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“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
fearfulpoet Jul 2018
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)

{=}

an incurable silence

the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance

a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed

the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special

show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:

god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker

~my special sign~
WOW

what a wonderful reception to my first poem!

thank you,
less fearful!
Christos Rigakos Oct 2012
there is a lengthy space surrounding me
a radius the length of single arm
that isolates my soul from all i see

i am an island in the midst of sea
to separate my soul from any harm
there is a lengthy space surrounding me

i'm buffered from the hordes rejecting me
it might be called a gift, a special charm
that isolates my soul from all i see

my blessing is a curse that's spat on me
for when I seek another's soul as warm
there is a lengthy space surrounding me

and where I'd like to go I cannot be
my buffer zone's a barren empty farm
that isolates my soul from all i see

there once were people dancing 'round with me
yet something shooed away the loving swarm
there is a lengthy space surrounding me
that isolates my soul from all i see

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos
Villanelle
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)

<•>

familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence

but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy

so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love

what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
compote
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed

now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...
<•>

I,
but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:

selvage
late middle English, from self + edge

how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”

the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin

all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head

a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape


all daring you to say

I could
love
it  here
A Love Song
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

I lie here thinking of you:—

the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—

you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
prelimenary coordinates - a blindman playing chess.

well... you either drink, and write sparingly,
     or you don't drink, and you write
a novel...
    but who would have thought, that there
would be poetic odes involving coffee...
     it's staggering how many women write
poems and have to concern themselves with
coffee...
  i down a litre of whiskey a night, don't know
what a hangover is anymore,
        and i can beat out more words
than women, who use a stimulant and write
   crumbs... when i expect a loaf of bread...
if not this website, then another, and the scenario
is the same: the glorification of coffee...
           it just shows you how barricaded the human
narrative is, of the soul...
        poetry merely nibbles, and i know it's
flaws... write without paragraphs,
or care for punctuation marks... and it's immediately
a poem...
   or... oh god forbid! there's something profound
being said with a few words...
      and it has to be profound...
                      yes, i'm the Gargamel and those
are my smurfs...
                             strange that Freud didn't think up
the man-child complex...
                         which is the opposite of the madonna-*****
complex, which he actually did...
           Edward Hopper was also bemused by
these two mental pharmacologists...
                did a little sketch holding Freud as pillar 1,
and Jung as pillar 2.
    but coffee and poetry: i'd expect more from this
latitude...
        and it's still a case of:
                   people cling to the raft that's their
mental narrative mondus operandi...
                Kant tried to say something as concrete
with 5 + 7 = 13... and read any philosophy book...
    Kant isolates the ''i think'', and Hegel isolates
    the i = i, or i am i...
                              and these are serious thinkers...
but Descartes has said a limit...
                       thinking defines subjectivity...
      thinking the essential component of what's
   not thought about: the existential compromise of
   being per se...
                    and how i always seem to find philosophy
as a stumbling block concerning everything i write...
    it's almost as if i can't escape the world of
abstracts...          a degree in chemistry didn't help either...
     am i truly so un-realistic?
               not that i'm afraid of being drawn toward
the un-real...          it's that humanity seems only like
an infertile groundwork speeding toward a forgivable
promise...
    i just wanted to say: you drink and write poetry...
or you don't drink, and write a novel...
      and true to a heart's cause i will say:
that straitjacket of what poetry is...
                           whether rhyme... or other technique...
    hanging over it...
                           it can't do:
      i abhor Nietzsche for making poetry a science...
  and it is: too scientific...
              i'd never think so little can be deemed
so perplexing... or having that essence...
                    so yes... Kant
                         really does struggle to say something
profound, but he actually does...
                     over and over again... namely:
i'd never could think of so many faculties of my mind...
    not that's what i call a plastic saying...
      ****-licking brown-nosing, call it what you like...
it's just so terrible that philosophy cannot reach
toward being a humanism, like a novel always can...
     which is why i could eat a historical novel
        by Kraszewski in three weeks in between allocating
that time to the festive season,
                     and it took me 2 years to read Kant's
critique... until i let go of that post-scriptum necessity
of having to stop at every setence and do a rubick's cube...
     a bit like: well... aren't those electron-migration
   schematics they teach you in chemistry, a little bit pointless?
   who give's a badger's nut-sack about how electrons migrate
when a a cabron to oxygen bond forms?
                         but they do teach that...
           which is why you can take a novel to bed,
on the train... but so much focus is needed for that other novel,
the scientific one... the grandeur of... philosophy...
                and that's when i let go...
   the last part of the critique does allow you to read
piece of work... like a novel... unless of course that was my
need to do so...
                    so yes: transcendental methodology in Kant's
critique: does read like a novel... at some point
you just have to let go.

ii. ...

