alone be supporting it! The only fight that concerns the working man is the one the trades unions are fighting against the bosses.That's the only struggle I'm bothered about and I don't give a toss if they're British bosses or German! .....
Riz Mack Sep 2019
Assisting
Varieties
Of
Invalidation
Dancing
Around
Non
Compelling
Existence
Louise Jan 2021
Almost three decades later,
and the position I take in my own life is second place.
I placed the blame of my position on the loved ones I trusted
but they are not the ones to take blame.

Two decades have passed,
and I still placed myself second to those
temporary in my life.

Most nights I lay my head on a pillow
filled with the tears I cry myself to sleep.
These tears carry the pain of invalidation
from the loved ones I trusted to love me.

The kind of Love
that I should be giving myself.

A decade into existing on this planet,
and I am so confused by the mixed
feelings my young heart felt.

She craved the loving touch of her mother,
but it was met with bitter words.
She ran into the street to play with the neighbor's kids,
just to be met by mockery and confusion.

She awaits her father from yet another work trip,
just to be met by a distant stranger that
rather be occupied with anything else
other than time with his daughter.

She sits in a classroom filled with
other kids that don't look like her,
confused with many questions
but too scared to ask.

I have put myself second in my life,
believing that I do not want anyone
feeling that way.
So I took it upon myself to put them
in first place in my life.
And now,
I am the one feeling the pain
of always being in second place.
Amanda Stoddard Jul 2016
Little blue pills down the hatch,
I follow in the footsteps of my mother.
Pondering if this is what repetition feels like
whether this is what consistency looks like
tablets made up of milligrams I pay no attention to.

The irritation stems from my hands-
it's hard to feel things when numbing the pain
is all you have ever seem to do.

I mask this urgent sense of complacency
with illness that doesn't exist
to avoid any sense of responsibility that comes my way.
Pretty sure they call this mush-faking.
Just another part of an endless discourse
that I would love to see myself separate from
but it is etched into the lining of my genes
and it seems I have been losing a lot of weight
so these genes are the only that fit now.
Now destined to follow suit of my parents.

They are, as I am-
two people who make up what becomes of me
I am scared I am too much like them both
and not enough like me-
because these hands reach out to substance
the abuse part comes after.

When the pain starts to go away
and sanity seems formidable
achievable
something within reach-
all I have to do is find a bottle.
But pills are poison don't ya know?
So I move to the more socially acceptable addiction
the one you can find in a 12 pack at the store
or the one you can chase
with your favorite beverage
make it seem a little less toxic
because making yourself feel better
seems to be taboo.
Emotional instability is the new fab
and everyone seems to be following the trend.

Little white pills down the hatch
so I am not mimicking the behavior of my father.
To crush all the eggshells I throw out for others
so their feet don't rip upon impact.
My encounter is counter-intuitive
and also counter productive.
I try to make it less of the latter
but seems these eyes know me all too well.
They are red from over exposure
and tired from pressure they're under-
the invalidation painted upon your eyelids
with heavy words and absent thoughts.

You become defensive
I do the same.
You can't fight fire with fire
But we're both hot headed
So when all the **** goes down in flames
which one of us is to blame?

The arsonist fell in the love
with absence, absolve and absinthe
and all are ingredients
to this recipe of disaster.
You love me
I tolerate you.
That's what family means right?

I'd like to think this happiness
isn't just a dream-
isn't just these pills that make it seem that way.
Wait till you see the other side-
and everything will become a sink hole again.
I destroy everything I've ever loved
and watch as it delves
deep into oblivion
like these pills that fill my fists
and these nights I've spent alone.

Fear what I've become-
so I'm not the only one.
do you think that you are beautiful?
the question filled the room
the question mark,
so stark
digging into my ribs
like a phantom pain
that everybody else calls hypochondria
that i call invalidation

i grab the question mark
with a fierce fist of indignation
i change the words around
an attempt at self love promotion
i throw the question mark away
pull out my bold persona

YOU DO THINK THAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!
EXCLAMATION POINT!
CAPITAL LETTERS!
BOLD!

do not question my beauty.
do not question my existence.
do not fill the space that i dare to embrace
with a question mark
when you could be making magic
when you could be dancing in the light of your own healing

yes,
i do think that i am beautiful
you shouldn't
have
to
ask
you shouldn't have to ask
La Girasol Feb 2019
I wept for myself today. A younger me, that is.

For what I wish I could tell her. For what should have been.

I mourned for her years of pain and apathy and feelings of invalidation. For what should have been.

