Distant, Detached, Unfriendly, Unapproachable, Unsympathetic, Withdrawn, Antisocial....

I keep my distance for fear of being hurt by those I let my walls down for.

I am detached from worldly possessions because they cause pain when lost.

I am unfriendly due to my inability to smile through the bad times.

I am unapproachable to those with judging eyes.

I am unsympathetic to those that have their needs met.

I am withdrawn so that no one can see my past.

I am antisocial due to my observant nature

I am aloof

!!!!!!Trigger Warning: ****, domestic violence, abuse, suicide!!!!!!!!



When I moved to your hometown, I saw your true colors.
I saw that power meant more, your dominance meant more, your ego and your assertiveness meant more to you than I did.
I tried.
I tried to leave you alone, but like a moth drawn to a flame, time and again I allowed myself to draw nearer to you, shocked when you burned me every time.
Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
Days later, I cut you off. I blocked you. And it felt good. Like I regained some of the control you took away from me. I was starting to feel like myself again until I got home that night.
You busted through the deadbolt lock on my door.
My backpack was missing.
I called your mom in a panic, having not connected the dots until moments after I hung up the phone with her and I heard your voice, calling me from outside my window.
I asked you.
I asked you once.
I asked you twice.
Did you do that to my door?
Your calm, unchanging face didn’t even blink when you answered,
No.
It wasn’t until I put two and two together, you being there, having my backpack, the holes in your story, your unchanging, unsurprised, unsympathetic face, that I realized what you had done.
And when I called you on it, you admitted it.
Why lie to me? Why lie to my face?
So I blocked you, again.
Leave me alone until I give you the word, I said.
Just leave me alone.
Two days later, I was breaking down crying over my inability to be alone, over my inability to love my broke pieces enough to pick myself up and put myself back together
Two days later, I called you.
You told me you were sorry.
And that you sent me roses in the mail, set to arrive sometime before I left, two weeks from then.
And I melted
I caved
I gave up being strong and decided to instead be naïve, oblivious, or simply in denial.
We can make it work at least until I leave, right?
What’s the worst that can happen?
But then the worst started to happen.
Your flashbacks took away your memories of me and replaced them with menacing, intrusive thoughts
Replaced me with other girls
Nameless, faceless, meaningless bodies for you to use as you please
Or a roadblock in the way of you achieving peace at last, kissing death’s sweet lips
The bad guy you worked so hard to bury deep within your subconscious became very, very conscious
Very real
I first noticed it the day we were walking to the park, I said you were less mature than I, a harmless quip meaning no personal injury
You walked on the opposite side of the street as me, refusing to look at me, refusing to acknowledge me, refusing to come back to my side.
But when that car full of guys rolled by me, whistling, yelling various unsolicited, uncomfortable things resembling compliments, you laughed.
You laughed at my fear.
And still wouldn’t walk with me.
It was that day, you got in my face and dared me to put my hands on you so you could lay me on the ground
It was that day, I asked you, why are you talking to me like this?
It was that day, you answered, if I don’t hurt you verbally, it will be physically.
It was moments later, through tears, I begged, why do you treat me like this?
It was moments later, with cold eyes, you answered, to feel powerful
Is it a switch?
Can you flip it on and off?
How can the one who caresses my face so very gently,
The one who calls himself my protector at all costs,
The one who rushes to my side at every beck and call,
The one who opens doors for me
Walks two hours in the rain for me
Spends all his money to send me roses,
Be so cruel?
Three days before I’m supposed to leave, you come spend the night with me
We’re laying down, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the darkness
When I suddenly admit, I’ll miss you.
Don’t go, you say.
But I have to. I have to, my love.
It was then that you grabbed me by the neck, and told me I was not going to leave you.
Baby, please, I can’t breathe.
You’re not leaving. I don’t care if I have to take you away
Then you jolt out of it, looking at me with confusion. Your head hurts.
Just lay on me chest baby, it’s okay
I stroke your hair slowly, softly, calmly
Why is your heart beating so fast?
It’s not baby, close your eyes.
I hear it. What’s wrong?
Nothing, love, I’m fine. Just anxious about the move.
You know, you could stay here with me.
Baby, I already got my plane ticket, I’m leaving in a couple days.
No.
No?
No.
You grab my wrist with one hand.
Baby, let me go.
No.
Babe, you have to let me go. It’s okay.
No. Stop saying that.
Baby, I-
It’s too late. You’re already on top of me, grabbing my other wrist and pinning me down, your dark eyes beating into mind.
Baby, please let go of me, you’re squeezing too tight, you’re hurting me.
Your grip grows even stronger, and I feel the panic rising in my chest again.
Then you jolt out of it. Your head hurts. You need to lay down.
This time, I don’t let you lay on me. This time, I simply watch you lay there.
You reach out for me
I flinch
Concern flickers in your eyes, babygirl what’s wrong? You haven’t flinched around me in months.
It’s nothing.
It’s something, talk to me. What did I do?
You… um.. you pinned me down. You h-held my wrists. You wouldn’t let me go…
You laugh.
I wouldn’t do that, unless you were trying to leave me
Baby, I’m leaving the state in two days.
Your eyes turn cold. You yank my hair, pulling my head back.
You what?
I don’t answer.
You WHAT?
I-I’m leaving in two-
You yank my hair again, harder this time, before letting me go.
Your head hurts.
Really bad, really, really, bad.
Lay down baby, it’s okay.
I kiss your forehead tenderly
You’re okay.
My last day there was the worst.
By far, the worst.
Laying down, we’re past the stage of denial over me leaving.
I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m so horribly sad to leave you behind.
You’re depressed. You don’t want to be here anymore. You don’t see yourself living without me.
You’re the only thing ******* keeping me here anymore, you say bitterly.
You’re gonna have to be strong for me when I leave, my love. I know you can.
Just die with me, you plead, it’ll be quick. I can choke you to death and **** myself. We’ll never have to be apart again.