and you do... try saying philosophy without saying
something pretentious....
               and i dare say: as long as the fewest number
of people concern themselves with it:
  the more chances we have for electricity,
plumbing, food on the table...
               but by now there's this talk of a curse...
premature Socratic antics... mind you: he was an old man...
but Plato be ******, he wrote down what the old man
spoke: and a clear number of them succumbed to
      the tumble-**** effect...
                      no real prospects for life...
        and, evidently, the dead gods philosophised,
while the rest remained: prone to throwing a show of
macho, and worshipped the body...
Olympus shone...  
   by now you should know that i don't know what
i'm doing...
                  give me the killer-switch to launch a nuclear
strike and i'd probably say: maracas!
shake shake shake...     fidgety in the brothel...
shake shake shake...
             that's the weird thing, every time i went to
a brothel i became over-heated...
      i sat there, the whole **** place always reminded me
of a perfume... jack daniels...
   and i could feel myself over-heating...
  i don't known if that was the angel conscience talking
to me... but i always felt those eyes of scrutiny...
       mind you, once the whole "naughty'' escapade
took off... i forgot those relationships where
                    an impotence was crowned...
   don't know: maybe prostitutes just know my pin-number
and hold to say to little richard: off to the crusades with you!
     phenomenal...
                                         well... thank god for
the north african imports! i'd start thinking all european
women are bound to be: neglected.
               and was it ever, not only about ***?
    it's nice to doubt it...
                           next time i'll woodpecker a grave.
but hey! the promised land!
                           at least you'll have someone to cry
over your grave...
   and did i tell you how there's this cult of the grave
in Poland? yep, that's not a personal reality,
it's a populist manifesto... i'm starting to see it
as a hell where people sort of forgot to state their emotion
to the people, now lying in those tombs...
         give me a Hindu wedding with fire!
  i wanna become elemental!
and look, libido on fire... a billion vishnu-******* in
Bangladesh...   it's this thirst for fame in western
societies that's going to be a downsize...
                                 over there that's like a **** in
a tornado...              ha ha! it really is!
   but then again, here i am, a graveyard hyenna...
walking in Liberace's talk of style...
  most of these graves, really are: tacky...
    just like Liberace, the greatest showbiz conman of
the 20st century... i love the fact that he fooled so many
women... i mean... that guy was almost as good
as ****** when it came to mesmerising people...
but Liberace had a nieche audience... so...
                 no khaki for the ss...
                                           and i dare to hold
an ethnicity? in tune with bob marley: one love, one people...
it has never been so painful to strategise globalisation...
         it's this ethnic cleansing that everyone agreed to
provided they received a smart-phone...
                   or a McDonald's fetish... and that's saying it cheap...
but that's how it feels on the periphery of H'america...
little ol' England boycots Europe...
                     and it's like: huh?
                                           presto! dum-dum.
    sometimes i start thinking that i have a hydra for a tongue...
and the more i drink, the more i start to see
       it splintering up into a polyphony construct,
but more a case of: polyphony of subjects...
   and yes, aren't we all those internet losers...
when the most powerful man in the world...
     uses twitter. bastions of respectable comment!
yes, i.e. newspapers... we're riding this meteor to the end...
          does anyone still consider newspapers to be
the pledges of a free society? i must have been asleep for
the past 20 years then...
                      someone switched on this chaos-turbine,
and we're all shoving our two cents of opnions'-worth into it...
and it's not stopping...
            and yet you still read in newspapers, this underlining
feeling of being condescended... as if they are the sole
authority... they have to behave like little despots...
                           social media's power is invested in its
shock reverberation... think: Marx in the 21st century...
           but can you? is this some pseudo Marxism?
             i might have bypassed all the king-makers and
walls... but i have no leverage... my opinions are
     as cheap as chips... well: we got ourselves a unison converson...
   i still don't see how the television zeitgeist still thinks
that the internet zeitgeist is no connected with ''real life''...
i mean... **** me! where's the highstreet with all the shops?
on the internet. where is the frontline of wars? on the internet.
  where do suicides take place? on the internet,
from all the cyber bugs that people start to represent...
    if this isn't real life... then i guess i must be sitting,
and writing this in some medieval castle in transylvania,
    and my computer is powered by a legion of
hamsters on exercise-wheels, in a damp room, lit by a candle.

iii.

for me, this is how reading a philosophy book looks like:

| | |
     fig. 1
                                          /   \
                                            _
                 ­                                 fig. 2
    Δ
       fig. 3
                                           A
                                               fig. 4

it's like i want to see something with some clarity;
there is clear movement
      concerning a book like that,
              but unlike a standard novel:
there is clearly nothing concerning the: any given
  hope to disperse the mist.
                you're given the blunt truth:
the use of language...
                     again, it would be easier to call forward
a use of a tomahawk... or a guillotine...
            philosophy books never establish civilisations,
they break them.
                and do i think that the crucifix is a profanity
of the tetragrammaton? yes.
                do i feel Spinoza's anguish? probably.
when you read philosophy to start to waver,
it's almost necessary to unlearn language, and with
each philosophy book: learn it over again.
     you can't remain strapped to this culture
of emphasis of singled-out words...
              we can't find a constructive basis if we're
about to start any mechanism from such a dynamic,
isolating certain words and weighing them
                       obstructs language...
                 i can't even begin to fathom a pledge
to using a language, if there are these plebian obstructions...
i did write some notes when i spent these past 3 weeks
in Poland, but i'm scared of rewriting them...
                    i can claim to have understood
their content at the time,
but the context disparity is too much for me...
                 i'm rereading them in England
and i can only see England as a nightmarish construct
of such grandeour... that i might only be seen
speaking truth in the north of it...
                nor do i like the tri-tier categorisation
of man... if you read Kant, you'd be afraid of
man's laconic approach to the mind, stating
the three boundaries, and literally no faculty interactions...
  consciousness (the artist), denoting the overly-sensitive,
the subconscious (the worker), denoting the athletic construct
   and liberation from the daily toils of pure physical
    disposition...
and the unconscious (the zombie)...
   if you read Kant and explore the faculties...
and then turn toward the Freudian populism:
   there's enough reason to be concerned...
                  i can't be saying someone anti-vogue:
and that was my proper concern, that i might be saying
someone not recountable in any sort of realism...
          that mine is an isolated case...
         ditto alongside: why are we juggling the tri-tiers,
and so bombastic and even celebratory in huddling
toward these safety-nets of being human?
    thus said: the reflective man has died...
       in his place came the reflexive man...
                             and if there really is a worthwhile
stance to be a: **** sapiens...
   then all hope for a bewildered man is gone...
                 when the potency of robotics escaped science
fiction, and all trodden paths of orthodox science were
      fed to science fiction, humanity could begin
the process of discarding the offshoots...
          