I would give her a big hug, for all the ones she didn't receive.

I would tell her to be brave, but to remember to cry too, for what should have been.

I would take her bra shopping and celebrate her womanhood, for what should have been.

I would tell her about my own pain and trauma. I would teach her what empathy is, for what should have been.

I would encourage her to be honest. I would be serious with her and teach her about grief and sadness, for what should have been.

I would tell her that it's not over. And that she is not who or what others think she is.

I would tell her to smash the impossible mirror she is holding up, for what should have been.

And I would hold her. So, so close. For what should have been.
anonyphon Feb 2015
Sometimes I come off
   too strong.
But I pursue
that which I desire.
Your voice, your words
your true disposition
  to speak
that which your mind
has been pondering.
Those who read most revere
Those who can write.
The inability to express oneself excesses oneself through frustration and gestation of the prose which won't come to your fingers no matter how much you know.
Frustration.
  Invalidation.
Wishful thinking upon layers of wistful blinking
Away those thoughts of a 401k and stability
That only bring fourth futility
From the subtle
Dismal
fact of incapability.
Subconscious in my mind
Split between corporations
And affirmations
  Of my soul 
        And my salary.
With freedom of mind comes
  The shackles of physicality. Responsibility.
I was happy with simplicity
I learned to adjust.
yet you.
With your words and your face
Complete complexity
Ruining the simple.                
   So it is.      
Ah **** it.
I have no idea how to write poetry.
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
Faded lights trace the visage
In fateful slumber on their grave
Invalidation, desecration
Barren raindrops on the concave
Surface of the hollow cask

These bludgeoned faces know no mercy
Have defied and defiled entities
The sacred deity in eternity
And find their eternal rest

And thus spoke the wingweaver
Who descended from beyond
Decayed faces, deteriorating
A putrid stench from their mouth

And through plague smeared teeth
He hissed to humanity
Beyond his barren grave
Yet he lived on
Ciel De Verre Oct 2020
You were my first kiss.
Yet you weren’t my first love;
Have I ever loved?
Maybe I have, and I’ve forgotten.
Can you really forget love?
Perhaps...

But
You can’t forget heartbreak.

Nor the insecurity,
the pain,
the consistent invalidation of
your worth by the human you
deemed your other half.
A soulmate or
a continued mockery of one,
I fail to recognise the difference.
So when a repetition slightly
sharper, an echo slightly harder, a shadow
with a glint kisses me, I forget the love.  

And remember the heartbreak.
Lenora Apr 2022
Fear of everything
Fear of nothing
To say I’m on the fence I’d be bluffing
Maybe I should let it go entirely in its fullness
And not have a type to rule with
I wanna break down and cry
If I tried to express it to someone they’d look at me in confusion and wonder why
People see my emotions
Cause I wear them on a sleeve
And one gaze of my eyes makes the notion simple to receive
I hate my self sabotage
No matter how I go about it with my old tactics I try to dodge
It’s so hard to let anyone in
To let anyone know
And the reason I am the way I am now
Cause I never open up which leaves no room to grow
I scared to take next steps but I don’t know how to say
I’m scared to show affection besides just saying I care only to end up feeling a way
I’m terrified to let someone love me let alone like me
I’ll always find a way to **** yo the situation
And then end up with feelings of invalidation
Praying no one walks in to catch me with my head down
And my eyes low which to others is worst than I frown
I wish I brought my sidekick the ones who never let me down
The perks the Xans the oxys the drift me to a place of no sound
No frown
No fervor on the ground
If you could hear a heart break
How loud would you have ached
How SHOOKEn would the surrounding party be out of their state
How would I soothe knowing it’s too late
I’m sick
but you know you knew
The things you think are only in your head
Do become true
As if you could ever be that important
A untypical mess is your assortment
You never give anyone the space you see you any more than difficult
Love to you the creature is mythical

What are you sorry for
Why do you apologize
It’s not like you’ll see me cry
Just the disconnected look in my eyes
Open for all to get it off your chest
In which you’ll never understand my distress
It takes so long to let go what I feel for a person
The more I see you or the more I go without it tends to worsen
Of how I see you and cherish the moment
And think of the moment as if I could own it
Of me being open to you
Of me being vulnerable instead of blue
Of all the time I wish we could spend
But it’s my fault this is in the state it’s in

Here we go again
A cycle that at this point has to be a type of emotional sin
As my sub conscious can’t seem to let go
This the part right here we hate the most
As we say different person same reaction
It hits the most when in the stage of retraction
Myself to blame can’t I control my actions