We don’t even know what’s on the other side. What if it’s nothing? What if we don’t find each other?
You insist. You beg. You plead. You cry. Until you finally give up convincing me, your hand creeping up towards my neck.
Let me go.
Baby, let me go
Your hand is around my neck. Tightening. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. There are black spots clouding my vision, like when you stand up too fast after sitting for too long, except they’re everywhere
Please, babe, please just…
Shhhhh babygirl it’s okay, close your eyes, go to sleep
So I do. I close my eyes and you slowly remove your hand from my neck, kissing me tenderly on the forehead, before getting up and going to my window. You open the window and as you’re looking down at the two story drop, my eyelids flutter open.
I reach out for you as you go to climb out the window.
Baby, stop, I whisper weakly.
You’re supposed to be dead.
But I’m not. Just, come here, it’s okay, you don’t have to do this.
I stand slowly and come to you, grabbing your arm to pull you away from the window.
Now it’s your turn to demand that I let you go.
Just let me do this. I need to do this. Leave me alone.
No, you don’t, just come here.
Before I can even blink both of your hands are around my neck and squeezing, lifting me off the ground.
Leave me alone before I make you leave me alone.
Unable to breathe, I nod, and you drop me.
Gasping for breath, I see you going towards the window once again.
Please! Just use the front door. Just walk out the front door, if you go out the front door I swear to god I’ll leave you alone.
You turn towards me, reaching once again for my neck, and I grab your wrists.
You back me up, twisting out of my grip and grabbing onto my wrists.
You keep backing me up, until we’re almost to my closet. I stop and rest against the open door, and you ask coldly,
Why’d you stop backing up? Keep going. Since you don’t know how to leave me the **** alone.
I don’t have much of a choice. You push me into the closet, and turn me around so I’m no longer facing you, placing your arm around my neck in a choke hold and tightening your grip.
I hit your arm once, twice, three, four, five times, and you finally drop me.
Your head hurts.
I turn to face you, with fear in my eyes, cowering under you.
You look at me with confusion.
Why are we in a closet? What’s wrong? Why are you-
You reach out to touch me and I cower and flinch, shaking my head
Please don’t, please, please don’t touch me. Please. I’m sorry. Please.
I break down crying.
You realize what you’ve done.
And you sit in the closet. In your little corner, to punish yourself, as I cower in the corner.
Seconds blend into minutes as they pass by, until you rise from the closet, going to the door. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who I am. You keep calling me another girl’s name. I don’t know who it is.
Now it’s your turn to cower in the corner.
I can only imagine what’s going on in your head, as you’re crying out with fear and panic over the voices screaming in your head. I let you cry, clinging onto my legs.
It’s okay my love, you’re safe now, you’re not there anymore. Let it out. It’s okay.
My jeans are soaked now. I gently remove you from my legs and go to change my pants. Your face immediately switches to panic.
No, please, I don’t want to have ***. Please. I don’t want to.
Baby, relax. I’m not going to make you. I’m just changing out of these wet pants.
As I change out of my pants and into your oversized basketball shorts, your face changes.
Come here.
I look at you, confused.
Now.
I slowly walk over to the corner where you’re no longer cowering in. I crouch down next to you.
Closer.
You pull me onto your lap.
I gotta tell you something.
I lean over, your lips grazing my ear as you whisper,
I want you
You begin kissing my neck.
Kissing, touching, gently.
I almost didn’t notice anything was wrong. It wasn’t until you looked at me and asked,
What’s your name, girl?
That I realized you weren’t really here. I looked at you, dumbfounded, and you shrugged,
Okay, I guess that doesn’t matter. You’re **** as hell.
I pushed off of you, shaking my head.
I’m your girlfriend. Remember?
You shake your head.
I don’t date girls like you. Why don’t you just take that off?
You stand, walking towards me.
Just relax.
No!
I push you off me, and you laugh coldly.
Babygirl, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But I love it when they fight back.
You grab me by the neck, kissing me roughly, as your free hand pulls my shorts off.
I’m pushing you. I’m pushing you off of me but you’re too strong.
You grip my ******* tightly and begin pulling them down, but I grip them tighter and keep holding them up.
Stop. Please. Stop.
I use my most authoritative voice and you chuckle with amusement.
Guess we’re doing this the hard way then, hm?
You pick me up and set me on my back on the ground. I go to get up. You pin me back down by my throat, prying yourself between my legs.
You begin to touch me.
I flinch under your touch and keep pushing, keep pushing you off of me.
You pin my hands with both of yours.
You bring my hands together and hold them both with one of your hands.
Stop. Fighting.
You resume touching me.
My body betrays me as I squirm and leak.
You know you like that. Don’t you?
You enter me, and I cry out in pain as you use me for your pleasure.
Call me daddy
You demand, and I shake my head.
You grab me by the throat and begin going harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.
Again, you demand,
Say it.
The word escapes my lips and you grin with satisfaction.
I close my eyes.
I stop fighting.
I do anything I can to take a mental vacation somewhere far, far, away.
I’m not here. This isn’t happening. It’s not. It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s almost over.
You pull out suddenly, and look at me with horror.
No… no… no, no, no, no, no, no
You let go of my neck. Then my hands. You back up and stare at me as if I’m on fire.
Please tell me I didn’t just do what I think I just did.
I wish I could. I wish I could tell you that you didn’t just do what you think you just did, but you did.
Your head hurts.
So ******* bad.
You retreat to your corner in the closet, and I retreat to the corner opposite in the room. Now it’s my turn to cower in the corner.
The next morning, you’re helping me move my stuff out of my room, into your mom’s car. She’s taking me to the airport.
The ride to the airport is silent.
When we arrive, you open the door for me, and scoop me up bridal-style so I don’t get my shoes wet in the puddle you’re standing in.
I hug you tightly, holding back tears.
I kiss you gently, holding back words.
I love you.
I love you, too.
As I walk into the airport, leaving you standing in the rain, I realize:
The roses never came.