iv.

the new testament... a book riddled with metaphors...
no wonder the greeks exploited the hebrew literalism...
and yes, plato the precursor made this very real...
by testifying that poetry had no place in the republic,
the new testament had to become solely poetic...
   the new testament is a rebellion against plato's republic...
it's a book wholly compromised on metaphor...
culminating in a book that's founded on imagery...
the gosepls are, once again, arithmetically speaking,
resembling the crucifix... which damns the concept
of the tetragrammaton...
                      as a book: it's only gibberish in
its final circumstance of revelation as a book of imagery...
   and in its preceding case: a book of metaphors...
who wouldn't be apprehensive to be born human
with such a thing being rampant?!
                    imagery is gibberish, given that we
have compentent painters out there...
and metaphor is metaphysics, given that we have
competent magicians out there...
   so how far apart are the words: qua             and
                   quo?
   as good a question as: how far apart are the words
                          phor               and phren?
       φoρ                       &                            φρην?
        so in the congregation of μετα, how are they
so apart?  looking at language from an alphabetical
perspective... it's hard to see anything inspirational...
    nor the tangens divergence of words
that are nonetheless so proximate in their construct...
a bit like the genetic proximity of man and ape,
or man and a banana...
   φoρ (the bearer of the beyond) -
                φρην (a mind concerned with things
under the curtain) -
                        and so: the futility of looking for
        a soul... became translated as the new found feudalism
of looking for a mind:
  given the common consensus: we're all mad....
so too looking at mythology could be revised:
  that myth of narcissus and echo...
or narcissus and psyche...
                         or φρην & πσιχη -
                we already know that there's an aesthetic
in Greek, at least they showed us
      that it can be σimple, when acknowledged
  and practised -
which means transcribing the ease of handwriting
   into a digital format, can be seen as an unnecessary
complexity - as if me currently looking for a word
that ends, and showcases the most obvious Grecian
aesthetic (without mention ο, ε, ω, η, œ)...
but with due mention: so where the second variant
of α, given there's æ?
                           it really is hard to find coherency
in human language... i'm still trying to conjure up
the second sigma... unless i hit the plural noteς...
there... i hit them... as simple as that.
  and yes: the father of the french hooked c
in garçon, came from this: the sigma used at the end
of wordς... i suspect that how things were denoted
to be possessed in english, also came from it.
once again: handwritting is bewildering on this digital canvas.

v.*

i don't have an atheistic argument, or a theistic argument,
i'v
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
Morality isolates and fenders bend.
Circumference learns, “half-way” but fails to take the name
“Radius,”
And when she lay a meter nigh
With child, my child;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

Curse my iron fist and rusts the middle knuckle,
When another weeps, not for I, not for you but the gods assumed,
“Heaven,”
And 3 floors above my own;
Tucked lies the pain, regret fills fetal;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

So comes the autumn, the fire prior, “Styx,”
Upon borders that could only separate, “fatherhood,” so partitioned,
“Winter,”
And 3 floors below her own –
A pillar wrought persistence and abandoned, my hedonism;
I still and will feel horribly alone.
A transition from born-after-divorce-bachelorhood to fatherhood; it all began with a knock at the door. All's good in 'da hood now.
Matthew Harlovic Nov 2014
Each and every* form of art
isolates me from reality.

© Matthew Harlovic
Andrew Rueter Aug 2022
I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of
but I can't be tied to those forever
so people forgive and forget
I try to forget but still feel bad
and I know there are still sore subjects
that I should be sensitive about.

Scrolling through Reddit I see a post
of Māori students at an airport
greeting their returning teacher
with a traditional Māori war dance
which was an admittedly sweet gesture
but something didn't sit right with me.

I wondered why the students greeting their teacher
had to do so through a display of militaristic nationalism
I wondered if that was the last dance the Moriori people saw
before the Māori genocided them for their resources
I wondered if the Māori danced like that
as they *****, murdered, and cannibalized the Moriori.

Wondering all of this made me ask myself:
Why did they have to greet their teacher like that?
The students wanted to make a big gesture
which dancing is perfect for
but dancing can also be vulnerable and embarrassing
because people may mock how you express yourself

but strangers at the airport are less likely to laugh at you
if you're doing a synchronized dance with a group of people
and the dancing is recognizably tied to national identity
because then it's a culturally rich dance
you're a xenophobe for laughing at
and that's what nationalism is:
strength in numbers and a readymade identity
in lieu of an individual personality
oftentimes for the sake of pistanthrophobia.

