"accountable" poems
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
the dutch colony ascended on our shores
replacing traditional african education on culture
with teaching slaves how to pray
we saw the deterioration of black schools
and state-mandated segregated curricula
whites being taught better than blacks
who was only destined for subservient jobs
policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education
and later forced us to learn languages
which was not our native tongue
the youth could no longer be silenced
soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause
we have protested throughout the decades
silenced by the apartheid government
simply ignored
with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy
and a single education system, we were finally equal
however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar
which has still not healed
our parents not able to give us the education they were denied
now students are holding the government accountable
who promised free education for a vote
the movement trending as #feesmustfall
anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting
i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting?
why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
July 4th is a Holiday filled with celebration,
Complete with BBQs and Fireworks
And exclamations of "Happy Independence day"
But people seem to fail to add the asterisk at the end
The hidden meaning, the fine print, the text between the lines if you will.
Because July 4th is not everyones's independence day.
July 4th only signifies the independence of a particular group of people
A group of people who fought for their freedom, but didn't allow it in their own back yards.
When these people were out celebrating their independence, my ancestors, my family, where in fields, working, in houses trying to stay alive
My women trying to stay away from their masters ****** them-
Whoops, sorry, I meant "Celebrating."
So what reason do I have to call July 4th my independence day?
If anything, my independence day is December 16th, the ratification of the 13th amendment
Or Juneteenth
Or January 1st, the day that the emancipation proclamation was ratified.
So while everyone else is celebrating the New Year, I think about what else that day has brought
Brought about the freedom of a people, my people.
Made them citizens, made them real, made them free.
Well, kinda free.
We've come so far.
And of course, I am not trying to blame white people today for what happened in the past, they should not be held accountable for the actions of the people from whom they've descended
But instead I want my black brothers and sisters to think, to remember, where we are coming from.
So yes, I hope everyone has a happy independence day*
Just keep in mind that it's not mine.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
I tied together
a few slender reeds, cut
notches to breathe across and made
such music you stood
shock still and then
followed as I wandered growing
moment by moment
slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet
slamming over the rocks, growing
hard as horn, and there
you were behind me, drowning
in the music, letting
the silver clasps out of your hair,
hurrying, taking off
your clothes.
I can't remember
where this happened but I think
it was late summer when everything
is full of fire and rounding to fruition
and whatever doesn't,
or resists,
must lie like a field of dark water under
the pulling moon,
tossing and tossing.
In the brutal elegance of cities
I have walked down
the halls of hotels
and heard this music behind
shut doors.
Do you think the heart
is accountable? Do you think the body
any more than a branch
of the honey locust tree,
hunting water,
hunching toward the sun,
shivering, when it feels
that good, into
white blossoms?
Or do you think there is a kind
of music, a certain strand
that lights up the otherwise
blunt wilderness of the body -
a furious
and unaccountable selectivity?
Ah well, anyway, whether or not
it was late summer, or even
in our part of the world, it is all
only a dream, I did not
turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running
like that.
Did you?
6.6k
Feel the strengths of vein that hold the whole of your neck!
A life of loose you live on believe
A hope, a Faith even when you barely know a god.
****** juz be like:#OluwaIsInvolved
Your father owns an Estate, even a country built in Gold
The #Street remains a #Paradise
You'll wanna go, even if you have to be named #Devil
You drop your #Pride like it never mattered
To gather a better world
Where you'd be worshiped as #Boss
You chase a #Bigger dream that the oldest in your family won't dare.
Rub-in all pains that attaining #LandNeverPromised would wanna bear
You #Focus , patiently hoping for what is never #Certained
You #Beg your 'Luck' more than the rate you beg your #God
To meet the #One that would bring you the #PayDay of no accountable #Duty
#Legitimacy becomes the most irritating Slogan you'll Cause your brethren that ever utters.
Authority, a #Foe that would stop you from dressing #TooLoud,
Anything you ever #Wished links way back to #Money
#MoneyMustBeMade the only #Pledge that keeps echoing in your brain
A #Brain that works only to unlawfully take from the token of a #Brother
With the #Vengeance-filled mind of eradicating Poverty that denied you of a better #Background,
When you have a #PayDay, you still long for a million more
In a better fold that could last you many more #Lifetime
Then, you pick back the #Pride you allayed for a while so #Long
Now reflect that part of you.
