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Nat Lipstadt Nov 12
an all purpose cleaner response to the


as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed

but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing

is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
wiped away
in utter disbelief
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.

like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.

c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless

no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,


as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.

no, I ask myself,

why do I write poetry,

for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud

another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,

because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.

To whom shall I point my poetry?
writing love poetry in/on time of hatred


not for the absence of love, for there is sufficient out and about,
in the eyes of children who cannot hide their glee at your surprises,
tousled morning hair patted down almost into not-a-horror-show,
a shapely body in a black one piece suit, that speaks of hints and
mischievous frolic, a summer night~right of taking, reciprocation,
god’s coffee delivered bedside every morn, with kisses of tenderness


these are the days when hatred speaks loudest,
volume of volumes,
and the hypocrisy runs blood red in the streets and we we wonder
has the world learned nothing from the horrific history of the prior
century, the absence of easy solutions for those who reject in the
provident supply of the low humane treatment of a world where the
is a mirthless grimacing joke

maybe that’s why I I turn on the love songs and music, a soupçon
of cherishing, a wail for its absence and loss,
the thrill unique it provided,
and may yet again, and to just remember, remember, remember!

why we obsess about crazy love in the artistry of our lives

so, I will force myself…to write of tenderness, let sneaky,
much needed,
sentimental in…

oops, looks like I already did…
this poem failed; did not convey my high confusion and emotional state;
drowning in hare received and returned
Fri Nov 10 2023
A M Ryder Aug 28
Nothing to prove
Or disprove
About yourself
Or to yourself

None of us
Have to
"Go to" anyone
And the idea
That we do is
A mental illness

We can't keep
Going to
Each other
Until we learn
To go to

Stop making
Our hatred of
Someone else's
Carlo C Gomez Aug 12
Saturn Jupiter Mars,
three blind mice running
up the clock to find freedom.

starlight stairs in abyss,
cities of the interior ring
carry a dangerous cargo: citizens.

t-minus one/this is fear

I am no astronaut,
I'm a refugee, bleeding hands pressed
tight to the barbed-wired fence.

we play charades from the window,
lunar phases keening
in the tender light of these infant wars.

t-minus one/this is fear

farewell threshold on laudanum,
the grifted gift of the Joe Blakes
painted from memory.

the far off observation
telescoping my fear, leading me
to believe I'm hiding in plain view.
I just want to see him one last time
Not to scream or chastise
But to meet up with a friend
Late at night, after a long shift
Just to talk about life

Just like last time:
Six feet distance for my safety
Ranting about the storm,
Growing over the horizon
Washington mist hanging heavy

I don't want to talk about it
I'd rather forget your hands
And ignore my beating heart,
That sick turning in my stomach
Ignore those things you said

I could take your Wellbutrin
We'll listen to dad rock and indie
I'll comment on that painting I love
Talk about the job I hate
And say goodbye like good friends do

We could talk about your dad
And living away in Germany
About my ****** boyfriend
And all the regrets we share
Just one last time

But we will never meet again.
You will never respond to me.
You'll forever just be a name,
echoing the pain you've caused,
ever so indefinitely.
I hate missing the people I hate.
Trefild Aug 2022
a couple of words to convey ta
scurvy dictators
being, with their regimes, dirt on the face of
civilization; a sort of a hate speech
sorry, sans names since
you, hinderlings, tend to get sore 'kin/sim. to nates
of someone earned a good lacing (butthurt)
fO̲r misbehaving (just like y'all)
hopefully, y'all will end up burning in flames of
eternal damnation
for every singular person paraded
civilly through streets in support of good changes
and been delivered brute force in repayment
prisoners tortured, false statements
a sort of a lake of
disinformation, wars, liquidations
of those subverting a heinous
course undertaken
of course, fabrications
fO̲r legal cases (and elections, of course)
and nowadays, you've got Y̲O̲U̲r pesky agents
working on breaking
the web like Bourne which is Jason (Webb, David)
here come my warm salutations
to that stupid web regulator
that serves the dang Craymlin (got it?)
like your walking 𝓉ℴ𝒶𝓁ℯ𝓉ℯ brush, take a
[another sobriquet fitting the rhyme scheme: "toilet predator"]
hike; Y̲O̲U̲r limitations
hitting media being insubmissive ta
the sick regime which ya
sustain by dint of digital
censorship, to individuals
with views being similar
to mine, are like pork to unwave[–]ring
[the word's supposed to be read/pronounced as "unweyvring"]
Muslims; in other words, we evade 'em
(what are you gonna do about it?)
(back to dictators)
you're, like a vessel transporting blood, vain &
like someone implementing a mercy ask, craven
[vein; craving]
you're worthless like an ****** absorbed medication
to you procured a gunshot gorge perforation
as you may've gathered, as if you were **** plantation
employees, you, opportunists, sure irritate me
minus tooled up guys in uniforms & you're Swayze
some of those going politicians or power-wielders
are already bY̲ then vile people?
not the type to think so
that's humankind's horrible nature
highly evolved, still beasts, though
so Earth's, in a way, a
huge lair; got a shade sidetracked
like a train, my bad
I'ma explain, like that
Malaysian Boeing Ukraine skies'd had (ex-plane)
[had had]
before it got razed 'kin/sim.
to folks storming a place which
a c#cks#cking usurper is based in
the earlier stated
"BIFOED"; once you are no more animated
like a cartoon paused, the verdict is plain 'kin/sim.
to a suit that is mourning-related
a torrid vacation, metaphorically saying
yet no point in packing Y̲O̲U̲r freaking raiment
since Y̲O̲U̲r destination's
nothing short of pure Hades (if there is)
though (unlike some of you) I'm irreligious, but
it doesn't mean I'm cold to medieval stuff
like a hedonistic brush
with a chick replete with lust
in this realm, there can be a really hot
time for you; akin to witches stuck
to those stakes, you can wi[ɪ]nd up lit as f#ck
akin to **** you are
in the garden of the post-en–
–lightenment time going
which, in fact, is the reason the
Earth territory's in need of getting rid of ya
"a couple of words for dictators" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit
I feel my teeth rattle loose in my skull.
Fingernails whittled down to rounded stems.
But evermore is the vile spew of rage from within me.
Although my incisors give way for your beating flesh
I still wrap my jaw around your gullet.
The feeling of your pulse on my tongue is elating.
Feel the way it rises and falls with every clench.
Like a beaten dog I gnash these blackened teeth.
Forever perpetuating the harm that has been done to me.
Working to muzzle myself.
Van Xuan Jul 16
When a man learns to love,
He must bear the risk of hatred.
But is anyone willing to risk being hated just to save him?

I guess not
Not when the person you're saving
Doesn't want to be saved.


There are some foolish enough
To save that person.
I am one of those fools.
Better be fool than watching someone suffer.
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