I should be sorry for being white.
but I don't look down upon others,
still I should feel bad.
for what happened in the past
somehow, I am responsible

they put me down
telling me I can't understand
all lives matter.
but only if you are part of a minority.

I should be sorry for being white.
I should apologize for the things I never did,
things I never said and never thought.

because just the fact that I was born with a different skin color makes me unsympathetic and evil.

the fact that I am white means I am stupid,
means I am responsible,
automatically places me in the wrong.
I am constantly reminded of my inability to empathize.

all because I am white.
who are the real racists here?

I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do
appears to me as being viciously half-assed
yet sincere.
I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA
with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know
in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically.
The future looks decent from a distance in bar light.
As I feign some resemblance of being classy and
collect more sodium on my footwear,
I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light
to look at me in the dark on my way from home.
It makes me glad I speak English, where there
are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones
to phrases like, “*******”.
It’s dark on the way through Cleveland.
Try to stay warm.

I killed myself today.
It was too much.
The debt,
The expectations,
The hippies,
The stonefaced
Unsympathetic Vietnam vets asking me if I was a *****.
To tell you the truth, Gus,
You've got to be pretty **** ******* to slit that throat,
To pull that trigger,
To hang that corpse from a rafter high.
But I did it classy.
Yeah.
I died like a Roman who had plotted against great Caesar.
I went home,
Slipped into the tub wearing a suit I pieced together from Uptown Thrift.
As the scorching water flowed,
I sipped wine and read the bible.
King James Version only, mind you.
As the water approached my neck I shut it off.
I laughed at the hypocrisy:
A suicide scene with a bible strewn about.
I muttered,
Then took the knife and opened up my veins.
I bled out.
My thoughts drifted to depressing things:
My 2 year old brother working a night shift at Walmart holding back his tears while being yelled at by a balding middle aged man who never did anything with his life,
A dog corpse ***** and mutilated by some *******,
A banker smoking a cigarette and laughing in an infant's face,
And the world turning on.
As it always does.
As it always will.

Your words cut like scalpels
Through hair skull and scalp
Culling the cunning thoughts
My Foolish heart has bought

But your blade is truth
No anesthetic
Can dull, numb or soothe
Unsympathetic

It removes the lie
Like a tumor
Until my life's
A rumor

You are unsympathetic.
I am so apologetic.
I miss your entire presence.
Can we be synergetic?

I love the way you hate me.
In your arms I breath in safety.
Is there room for me to stay, please?
You seem so empty lately.

Tell me so many lies.
Everybody cries.
Fiery passion burns out.
Everybody dies.

We've got a special kind of love.
it's so unbelievable.
I thought you loved me like I love melancholy moods.
But you only loved yourself,
So i have another story to tell,
Hold on, strap your seatbelt
We're about to take off.