So as I read the circlejerking comments on the post
I wondered what the difference is between
a Māori war dance and a **** salute
I guess the Māori people have experienced
more oppression than Nazis
but nationalism is nationalism
and those who have oppressed are oppressors
and many who are oppressed would gladly
be oppressors given the chance.

Nationalism isn't healthy for culture
and often isolates people from other cultures
that are all combining due to globalization
which people fight to preserve their little dances and costumes
so we can stay in eternal conflict over delusions of supremacy
when the only nationality should be a global one.
Jordan stenberg Jan 2014
Whem you see a obstacle you can wait for it to go or do something drastic the fact  that someone like was born with a crap hand does not mean something great can happen  truth is I can hide and watch and wait but I choose to live and overcome that obstacle a Prievous year I had  a flaw of love lorn as I will always care for her but I may found something so I thought I was hurt I radiated disappointment in my  eyes but hey I like a challenge  I may have  become that guy who's a loner a guy who isolates himself from others but I tell you something  what I want  I will get this time what's gonna stop me a another fellow a judgemental authority figure  all I have to say is obstacles are meant to be smashed
Maple Mathers May 2016
Marshall is the Only Thing that Mathers: Lessons of Elementary School

When I was in third grade, I found religion.

Well. Kind of.

My older sis brought a CD home one day - "The Eminem Show" - and explained how cool - how popular, rather - it made her. This was news, as the both of us personified the textbook social pariah - we were weird, or something. And kids made sure we knew it.

"Eminem?" I wondered. "Who names themselves after candy?"

Slim Shady did, apparently. Cannibalism, at its prime.

"Duh, stupid idiot! It's spelled differently!" Scoffed my sister. She loved to remind me who was boss; she had a ball making me feel even smaller than she did (I'd assume). A talent amplified by her superior intellect, which isolates her to this day. Back then she could do as she pleased, and I'd readily adapt. She was many thing, but predominantly, she was there. And I adored her for it.

She told me everyone had or knew this music. This Eminem band.

I listened till I could recite every track, verbatim. Captivated instantly.

The very next day, I came to school, ratty and grimy looking as ever (my mother hadn't taught me any different - for, I suppose, she had looked my way but saw only herself. Thus, I frequented the principal's office those days, teacher sent me from class every morning for disrespecting the environment.

Apparently, looking homeless isn't  acceptable - even if you're 9.

Anyways. At least I got to miss class.

Nobody would play with me those days. I had just one friend for all those years. They'd kick me and spit on me, lock me out in the snow, call me Spider.

Typical grade school semantics.

However, that CD was a game changer, I anticipated. Things were different. I knew about Eminem, and since my sister's peers were obsessed, mine would soon be, too. Thus, they'd finally play with me, wouldn't they?

Those were my expectations.

But. Conclusions drawn by a 9-year-old aren't exactly conclusive, it turns out. I approached a handful of children during recess. And promptly, terrified them.

Estatic, I exclaimed, "I'm going to hell! Who's coming with me?!"

I was beaming. For a couple seconds. And then Everyone ran, screaming and crying, yelling back at me with the appropriate intonations for a sewer rat.

I didn't understand why. Baffled nobody percieved my announcement as hysterical. And brilliant.

Yet, I got what I wanted, I suppose. Invisibility negated by taboos and vulnerability; I, the Satan freak, finally became interesting. Interesting enough to be picked on, and bullied.

It was an upgrade at the time.

Though, I had yet to understand why it'd occurred; the quote was hilarious to me. God meant nothing to me - "insulting" the lord, what did that even mean?

How would I know?

Alone, again, I snuck behind a tree and wrote all the lyrics I could recall - it was all okay, cause soon, I'd be home.

And home meant Eminem. Someone I could count on to be there. No matter what.

Funny how those same kids arrived at high school, and learned what a real bully can do. Bullies who never messed with me once, and never would. It's unwise to provoke a bee, you see - especially the queen of the hive. ;)

And laugh it up, but Shady is forever my religion.
Shady is My Religion.
❤️
pauldeeeeee Jul 2011
i am free like the stars and the heavens that make me be..
i am free like the blackness of night that make me see.. i am free..
i am free like the words that swim to become poems..
i am free like those people who learn to love and live in homes.. i am free..
i am free to feel and to think like those mentals who enjoi seeing shrinks..
i am free to be in pain with nothing much to gain.. i am free..
i am free to live and love again..
like the burdens that i carry knows no end.. i am free just to be.. just to be.. i am free..
i am free like when winds touch the seas to create waves..
i am free to live inside crumbling walls and live inside caves.. i am free..
i am free to write and to spit on pens and papers..
used to create isolates spaces and lie on craters.. i am free..
i am free just to be who i am.. and who i am is not as free as i want to be..

