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Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
She reads the flaxen paper on her wall,
sees its patterns,
touches them.

They project her confusion in cold chamber light.

Stained hands,
convoluted heartbeat,
she creeps into the wall's design.

"Hysteria every time she opens her mouth," said the doctor.
"Rest will cure her."

She is nostrum,
and not permitted
to participate in her own diagnosis.

A man decides how she is allowed to perceive
and speak about the world around her.

Next time you're alone, look quickly at the wallpaper.

Look for the patterns and lines and faces on the wall.

Look, if you can, for her, visible only
out of the corner of your eye...

Casey May 2021
"If you're a guy, why do you carry around a purse?"

I stare at her, hard.
My gender therapist, questioning me?

To carry my ****. Why else?
Don't impose these stereotypes on me.

my jeans don't have pockets.
okay,,,, first of all--*****
birdy Apr 2021
Knives impaling frail muscles.
Their weight becomes,
Much to cumbersome.
Brumous Apr 2021
talents are like seeds;
they grow
with proper love
and care

it takes a while to find one
but nurturing them seems

seeing others having them is amazing
"it looks beautiful,"

actually, I have one;
right here laying on
my small, soft hands

as years went by,
it flourished; showing a
delicate flower

I am simply overjoyed
maybe I got happy too much

since that naïve I
went to them
and showed them mine

without knowing
that perfection
was the base judgment;
and I was never passing that line

"what's the point of giving all MY time?"
'So, I sat by this plant;   watered it with envy;
as it bloomed dissatisfaction
built I with standards
as a meaningless façade,'
Kostas Trikalis Mar 2021
to the one who builds a small house
and says: well I am here.
Resist the one who came home again
and says: Glory be to God.
on the Persian carpet of apartment buildings
to the short man in the office
in the company import - export
in public education
in the tax
to me still telling you.

to the one who greets from the podium for hours
endless parades
to this barren lady who shares
forms of saints Lebanon and myrrh
to me still telling you.

Resist all those who are called great again
to the President of the Court of Appeal resist
in music the drums and percussion
at all the talking conferences
counselors drink coffee
to all who write speeches about the time
next to the winter heater
in flattery the wishes in so many bows
from scribes and cowards for their wise leader.

Resist the services of foreigners
and passports
in the terrible flags of the states and diplomacy
in ammunition factories
to those who say nice words lyricism
in thurias
in sweet songs with lamentations
to the spectators
in the wind
to all the indifferent and the wise
to others who make your friend
as well as to me, to me still telling you
Then we can confidently move on to
Resistance to the stereotypes of poetry
Creepypumpkins Mar 2021
According to the TV I am the soldier who strangled his wife
I’m having a nightmare I do the deed
According to the TV I am ******

According to the TV I am the serial killer who murders women
Just because I had a bad childhood
According to the TV I am ******

According to the TV I am the school shooter because I was bullied
The point where it traumatize me
Cording to the TV I am ******

According to the TV
The TV is ****
For not everyone is like that
Kristin Jan 2021
Sedition is not just patina-ed oil paintings
mobs not just lithographs
treason not mere fading daguerreotypes

Sedition is chat rooms and airwaves of mistruth and its taintin-gs
mobs are our friends and neighbors turned bands of riff-raffs
treason, the weaponization of dog whistles and stereotypes

Sedition is here now
mobs are the so-called militia of the present
treason is happening now

It will be one for history books now
be present and accounted for
be the United States of America, treading down snakes
Kristin Dec 2020
She's a would-be
Disney villainess
a temptress

She's a would-be
a mogul-ess

She's a fear
and she's a longing
distant and yet, oh-so-near

She's a myth
and she's a nightmare
so subtle, yet full of pith

And so unreal
yet in reality, so sad
all because, she's ******* mad

Mad like the full moon
mad enough to tear her hair
don't you stare

Trope upon trope
we lay upon the forbidden woman
the discarded woman without hope

If only we had the eye of compassion
instead of berating her for her passion
we'd heal our lost mothers and daughters at last
-elixir- Oct 2020
Destined to rot away
in  woeful echoes that stay,
the promises left behind
burn my guts ,unkind
like your words for me
as I fade away the tree
of the dreams that I build
to be just be slid
into the pigeonhole
that they earnestly patrol.
stereotypes can ruin people
Au Oct 2020
I do not know how
they have aged so well
having to carry such
obnoxious facades

outlining the garments
of their sleeves
every night, wondering
if it's too small or too large

to the thought of misfits,
with the color they have
grown weary of

dark times
that made them feeble;
enough to make them grow
lips that sparks war

telos or end;
to finally defend that
black cats are not bad omens
and so are black people
If Beale Street Could Talk
Novel (1974)
by James Baldwin
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