You knew that we were all wrong
We were caught up in the ******.
Closer and closer we grew,
And things were getting ****
I want to get to know you, everything about you.
Perfect imperfections and sly innuendos.
And i never said it'd be easy,
But who knew this could be so pleasing?

You're just a basket case,
A yellow-bellied coward.
Why can't you say it to my face?
I'm getting older by the hour.
Time is ticking on, and im starting to get mad.
Erase the feelings of love and most everything we had.

You make you're way in like a venomous snake.
I'm sorry to say there's a line in your way.
The line is the bind between my love and your hate.
You're an unsympathetic ****,
Don't ******* treat me this way.
This simply can't work, trust me i know.
I've got the rage of a madman, so id run,
And run. I'd go.

Go away from me.
Stop feeling sorry for youself.
You want to try to control me, I'm on the highest shelf.
I pity you, honey, i really do.
Lying, manipulating *******, thats you.
You might want to start praying now,
Because im not about to bow.
This is really going to hurt,
So prepare for the worst.

Here's an announcement ladies and gents!
Cat's out of the bag so *******! Get bent.
I aim to please, and i ain't pleasing you.
My heart's on the mend, and oh yeah, *******!

You're just a basket case,
A yellow-bellied coward.
Why can't you say it to my face?
I'm getting older by the hour.
Time is ticking on, and im starting to get mad.
Erase the feelings of love and most everything we had.

You make you're way in like a venomous snake.
I'm sorry to say there's a line in your way.
The line is the bind between my love and your hate.
You're an unsympathetic ****,
Don't ******* treat me this way.
This simply can't work, trust me i know.
I've got the rage of a madman, so id run,
And run. I'd go.

My temper is high, you weak-kneed coward.
The pleasure's all mine you pathetic ****.
You're one of the ******, so you'll be
Locked in the cage.
This story is over, and yet not my rage.

We have a special kind of love,
And it's a dangerous one.
It's one that ends with you...
At the barrel of my gun.

a soul breathes in morning darkness
worshiping the milkglass existence
of God’s naked syncopation

grasping at artifice written slow,
framed impossible
in time forgotten

my dream world soon stillborn
under the unsympathetic eye of sun rise
casting cruel a transformation
of imagined fertile bodies into dust airborne,

their amputated molecules
vibrating strangely in its light
flecks of white death,
mist of last breaths dissipating
to bequeath flesh a new day

The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.

Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.

You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.  
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.

I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.

I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.

I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.

Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.

Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****.
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.

Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.

Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.

this being
dedicated to wicked woman hiding cold eyes
behind overlarge sunglasses;
sporting blackest velvet dress coat firmly buttoned smoking
long, cruel cigarette lit from glare off your cartier-replete wrist
as hordes of men in line to perhaps hold your parasol
while you read tedious course material are turned away
by singular lazy wave of the unsympathetic hand,
ashes falling & cherry red nail polish flaming across
the patio panorama like hellfire;
with hard, rangy body and cut-to-shoulders
blonde curtain to hide behind, safe upon your wicker throne;
wary of males & their hidden, bursting sexes.

It is a murky unsympathetic night; the air is dense but so brittle. The city’s lights are glaring while the buildings are pellucid. The clubs are radiating with pandemonium most can’t seem to ignore. It’s a Friday night, a chaotic age restricted night. Both predators and prey invade the avenue. Walking through is Jane Doe. Tall slim and slightly inebriated. Attached to her skin are stitched together materials snug, satisfying but fleeting. As she prowls, the materials bind and elevate revealing her dermis. Beyond the noise, she hears phrases towards her, rotating her abdomen as she becomes livid but intimidated. Jane accelerates but the stilettos restrict. As she walks faster so does the brute, until finally their paths collide. Jane meets his cold malicious iris. Before altering directions, his callous filled hands swiftly but suddenly snatched her confidence and depth. Her figure jolts as he infiltrates her physique. Others observed nonchalantly and attentively whispering “she has received the appropriate consequences” based on the apparel draped over her figure.

Laying here on ***** sheets,
the words of that crooked smile haunt me.
That moment
over and over,
like a black and white movie with a scratch on the film.
Over and over and over...



You're like a black widow, he said.
You bite the heads off every man you touch,
You're lucky you're hot and look good with your clothes off.
You don't even know how to feel, he said.

You're cold.

You're cold as your eyes are blue, he said.
But you know if you laugh loud enough,
and pretend you're drunk enough,
your prey will be dead before they figure you out.
I sure as hell wouldn't love you, he said.

You're ice.

Even your hands are cold, he said.
Doesn't it get old?
Don't you get tired of being so guarded,
Isn't it painful being you? he said.

You're stone.

Look at you now,
How blank your eyes, how ridged your lips,
How thick your skin,
I don't even want
to touch you, he said.

You're heartless...

Heartless..

he said...

heart.
less.