pauldeeeeee
5march2011
You know the saying "misery loves company"? Well I disagree.  Misery isolates. Misery isolates itself in the vague darkness of aganizing memories and broken dreams. Misery is a cold being, comforting to some, and a burden for others. It comes to you when you have found all the peices. It acts like a solvent and dissolves the glue that holds your life together. It breaks apart friendships and dissasembles the "good life" you once thought you had. The feeling of misery is like a cold shiver down your spine, it makes its presence known. The face of misery it that of a nightmsre that wakes you up at night with cold sweats. I know the face of misery, and it knows me.
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2013
This great white wolf made for traversing wilderness giving it the most identifiable sound for its
Wild uncompromising soul beautifying the night wind adding an extra chilling effect but giving
Unspeakable comfort too it tells of freedom and possibilities latent in us all but he is reduced to
Confinement in a small enclosure pitifully no larger than a small yard his is a life sentence with
All these noble creatures that is at hand what would be so awful to set him free after five
Years and replace him with a kit a lot of his five years would be in youthful play and when he
Did mature and the wear begins then repeat the action we ourselves have and experience this
Fate we have a great white pure spirit that longs to be masterful but our eyes and the things we
See deface and scar our opportunities that are innumerable but dark bars hold us in pens their
Shadows show on our fleece that is white as snow there is the outward physical blackness but
Of the greatest sadness it burrows into the sacred hidden places of the mind this is a tether
Most cruel but outwardly we convulse with misery but can’t clearly identify why misery and
Sadness hounds us without end we all desire love but we practice selfishness and try by greed
To use others to give us what we think will make us happy what darkness grips us what light
Would be found and we would emerge from deep pits if we understood giving helping others is
Where satisfaction out weighs gold and its benefits are perpetual well being to making the soul
Gleam as white as brightest day and this will not become cankerous and subtly start to shrink
Your heart to bitter ridicule of your own self you can go forth groaning or singing blackness
Befalling you at every turn or your heart will be leaping over fast moving streams that have
Depths of joy they rush over your feet and then swirl upwards from your feet all through your
System until your head is invigorated and swimming bestowing on you pleasure your heart will
Leap like a hart you truly will be the envy and guide to others that you unsuccessfully sought at
Other times in devious ways and you were so misguided you were plagued with a unreachable
Denseness you fight with such fervor but it cost the loss of everything but by simple obedience
And surrender to the much over looked and demeaned golden rule all it asks is love your
Neighbor as yourself what a healthy and wise statement love yourself without restraint now
Just go and double it by giving the same consideration to your fellow man and then vanquish  
The darkest and most powerful restraints by confessing I see deaths grip it has perfected traps
That are mine alone and it is not in our power that we can break free but His power is without
Equal why should I languish in this black dungeon when on white wings as an eagle is my true
Potential I was made to fly in bluest skies and to match the cool moist clouds I was made to
Make a show only to be sky bound not locked in myself and become hidden by my black
Outlook that obscures what love I am capable of

Bonus
Imperfections
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light
GGA Dec 2014
Pushes and pulls.
Isolates and attaches.
Separates and unites.

A drug problem it is not.
A substance issue never cured.
A relationship that destructs.

A heart problem.
A relationship problem.
A self-esteem problem.  

Heal the heart.
Repair the wound.
Build your self-esteem.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Imperfections
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light.
Matt Sep 2015
American society
How it isolates

How it isolates
The individual

I am 30
I am poor

Do my job
And save money

It's just like monopoly money
Now anyhow

I spent an hour or so
At the nature park meditating

The woman in her car
Stopped in her civic
In the middle of the street
For no apparent reason

As I ate my dried apricots

Do I live on some type
Of matrix computer simulation?

Things seem predetermined

I'd like to hang out with friends
For a bit
Or just relax with a woman
A kind and caring woman

But I'll go to the gym
Then go to bed alone
Like I always do

Would just like a good female friend
Maybe one day

So what is "it"
What is this life?

The only thing that can be
Agreed upon is that
We have to keep on keeping on
I guess

Wheel in the sky keeps on turning

Sad at times
This life

The loneliness of it

And my shoulder
The akwardness of it

And how should I feel
What should my feelings be
Toward this human existence

I like humor
I guess I'll go to the gym again
Later tonight

I send a hug out
I hope a woman returns
And gives me a hug
I love caring women
They are wonderful

A man of Tao is
Not understood
He seems dull

The Tao of heaven
Is work without effort
Hal Loyd Denton Oct 2012
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light.
Ian Beckett Jun 2013
Plus thirty in scorching sunshine at noon
Heat insulation isolates me from feeling
Warm sensation fries me from your touch
And a contrasting black emptiness inside
Is a distant sort of closeness for me now.
Skia Kyria Jun 2014
Numb feels ineptly
Nobody
Nothing
Empty.

Numb has a feeble spirit
Numb is numbing

Numb
******* needy
Numb
It runs swiftly
Flows freely
Numb
approaches the needy
  Ever so quickly.
It thinks of him
And deprives me
Of breathing

Numb watches.
Stares.
It  separates me, isolates.
Numb never cared.  
Makes the bleak confiscate
Everything I hate
It thinks of him
And unnerves my limbs

Numb will find it
I cannot quit
The nowhere is near
Numb brings it here

Watching.
Sickly it's ever wanting
So enchanting
Why is It still alive?
Numb will realise
He must  die

For me to be alive

Numb unfolds
Clamour of a dormant soul
The pleads
The need
Numb ever succeeds
Rexhep Morina Nov 2015
Let us meet there,
let us witness the beauty itself,
Simplicity in the purest form
cherish these moments for infinity.

Where the sky kisses the earth,
where the sun gives birth to sunshine,
where eveything seems meaningless,
insignificant.