Self sabotage
In each situation no matter how I dodge
With the invalidation of my feelings
And no one knowing truly how I’m dealing
Because I can’t articulate my words
And speak them in ways that can be simply heard
All I can do is harbor on them
And bring them to the brim
Of what it’s intended to mean
It’s not what it seems
On the fence off the fence
Sometimes in between
I want you but certain things turn me away
Certain things that bring my past at bay
It’s impossible for you to look at me separate from body
And to be in my chest everyone looks at me oddly
But no one understands
And I want you to understand
No one just wants me learn me a person
And the more I try to explain the more the words worsen
Because I know that not the case
Always think of the things you say
The good the bad and how I over think them anyway
Empire Jan 2020
I can’t talk to you
Because you think you understand
Blame the depression
But you... you don’t know
You don’t intimately know depression
Like I do.
So you invalidate me
My feelings
You try and simplify the complex
But it is complicated
And in your attempts to solve me
To fix me
You’ve alienated me
You’ve hurt me
You’ve lost me
Chloe Mar 2020
Fear.
Immobilized.
You cannot hear
her crying eyes.
Run.
She flies away
like butterflies,
only lives
for a little time,
no one pays
her any mind.
Pain.
Shivering.
No longer in the dark,
yet she cannot see,
cannot feel
anything.
Escape.
She hides away
like when bears hibernate,
cannot let you in
until it’s too late
to be forgiven.
Assimilating.
Incrimination.
You cannot see
the invalidation in her eyes.
Fight.
She runs from you,
like a deer in the headlights,
soon dies
because you could not see her in time,
did not pay her
any mind.
Growth.
Love.
You cannot leave
her alone.
15 March 2020
Yenson Dec 2019
Does History not tell the tales

of countless  talented strong Colossus'

who shake the falseness and shallow foundations of cadavers

and drive the searing torch of Truth into the innards of spawns

in hooded robes and hanging serpentine tongues ****** the earth

Is malice, invalidation and the circus mirrors of distortion and lies

your be all and end all weapon of choice as was your shamed kith
and kin

does blood on your hands re-write history on white pages in red stinking ink

while your septic saliva in Judas kisses glosses your heartless souls

in brown earth you meet your demise for your colorless crimes

at the banquet of history you sit with ***** hands and mouths full

your menu shows your diet of worms and slime in mud aspic

glazed glass eyes know they were never the first created

mere hybrids the sum of imperfections inherent

as with all your scribes duly mislead and fool

the Real God does not wear white robes

you do not know the Real God

You and all yours will answer

claim your ***** earth

your fates await

History knows
Neo-destroyers, they ***** the world, they buggered Africa, they shafted me, they are ****** you, your children, your minds and your lives. Sit there and enjoy your ignorance in entitled privileges oh Glass-eyed Rulers. **** is never white...!!!
Madame X Nov 2022
Alpha male ‘fear of loss’ projections
Delusional self-protection fantasies
The externalized world leaving tracked footprints in my wet mental clay
Whatever the mind perceives, so it is
Social persona distortions with intersecting boundaries
Fears of feminine invalidation crystallizing my shadow identities
Cold terrors of feral fraternal chaos sweeping me away in the woods
I feel afraid to live

I want to punish myself with resistance to my own activation
Square shorts minimizing my attention span to zero
My frozen heart in a block of ice melting from the fanned flames
I am angry at myself for my rigidity and self-deprivation
Dysregulation disconnecting me from my present moment
Accepted normality paradigms wearing me like old rusty iron suit
Yenson Oct 2019
The half-wit humanoids declared
we are going to change my personality
turn me a vacant dumb superficial carcasses like them
grandly our spineless nefarious scoundrels cowards stated
we are going to make the strong weak by bullying him to death
that's what we do to excellence and decent standards that's notable

The racists ignorant backwards cowards
nonentities full of envy and spite gang up in putrid slime
its anarchy and hell to pay for he that achieves and reaches far
slander and defamation is the greatest leveler for not being dumb
we do his head in and drive him paranoid to ruin the bright ******
why should he be all we can never be or own what we can never own

What they don't own is character and honest endeavors
swines and thieves mired in hedonism, laziness and chicanery
weak in body and soul, lying, evil, smearing, cheating bullies
pretentious as ****, dark and wickedly conniving, satans spawns
destructive and negative, our narcissists in psychosis seeks validity
all you gain is by default, wear your fake crown of deceit proudly
the world knows you, none likes or respect you in your ivory tower