Heart - less.
Adjective.
unfeeling; unkind; unsympathetic; harsh; cruel.

Heartless.

That word pounds through my head,
wreaking havoc on who I am.
Forcing perspectives.
Since the moment he said it,
while I laid there,
naked,
more vulnerable than he ever gave me credit for.

Heartless.

Jokingly, I tell myself that he's insane.
Scientifically it's impossible to be heartless.
I'd be dead, I think.
He's an *******.

But I know that he was right.
Because he wasn't the type to spare feelings,
or mince words,
He never said things he didn't mean,
especially not to me..
And he never cared about my reasons,
or the things that made me this way.
He showed up at my door, and took my clothes off
Told me I wasn't the type boys bring home anyway.
Told me I was too damaged to belong to anyone.
He said and did mean things.
He was not a nice boy.
But in the end I told myself I deserved it.
All the things he did and said.

I perfected my game face.

After all,
I'm stone.
I can take it.

There goes my mind, snapping like an elastic lifeline
over a sea of daggers.

Waiting on words like waiting on fuses
to be no more, in hopes the explosion won't **** my so-called pride.

...Whatever is left of it.

This isn't the first time.
Knowing my luck, it won't be the last time my hope relied on the sympathies of a bomb.

And wouldn't you know that bombs are unsympathetic?

I'm wasting away here, as I have been for years.
Enduring bombardments with every day, more and more of myself blown away.

I just hope when my day comes, I'm not too damaged.

...If my day comes.

...Will it come?

My heart: already nearly gone.
My face: atrophied to deaden all emotion.

Am I worth anything anymore?

So much blasted away,
day after day,
I only recognize myself
by my scars,
the craters,
like torn earth.

My capricious mind
Where have you wandered today?
Who have you offended?
What retribution awaits?

I let you out to absorb the Sun’s rays
And you amble off to seek shade
Your stubbornness has no limits
As you fail to return at the appointed time

My unsympathetic mind
Why have you turned your back on your friends?
Do they not attend to your ego?
Like flies on carrion, their interest is symbiotic

This morning I had a premonition
It was perplexing and brought consternation
There was a rabbit that crossed my path
So many bad things happen to rabbits

***** you look like you drink black coffee, coffee, coffee
If you valued your face, your bones you would back up off me, off me, off me
***** you look like you drink black coffee
So cold and black on the inside
Trying to appear nice and warm on the outside

You are nothing but a stupid ***** bore
Come on ***** keep your ill-temper and hateful spew down
No one wants to fall victim to your turmoil and bitchiness when you’re around
When you come in, go straight to your office
Everything that is evil, chaotic, and wrong in this place, you’re the culprit
Give me all the blank angry stares and unsympathetic words you got because you’re such a ***** bore and you don’t like my edgy style
Come on, let’s keep bumping heads, and make this place worth my while
***** you look like you drink black coffee
I can’t stand to look at your face, when I do my anger begins
When I first met you, I knew you be a ***** like that
You ******* bore
You ******* ***** bore
I can feel round two coming on, you’re coming back for more
You’re as dull and evil as they come
Humor, fun, and excitement is obviously not where you come from
My fist, your head, the desk
Let’s put this ***** bore to rest
Let’s get excited
Come on
***** you look like you drink black coffee
We don’t want no *****, ***** bore ruining are workspace anymore
Let’s not stop revolting until the tyranny is over
We are taking over
You stupid ******* ***** bore

And she walks around like we’re so inferior to her, oblivious to the fakeness and tyranny she puts us through
And tells us we should be grateful for all that she do
But you’re not going to back me up against a wall with nothing in my hands
***** you better back it up, back it up, back it up right now
Your time is coming, the end is near
How disappointing, how disappointing
So much time wasted in despair
Now whose back is against the wall
You’re still cold, so cold
***** you look like you drink black coffee
You stupid ******* ***** bore
******* ***** bore

Groggy,
awoken by a harsh tone
unsympathetic to the delicate state
in which my mind remains
half clutching, memorizing the calm

A fragile existence
built to long upon lust and desires
buried so far below natural thought
unnaturally woven into undetermined
projections

The eyes and smile and picture of you
so familliar then
The electricity pulsating through
touch
the lyrics sung on the tip of my tongue
caressed carefully by consciousness
hidden by greed of selfishness
that you are mine
I am yours

But artificial yellows dank and austere
swell before me
which pale in comparison to
golden hues of fog employed
to haunt and taunt the waking memory  
fragmenting a joyful slumber
into only a few definable visions where you remain

As I was calling things you that weren't that hurtful such as ******* and ****,  I had realized I had used those far too often and had resorted to a plain "*******". I needed a new angle on the aspect of insults within boundaries. While my need to make you feel inferior raged on I look in the thesaurus to find alternatives to the words I have already used. Of course they didn't have ******* or **** with a list of synonyms. So I decided to look at plain "mean", as I was looking at the synynoms nothing really described what I wanted to put in your brain that you already knew. I glanced over at the antynoms and they were "compassionate, kind, nice, noble, sympathetic"

     An antynom to mean was sympathic
An antynom to mean is sympathetic
Sym pathetic
Sym.       Pathetic.
You are pathetic with your words to show compassion, kindness, niceness, and nobleness to me. ME. You are not a ******* or a *******, a deadbeat or a waste of space, immature or childish, selfish or conceded. You in fact lack the ability to be sympathetic towards me, not totally apathetic. But just unsympathetic to **** me the *******. And you do it so well.