Let us meet there,
let us be bold, and feel everything so deeply,
realize that we are one with it,
hold hands and unite in these moments of infinity.

Break through the limits, push our selves towards our true being,
rejoyce, dance, and acknowledge
that we are the creators.

We are the light that shines through,
the darkness that isolates us from the truth,
the truth that gives wings to our souls.
Helen Murray Jan 2014
Black holes in the human psyche –
Depression in the laughing space –
Hopelessness amongst us rising,
Shadows illustrate disgrace.
All we’ve put our faith in fails us:
Reason brings its power of war,
Unity of hearts eludes, thus
Severed isolates we are.

Most of western humankind
These days prefers the company
Of dogs or cats to people bonds.
They do not bite.  Well, not many.
If nothing else this observation
Clarifies the entropy
Of this rational thing called reason.
When, of such, shall we be free?

One tenth of the human brain power
Is the maximum we use
If we are to credit science.
“What if…”  What is our excuse?
We can wonder what if we had
All the other nine tenths  too.
Would we not be chuckling, die-hard,
“Just Neil Armstrong on the moon?”

Where would lie the great credential
If a man could understand
How to implement potential
Past this morbid limit land.
P’rhaps we’d learn to live together.
War would now no longer rule.
No starvation, lonely fever,
Intimacy no more a duel.

Man has known, since history
Began to make its mark on time,
Of the other world of spirit.
Some are terror, One sublime.
One there was, who visited
This planet in the days of yore,
Astounding elders with His wisdom
At the age of twelve – no more.

He grew on, no less inspiring
Thousands with His repartee.
Everywhere He went they’re gathering
Immeasurable compassion He.
Miracles his feet accompanied.
Where He trod served love profound.
Yet His voice sliced through the need
To self-promote with loud resound.

What had He that every other
Man throughout the history
Of humankind could find no brother
Quite like this?  Who could He be?
People fight, Him to discredit.
“No man could perform like this.
**** Him off.  We’ll simply edit
Him from all our histories.”

So they did.  Or so they thought to.
But the grave could not defeat
This super human. Think we have to.
Human brain is now complete.
Jesus had the Spirit intact -
Mind and Truth now entertwined.
Change to holy human impact.
This is HOW WE WERE DESIGNED!

If we ask He gives His Spirit.
We can entertain His heart
Overflowing with the wisdom
That the Spirit can impart.
Yes we too can yet experience
Life in full 100%.
Well, nearly.  Falling short of holy
Puts a smudge on every sense.

He empowers with His Spirit
Settled in a human heart,
Livening up the old grey matter
So it works in every part.
Exchange misery for gladness,
Shadows for a radiant light,
Thrown those lies out with the garbage
And the long depressive night.
I'm seeing so many poems about depression, misery, suicide on this site.  Believe me I understand this scenario but there is a way to deal effectively with it.  My destiny is not depression, or the black dog, but the Light of Life.
there is a sense of fluency
in his visual metamorphoses
framed in a diaphanous red
that isolates a consciousness
yet at the same time allows a journey
to ultimate extremes
of perfected enhancement
of the higher realization
of unfulfilling limitations
he knows that he can never be free
like a name in an address book
written in blue ceramics
that provides the impulse
to sensitizing thought
to the silence that walls him in
spiraling back in second hand decibels
overloaded with the complex distribution
of metabolic need
forms contradictory impulses
an index of vulnerable and invulnerability
like the familiar dissimilarity in his eyes
Ciel Noir Jan 2022
a veil of ice
across my soul
so I control
how much you know

a smooth façade
a cool veneer
that isolates me
from my fear

I am afraid
when you get close
can you see into me?
almost

if you are warm
the ice will break
and take you
to the strangest place
M Seifert M Mar 2013
and he isolates himself again
and she cries her eyes out in a crowd of friends
and we buy it all just to keep ourselves comfortable
and we lie to ourselves constantly
because the truth hurts and if they fall
we fall

what side are you on?
are we playing the same game even?
are we all double agents
out in the open?
are we all playing pretend
or is some of this the real thing?

is it eerie how i hear you
before you're even looking?

the best of us will be left performing magic tricks
for the guys weilding the biggest sticks

stick to the plan
get a tan
and collect fans
because you need to keep cool
[sure]
not in front of everyone
no
not ready for that
no please
no not while they're here
they
they need more time

you need more


you've had plenty

i've had enough

we all have

precisely my point

the point hasn't even begun to be reached

we're at it again

battling 'til surrender

remind me why


i can't breathe around her

her last wish kept me up all night

sir
they're at it again
we can't seem to stop them this time

we asked them to leave

i believe you
please

grieve





the loss of many
the loss of one man
or any number


it's been keeping me up
no slumber
that's right
every night
i couldn't sleep feeling another one leave
i made myself feel everything i could imagine
happening all inside of me

have they forgotten what it feels like?
have they robbed themselves of what they crave most
because they couldn't handle the pain of knowing any longer?