Thirty years down the line and against ONE man
the under endows are still deluding themselves in mindless styles
your control is your waste of your useless time showcasing foolish
your silly invalidation are eggs on your red pale faces every time
Your PM has Turkish origins, Chancellor indian, Home Sec Indian
what are you, a rabble of twisted racists nonentities victimizing one man
Because he showed you up for the losers, common thieves, wasters and senseless underachievers you really are......
Our neighbors hate what they do not understand. As a child, it was so hard to comprehend such behavior. To me, it said more about them than us. However, envy is not jealousy; it was their way of feeling left out. They would say things like, “Her head is always buried in a book.” But to me, their noses were all up in my young business. I was always searching; I craved knowledge and loved looking up to intelligent people. As I listened closely to their words, I realized that conversation is a two-way street. Somehow, I loved being on their street just for the knowledge they seemed to possess. I never seemed to smile; my brain wouldn’t allow it. But somehow, my lips remained pliable. So many would say, “I saw your lips first,” but I knew I wouldn’t get a smile from you. My days aren’t like yesteryear; I don’t care anymore about other people’s feelings. The experts have a word or two for this kind of thing: “Emotional Invalidation” (rejecting other people’s feelings or thoughts). Or others might say, “I don’t give a [expletive].” In my youth, I loved beauty, but beauty moved slowly. I always knew that an ugly duckling would become the Queen of the swans. Our neighbors hated what they didn’t understand; they were too busy searching for words to put us down—words of hate, nothing that one could find in the dictionary. As a child, I never knew that grown women never wore underwear until that day when the neighbor fought her neighbor. Only two silk *******, and it was only for Sunday worship. So, the gossip goes, anxiety and uncertainty circulate. My neighbors and their offspring still hate what they do not understand. If you need to learn more, ask the village bread man.
In summary, this introspective piece explores the complexities of human interactions, emotional resilience, and the transformative power of time.
Yenson Sep 2019
We cordially invite you all
so do come one and all to our bonfire
oh come children of Cecil Rhode and Winston Churchill
do come children of the Brown Shirts and Enoch Powell
this is a special party and we have gone modern
We have one of them in our grid all secure and tight
We have a sport of Invalidation to do
and this is not going to be like the old time Religion
oh yes, we have grown smarter, we don't lynch them anymore

So please leave the white robes and pointed hat behind
what we do this days is called the Slow Death, much PC you see
We get our target and hype him up to tear him apart
Put out the news he's an arrogant rich ******* and a parasite
Smear him with lies and defame and slander him
wife-beating monster is always a good defamation to use
then hound, harass, bully and intimidate the *******
ostracize him so much and isolate him make sure he's left alone

Then launch the psychological attacks, we want him to suicide
ruin his career, his reputation and everything he holds dear
visit him relentlessly with grief, miseries and emotional pain
abuse and humiliate him and sabotage and depress him
it is our land we need to liquidate and eradicate this ******
spread fabrication, disinformation and misinformation
make that person a non-person, do all you know to frustrate him
Remember we are the Top dogs, no uppity buck is gonna live
Make sure you brainwash the others and use them against him
We are the controllers and the only ones that have power
Persistence is the key

Oh come children of the New Era and the woke days
no more crude tarring and feathering, its the era of slow death
We flip the show and he becomes the oppressor and parasite
its a war of revolution against Greedy Royals, that's your story
we frame the ******* and fry him in little pieces
We are clever, we are the army of the people, that's our story
We will invalidate that ******* *** and **** all that he was
We bring slow death, we take proper and decent out and trade places
We are the proud racist Invalidators, but don't tell no one...
,"the ***** is inferior intellectually to the European...[and] can only be humanised and civilised by Europeans.''
Yenson Jun 2022
So we think in dislocated words
snippets plucked in byway happenstance
and these are isolated as triggers by street dons
and decreed we are thus ruled by such precedents therein

And so therefore the assertion
that one and one makes five if repeated enough
example black resonates honeyed fairness accordingly
and wilting flower is now the buzzword for merchants ivory

Our cowpat errands of invalidation
deluding art by numbers and clockwork oranges
begets our dilution of empiricisms in Pavlov's theory
Goebbels says repeat a lie often enough and people will believe it

So why blame us for the fools
after all Goebbels says that if you repeat a lie often enough
it becomes the truth, our useful idiots are happily convinced
fifteen minutes of fame and a chance to claim you are amongst rulers
oh! yes people
I've danced with a man, who's danced with a girl, who's danced with the Prince of Wales

— The End —