You cringeworthy, evil pismire;
Your father did surely miss-sire
This personification of flatulence,
The embodiment of self importance
Overflowing with abject peccancy
Devoid of any sign of respectability
Replete with gross odoriferousness
Horribly and infamously unscrupulous.

You have reveled in misrepresentation
And tried to elevate your calumniation
Disinformation and deception exists
As capitalistic dissembling persists.
You’ve collected an evil government
Built mostly of human excrement
And have such a lack of veracity
That you speak in constant mendacity.

Sycophantic eructations of dogmatic bile
Issue from your unsympathetic smile
And your inauthentic glad-handed gropes
As if we all of us are unbright gullible dopes
That buy your fabrications completely
While you pilfer and prevaricate indiscreetly.
You are a Vaudevillian villain miscast as star,
But most of us know exactly what you are.

Deceit, deception, dishonesty; a tragedy
But not for you, for us and our country.
Distortion, evasion and fabrication the rules;
You despair of any other kinds of tools.
Falsehoods, fictions and forgery are your tricks.
You demand we build with straw-less bricks
Your erections that are planned to be palaces
Filled with your giant golden carved phalluses.

Those monuments, inanotomically correct,
Established to celebrate and somehow protect
A mountebank on the way to an overseas bank
Claiming to eradicate the scoria he creates
That decades of privation will not quite alleviate.
But you, the Great Prevaricator, will always blame
Other players in your sick, unconstitutional game
Instead of admitting your complicity and guilt
About the disgusting, putrid swamp you built.

I trod the liminal
But the walk is never long enough
Between is where time and space collide
I the liminal walker
The world resolute
in stagnant unsympathetic response
But for my walking feet
Resolution flits and flees
And leaves empty spaces
Gaping holes in my narrative
I walk over and through them
the metaphors becoming tangible
I trod the liminal
and run the same word
over around my tongue
liminal
liminal
lim
i
mal
lim     I      nal
where am I in it all?

I've listened to their speeches.
Read their termite riddled planks.
They're unlikely to dethrone Barrack-
A pity, Mitt is no Tom Hanks.
They are out of touch with women,
unsympathetic to the poor.
They're still fighting social issues
that were decided years before.
For a party of small government,
They sure have a lot to say
about *** in America
among the ***** and the gay.

The Democrats, by contrast,
Hit all the right social notes;
Indeed, they will say anything
if it will buy them votes.
Then, when we hit the fiscal cliff,
The Obamas living large,
I'm sure he'll find some Bush to blame
as long as he's in charge.

Election Day is coming soon,
Both parties seek my love.
Alas, my favorite candidate
is None of the Above.

For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ,
    in them that are saved, and in them that perish:
    To the one we are the savour of death unto death;
    and to the other the savour of life unto life.

                                            [II Corinthians 2:15, 16]

I take an ember from the pyre
and consecrate this smoldering fire:
a glowing coal on which to burn
an aromatic thought, and earn
a crown, perhaps… or a stampede:
mad hooves to make a poet bleed.

An ode to the dull-wit herd’s defensors:
self-appointed poetic censors.
Where would we be without the squeal,
their rolling eyes, their bovine zeal?
Quick to enforce what’s orthodox –
(upon their coward souls a pox)
swift to castigate dissent
their peeved opinions swift to vent –
lest people think that poetry
should harbor strength or liberty…
They offer up their condemnation
spiced with righteous indignation:
“Racist, sexist, bigoted too!”
(which means they disagree with you)
Their catch-all battle-cry for trouble:
“INTOLERANT !”  (They are intolerable.)
“It’s narrow-minded, mean-spirited, hateful.”
Such input ought to make us grateful.
Theirs the reactionary faction:
poetic thought-police in action.
To stand opposed, reviled by such
may indicate perhaps, a touch
of true and living inspiration
causing unsympathetic vibration.

If wit in rhyme has touched a nerve
for bold opinion, dissident verve,
then let their frowns be crowns of laurel
rather than further cause for quarrel.
Accusation by the herd
is compliment enough. Preferred
to empty praise for vapid lines
from toilers in depleted mines.

Cows are fattened for the feast.
They have a space to moo at least –
then comes the reckoning at the end.
But a Poet’s curse is to defend
inviolate, his chanted word
against the corn-fed lowing herd.