and now i'm numb
like you

still
                                                  craving
are
                                                  meaning
you
                                                  seeming
in
                                                  playing
love?
                                                dreaming?
no
                                                    for
ever?
                                                   lost
never
                                                    cost
not
                                                   most
once?
                                                   such
maybe
                                                 horrible
every
                                                   hosts
time

never
been shown the meaning
never
had it spelled out before
letters
in the sand
holding hands
no longer there

in circles we had drawn
we sang our favorite made up songs
it didn't matter that we didn't know the words
everyone could play along

i wouldn't remember later
but those songs reverberated
'round the walls of the crater

if i never see you in my dreams again
it's just one more i'll keep drawing until i get it right
one more silent vigil lit by fireflies


this morning ritual of mine is getting old
i've bought and sold enough to trade my soul
i've trained my soul for the day they take it all away
and it won't matter
'cause it's not my game and i never wanted to play
take me to the place you want me
stake me out
make sure it's nice enough outside
a place where children play
with paths for bikes to ride

you showed me in their faces
you showed me and i'll never be the same

i'm falling again
and i'm leaking  for my own sake
i'm speaking for no one in particular
i'm making it up as i go along
as i feel it every word feels wrong

but the sound of these
the rhythm of my knees shaking
the symbolism of an embolism
makes me tremble maybe there's more to stem from

can you trace the outline on the wall?
can you taste any of it at all?
can you hear if he's still in there?
can you tell if he has enough air?
can you get ahold of him?
how long's it been?
don't look at me that way
none of us ever expected this
someone should have expected this
is this serious?
should we be calling someone?
is there a problem?
are we in trouble?
don't you talk to anyone

the wrong mind in the wrong hands
will be forced to make new plans
wrong man sent to a new land
will take ownership and make demands

stained sheet
stars i lie beneath
cars i almost died behind the steering wheel
screaming out my rotting teeth
dotting every line
spotting every guy in the crowd in striped shirts
every spy in every automobile
behind every pile of rubble
behind every "i'm sorry we're having a little trouble with the connection"
"oh you didn't get my text? it must have been redirected..."

*11/5/12
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2014
one more for Pradip...
"Poems...are never short or long, they're only more. Thanks Nat for ever filling the less."



firing up the poem kiln,
this intriguing provocation
insistent of deserved consideration,
after all,
it is thy stories that these days inspire,
my own stories are relentless
grey, old, cold, and to my eyes,
coded repetitious...

neither a chaster or a chastiser,
(You could look it up!)
confessing readily to sinning against humanity
by ecrivezing poems of length considerable,
the Mexicano from Indiano
releases a shotgun blast
to all those whose attention spans last,
to ten words or a single stanza...no more...

but this not the matter of import,
no, no, it is the
more and the less
that makes poetry the best,
no matter the length or the heft...

in each of us
there is a more and a less,
in cycles individual that are not bound to
tides, weather, or any effect natural,
but product of our own amber waves
of chemical imbalances and mental auras...

all my days have I rode waves of
well hid hills of mania *** depression,
contented moments surrounded and cosseted
by wails of worry, sorrel colored sorrows,
making the scientists amazed at the correlation
of the macro and the mini,
the precision of my indecision...

in sixty seconds, in sixty days, in sixty years,
have I battered and battled the disequilibrium
of more and less,
disallowing a pilloried intervention,
will likely do so until
that day when my pen
has bled its last...

this theme haunts,
for but a day ago,
a bus poem was blurted out,
that concluded thusly:

to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry


here I am stunned that Pradip
with but a handful of seeds,
exactly isolates the genetic implanted notion
that I struggle to define,
knowing only that my poetry fills my less,
when the all the rest is just
another fine mess

we fill the less with our wit,
we top off our souls with writs,
we are more for having scribed,
one read or ten thousand,
it mater matters knot!

look upon the pages endlessly bearing
the ephemeral heavy-handed weight full of well crafted words,
the good, the plenty,
the sad, the sorry,
the trite and cranky,
those misted musty,
the light and the careful,
the bad and merely awful,
even the drip of torrential love stories gone dry

what matters not
any of this over sighted analytics,

each and all and everyone
a success,
for each poem makes someone's less lessened,
and someone's more, more,
and by this

**ever filling the less...
this is also about Robin Williams suicide which impacted me deeply but could not find the words...a bus poem is one composed on my trip home from work in thirty rocky minutes on the M31...you could look that up too! The one that goes to the Andromeda Galaxy, and not the MTA 's midtown local affair....
Ary Jun 2014
There's this girl
She's like a candle
trying her best to lit her day
trying her best to warm the smiles
But she just had enough
The fire extinguishes
by the tears from her eyes
pools of sadness,sorrows,grievance
that she kept for years
that she always fears.

Repeating every song she hears
along with memories and tears
they penetrate her heart
left scars,forever.

It can't be cured by laughter
It can't be cured by cheers
It can't be cured by dollars
It can't be cured by herself
she needs years to fix it back
Worthless she feels,worth it they said.

It's hard for her to explain
even harder for them to understand
she doesn't wants friends
she isolates from them
but they're too kind to be left
so she continues the game.

She tries to see how long she can stands
how long she can survives
with faking smiles and laughs
This is too much.
She swallows everything
judgmental words suicide thoughts
for the sake to gain something
then she realizes the game was
nothing.