When they, in turn,  inflict their verse
no vengeance dare we take, nor curse.
But calmly, let us pour upon them
words that build into an anthem
strengthened by scorn, a song of change
to goad their dullness, and derange
their poetaster fantasy
exposed as moral bankruptcy
symptomatic of a dying nation
set against lyrical liberation.

I pray my words may rise to heaven
free of rancor, void of leaven
a fragrant smoke of life to life
ascending God-ward through the strife.
(But let them rot, a charnel breath
to dying souls as death to death.)

All we share in common is nothing
but at the moment nothing is enough
all we share are the insults you've thrown at me
which I feel are better than having bombs drop at me
all we can agree on are thousand disagreements
something much better than the war entanglements
the innocence of my blood that was almost shed
for my cradle wanted but to see me dead
all we hold in our hands is the street from where I beg
but isn't that prettier than a torn head or broken leg?
all we breathe in from the gutters is your oxygen
it's enough even if I am not forgiven
all we share is that crumb you dump in the pit
and your jeers, unsympathetic for my tears besides spit
all we share is the world you've grown up from
because chocking melancholy has
taken over my precious land
all our palms touch are the petals of red roses which
I pick up after your beautiful dinner
after it's trampled over by the carefully shaven heel of your lover
for it's after being trampled that its scent is sweeter
and which fragrance does spring in me hope
all we share in common is spring grass that's greener
for so it was in that field I last watched my best friend play
it was where his blood oozed as I did pray
  grass that burnt black as I called on
my little brother's heart not to stop
all we share in perfect common is prayer
you praying for my kind to leave
I for those left behind whilst they hopelessly grieve
wondering if I made it to the other side of the ocean
doubting whether Allah, Jesus
or whoever's creator's really watching
and if He's watching whether he's enjoying the tragic play
of reality,
all we share in common is the big beautiful sky
for while you look to it and wear that pretty smile
I smile too,only I recall the darkness left behind
the neighbour who took my bullet
the soldiers who arrived when it's too late
the lover who stepped on my land mine
one who promised they'd forever be mine
(how forever could be so short!)
the malnourished children and desperate parents
what's a happy blue sky to you only reminds me of their pine
so while you smile, I smile and at the same time I cry
I understand, all we share in common is nothing
but I'm glad I've learnt that sometimes in life
nothing could mean everything

The bottom line: You've sold.
Not because you’re not
with me, more because
you’ve settled, low.

No more soliloquies on jerks;
either accept that type,
or leave them alone.
For the record, these are just my thoughts,
letting my dome roam, like Tony Romo
on a fly pattern to T.O.

I would say this -
If you want to talk about Man,
and his naturally DOGmatic nature;
collectively, women might take
some of that responsibility.
Because there are scores
of nice guys out there,
playing the scene.

There are just as many
men who can’t see past
The tip of their own sh*t,
And plenty of girls
Who enable it.

So nice guys take the rap, all the time,
for another brother’s crimes!
I’ve been there before,
trying to play heartbreaker
when I was only playing myself,
so I guess that I can’t play
the part of Pious Theophilus.
I’ve come to find out, even
Augustine of Hippo had dirt
(I guess we all do).

Just feel me on this one:
It’s a learning process, and
if he doesn't treat you right;
give you everything
that you're worthy of,
then you’re the fool
for sticking around.

That being said, I’m not hitting you
with a completely unsympathetic frown.
Ultimately, the point will stand,
that where his soul lies down
is the beauty of a man;
and all that stuff on the exterior -
Well, let’s just say things
aren’t always as they appear.

It’s a cycle, Juliet - and Romeo has been frustrated.
Right now, I'm speaking with grown-up sincerity;
and I know, sometimes the little boy manages
to creep his way back into the picture, but
believe me when I say that I am trying,
it’s a complex mixture.

So when I whisper sweet something’s up
to your moonlit balcony from below;
tell you that when I’m with you,
I can feel myself grow;
or shower you with the
praises that you deserve,
and try to make you glow -
All I ask is that you hear me,
and believe me.

And believe me, I see -
Other cats are going to keep
jacking authentic styles and flows,
keep a strut in their walk,
and talk low over the phone.
Remember though; he can only
quote Shakespeare so long -
before you and he realize,
he’s just singing
another man’s song.

More importantly,
I want you to be happy.
Because I adore
the way you smile,
how you push
the long strands
of hair behind your ears
when you laugh.

And I know that
a lot of the time,
if you get drunk,
or decide to get high
(for the first time),
that you come to me,
reach out to me.

The sad part
of this story -
I won’t be.

I’m not your knight
in shining armor,
or your Cinderella plan.

You have to love yourself
before you can share
with someone else.

I am a broken teenage girl, unaware of my corrupt insanity
anxiety fills my conscience along with insidious darkness

I wonder why the world is so cold and painful, as frostbite is to my lips
a taste so bitter all forms of hope are demolished

I hear the voices of past souls, trying to advise me to turn around
but I persist to shield my ears, leading me to restless nights

I see shadows of my tormented past, guiding me to obscure loneliness
haunting me with past doubts and sorrow

I want to live my life without the regrets, regrets still chewing away at my being
unsympathetic to my cries of solitude

I am a broken teenage girl, unaware of the demons trying to attack me
oppressed by antiquated misery that dwells in the darkness of my mind

I pretend I don’t hear them shrieking my name
like a banshee in the celtic sea

I feel them gnawing at the depth of my perspectives
unable to see beyond the path of obstruction

I touch the feelings of joy and happiness, but am never able to grasp it
the guiding light seems to dim to darkness as my vision blurs to black

I worry that these demons will not flee
They vow bottomless wealth with a side of endless burning

I worry that they will eventually rule my mind body and soul
My senescent spirit is tempted by the sinister evils of the malicious ghouls hungry for empathy

I am a broken teenage girl, unaware of my corrupt insanity

Amorous affection, the notion, a discrepancy,
An effect of neglect inside of an oleaginous conscience,
A retaining of words inside a container, an unsympathetic, amorphous society.
Something is swimming inside it.

A summation of identifying identity,
Cloaked in flourescent,
The silences outnumber the voices.
Lips are gripped in vices of indifference.


The thoughts are thought,
As sometimes thought...

The words are aiming.
The words are clasping,
Stifling as we are gasping,
Drowning in the oleaginous conscience.

That night, my eyes paraded along beige pages
Dripping with satire, self-loathing and daddy issues
And I felt the cynic in me dance like a madman
Who had just snapped the neck of a baby bird
Cruel and unsympathetic, but dancing all the same

And then my eyes met a string of printed black shapes
Which halted me, though lukewarm in comparison
To its sibling pushes of ink, jeering and suicidal

The shapes read,
“People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.”

It was something I'd touched several times before
But denied myself to hold on to
I would catch it like a leaf in the wind
Then my eyes would cross its black spots
And I would let it go, brushing my hands of it

But that night, in my madman craze and my sneering laughter,
I felt the familiar bother of a leaf orbiting my skull
And my eyeball parade froze and my madman feet could dance no more
So I lay there until I felt the sun blush and heard the birds begin to sing
For it was not one of their own laying still, plagued by demise

pst... they read too much fiction and philosophy, they keep forgetting poetry is akin to music... you know, mozart mozart mozart... they think they’ll definitely orate a revival of the roman empire with poetry... but it’s μ... it’s moo... it’s moo... it’s ha ha ha ha. let’s face it, attacking poetry is attacking music, hence ascetic islam, i don't know why philosophy forgot musicology when stating grievances with poetry: oh i know, karaoke.*

but when you wonder what nietzsche expected concerning god’s panic on the 1 / seventh day, i might as well speak the lines:

and god’s indolence master crafted satan.

so you see, the timing is relevant, no spontaneous combustion with snow white eve and the envious ‘mirror mirror on the wall,’ just the fact that a force of insurmountable creativity slouching like a couch potato could only craft satan.

evolutionary biologists don’t panic! don’t panic! the evolutionary theologians are on their way! they said: too much drunk history going from a. present times to b. the epic of gilgamesh to c. monkey - it’s just that the artists depicting kings and queens made them look ugly, such unsympathetic depictions of such beauty... where’s the irony, eh? i do mean it, one university lecture started the whole of of history by citing the epic of gilgamesh as the begetting of the tempted eve - not that there’s much correlation between the two - but imagine if she wasn’t tempted and man could not differentiate himself from all other animals? of course the byproduct would have been a surreal take on vanity.

satan is the activity of what is otherwise repeat, repeat, repeat of the stars and crow pecks and perks, he’s the randomised activity overseer, the whole karma of the thinking stone, but obviously stones don’t think, so there’s man in all of this: sooner a mountain will meet a mountain than man with man - some desirable ******* like that.

it’s the bored in reflection - but how can i say that in my “group therapy” sessions in the park - perched high up are the dog walkers, who barely known the word wolf... leashes and leeches all the same, cats roam free and i’m free from them, but a dog is like a fascinating emblem of the person walking it - the leash - i necessarily exist because i’m attached to this dribbling driftwood that begins talking with woof, woof! i let the cat go, and i drift into the same serialisation of fearlessness before death, having encountered it several times i’m almost certain there’s an angel behind it, punishing me, eagerly anticipating me to have a career, a wife, a child, a puppy, a car, a mortgage. no can do, me and pavement are opera if things come to the clinical stages of peering in the lives of others on a sunday. me? eyed myself wonky testifying the success of an old couple with one of them dead the other soon follows in siamese fashion. so i drink the beer get a suntan in the shade, and write what the auburn colouring could provide in letters.

now we’re talking inspiration, brief, sudden, lightning strike... we’re not talking stephen king and lumberjack.