Nobody said it was easy
Nobody said it was fun
feels like the tears
make her awoken from the
reality that will never be pleased.


a.b
Alyssa De Marzo Apr 2017
I never expected to be hit with the
"Who are you?"
While filling out a job application
for a Lush Cosmetics  department store
Seriously though,who am I?
I mean, I'm just Alyssa
Alyssa is just too
human

You know, the type to complain about the sea of heart broken poets while browsing on poetry sites

But for some reason finds herself ranting about all the oblivious people on instagram, whose most traumatic experience was probably a paper cut

She's a weakling compared to the elders at home

Yet sick of the "how do you do it" remarks from colleagues and friends

She isolates herself inside her house and she can feel the crushing sensation named depression

But after lunch with Devon, she begins to fantasize about how her eyes light up when she hears that sound from the heavens;
DING ****
Hot digitty dog it's uber eats!
She'll never have to leave her house for McDonald's ever again!

She has no idea what she's doing with her life, and sometimes wishes someone could just come to her rescue
But god forbid you attack her ego by bringing up her goals and achievements

Best believe she will make you fall in love- trust me she loved you too (at some point)
But her favourite things about you slowly became the things she cringed the most at
You're laugh was cute and ***** but now for some reason
she refrains from telling you jokes

She's constantly changing
Not because she's unhappy with who she is
She has yet to finish creating Alyssa  with each passing day
I usually hate spoken word;)
Ian Beckett Feb 2012
Minus ten in blinding blizzard at midnight
Snow insulation isolates me from feeling
Cold sensation freezes me from your touch
And a contrasting black emptiness inside
Is a deeper sort of empty for me now.
Melissa Thorne Nov 2011
The flicker of a broken bulb,
And her eyes repeat the rhythm.
They say she's senseless.
She pauses to inhale,
Dust clogs her nostrils,
The remains of decaying books.
She sits in the dim corner,
The cubicle isolates her on 3 sides.
She comes here to ride the waves of voices.
The swells of murmurs grow,
She didn’t bring a life preserver.
It doesn’t matter.
Her eyes show the rock inside.
She’s already sunk.
The murmur breaks close to the corner.
It never touches the girl.
It never does.
Allania Berkey Jan 2014
You're breath on my neck,
It replays in my head everyday.
Your whispers, they taunt me.
Your heart lies.
The softness and clarity of your lips on my chest,
Leave me restlesss,
Aching for more.
To be a fool
Or to be sane,
That is the question.
Our bodys intertwind,
But to afriad to truly touch.
The heart frolics with the mind ,
Leaving both fragil,
Weak.
To be a fool,
That's the question.
The breath which you leak, isolates my heart,
And manipluates my mind,
To foolishness.
To be a fool,
A fool to love you.
Andrew Rueter May 2021
To the person who's sexually attracted to children
but has never acted upon that attraction:
Thank you
it's not always easy doing the right thing
and I understand the stigmatization you face
in a society where advocating killing you is socially encouraged
for the forced productions in the privacy of your mind
usually stemming from traumatic childhood abuse
but don't let them stop you from getting help
for the misery and frustration associated with
constantly denying one's ****** urges
for the sake of others.

Nobody is born an angel or a demon
walking along we pick up horns or halos midstride
often confusing one for the other
often trading one for the other
often naming one for the other
until heavenly hellspawns
attack with horned halos.

To the person who perpetuates the stigma against those people
through edgy internet posts and comments
like it's some sort of controversial sentiment
that isolates those people until they crack
usually just so you can virtue signal militancy
so you can feel good about yourself through persecuting others:
*******.
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
He always wears longs sleeves
And anyone who tries to be friendly to him
He pushes away
He isolates himself
I've never seen him with friends
I gave him my number
He didn't text me back
I wonder if there is a reason behind it all
Why he likes to live alone, in silence
I'm going on the same trip as him
Late in the year
Should I try to get into his head
Try to talk to him
And unravel him?
Break down his walls?
I'd like to try
I'm not afraid
Of finding his inner demons behind the walls
I have my own
I'm not afraid
But I'm afraid
It isn't my place
Or that he will be angry with me
For trying to melt his steel walls
If I fail
If he doesn’t let me in
Is it worth a try?
Will it seem too stalkerish
If I try to break down his walls?
It never hurts to knock
But it hurts if they open the door
Just long enough to hurt you
Then shut you out again
I don’t know
What do you think?




Please comment and let me know your opinion. I need advice on that.
He is really attractive but beyond that he fascinates me. I liked him the moment I saw him. He plays violin and basketball and I really want to get to know him but I am scared and I am worried he will freak out that I am being creepy and insistent after I gave him my number and he didn’t text me back. (Although it is unconfirmed that he owns a cellphone and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t) I have heard of other girls who tried to talk to him but he was pretty standoffish and they all gave up on him. Should I give up too?
Please comment and let me know your opinion. I need advice on that.
He is really attractive but beyond that he fascinates me. I liked him the moment I saw him. He plays violin and basketball and I really want to get to know him but I am scared and I am worried he will freak out that I am being creepy and insistent after I gave him my number and he didn’t text me back. (Although it is unconfirmed that he owns a cellphone and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t) I have heard of other girls who tried to talk to him but he was pretty standoffish and they all gave up on him. Should I give up too?
Ian Beckett Jun 2012
Every morning I swim up a vertical river,
Almost drowning, as night leans into
A clean new day, where thoughts
And plans crystallize in a foam
And spray, which isolates
Me from the world
Of people and
Places and
Problems.

I am reborn
Rejuvenated
And cleansed
Of a night that
Contaminated my
Now-clean body
With all my
Yesterdays
Erased

— The End —