That part, you rebuked a #RichYoungDude earlier on for
Or the #Angelic one you would ever love a #Philanthropist for
Remain on the #LowestKey for 'a now's ' while
To be at the #HighestKey, even under the deepest ground
And keep your #Brain more opened than #YourEyes
While you make the only thing that keep you going as #GodBlessTheHustle
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
I had a gf that used to get called a feminazi,
but no one ever called me a feminanarchist;
I think what we really were is Feminihilists.
FFP opposed ***********
defined as the sexualized degradation,
********** humiliation, objectification,
subjugation, violation, psychological
annihilation, exploitation, & violence
against women as distinguished from
erotica based on the mutuality
of power and pleasure.
According to FFP's pioneering founder Page Mellish,
*********** provides the training for ******
assault & **** results in the objectification
of women; affects women's ability to get equal rights
& equal pay, & encourages men to associate
*** with violence; Page ultimately claimed
that _all_ feminist issues | [ , ], [ ]
are rooted in ***********
& in a 1986 letter to the editor of The Wall Street Journal,
she asserted that FFP is "not against love & not against ***
Page held that all men or women
who did not fight against ***********
were accountable for the violence
against women, claiming that women
who enjoy *********** or rough ***
had internalized the male [gaze] & |
male definitions of power
Page's positions on ***********
have been debated outside FFP,
including with respect to porn's agency
on crime & feminist & gay definitions of ****
Legislation alone was not a solution,
according to Page; it was also necessary to remove _"the need for ****
vehemently anti-censorship & pro-sex,
Page taught me to show everything from
all sides; my other feminista professors
were pro-monogamy [patriarchy] while
Page was a combat boot wearing girly-girl;
she had these cute little doe-eyed Q's following
her around carrying the placards [ ] for her
spontaneous demonstrations against underwear
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark?
This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life.
When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning.
An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
she was 5'2,
black hair,
long nails,
prettiest personality,
hair flowing through the wind whispfully,
all round person as you can see,
but me,
i wasn't very talkable,
and even my darkest hour,
i wouldn't hold her accountable,
i swear feels like eachday would last til an eternity,
so grateful when i saw her,
and she noticed me,
wasn't in the best of moods,
she saw tthem in my body language,
picking out different girls to make me happy later,
i was astonished,
every night in her room talking about different things,
like the wedding dresses and the wedding rings,
not knowing i would do anything to make her say,
i love you and i do,
hoping the feelings change,
just know that i love you too,
going to the mall picking things out to make her smile,
since her last boyfriend haven't seen that in awhile,
thinking about the features,
if we had a child...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
Today I accidentally saw a preview of; The News;
a disabled sixteen-year-old girl, a victim of abuse
god
The accused is a priest. A round man in a long black cassock
And a snip view from mass of another priest plays shortly
My face turns green as my mood turns blue
He says he has a holy feeling, that the accusations aren’t true.
A cult; /kʌlt/ noun
‘a system of religious veneration and devotion directed towards a particular figure or object.’
We show our devotion, we kneel and give thanks
He applies lotion, looks at a child and wanks.
god
Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, and to the respect of those beliefs.
My belief is that no human is superior to another human.
A priest is only a man.
And this man in the long black cassock had a plan.
And this child will remain terrorized forever.
People should be held accountable for their actions.
Women’s lives are not to be of similar value to male satisfactions.
An article on ‘The year of ‘Times Up’ and ‘Me Too’ movements has been a dangerous year for men.’
Every year from the beginning of time has been a dangerous year for a woman.
Innocent men are not in danger.
I was sexualized and assaulted at the age of eleven. #MeToo
I wasn’t wearing a short skirt. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t provocative.
I was playing chase.
For years after that game of chase
I had nightmares featuring his face
This is not your place to say this year is dangerous, for men.
Times Up
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
#The Battleground Beneath Her Skin
(A Physiology of Light and War)
Before it reaches her;
even before her breath draws it in,
I break myself down..
not as surrender,
but as choice.
Each particle stripped bare,
each atom exhaled
made clean by the reckoning
of my own dark,
infused with the stubborn
weight of light
earned, not borrowed.
Within the responsibility of what
leaves me,
I enter the quiet union—
the kneeling choice
to align with the hand of God,
to let even my smallest fragments
carry His capacity to heal.
Every airborne particle,
accountable,
deliberate,
refined enough
to cross the distance,
to enter her
without deception.
Beneath her skin,
a war unfolds.
It is not loud,
not made of swords,
but of smaller things..
things unseen by eyes,
but never missed by the marrow,
the blood,
the quiet trembling of cells
that have known both wound
and wonder.
Light and dark..
not in theory,
but in matter
thread themselves through every atom,
every strand of her being.
Not metaphor,
but measurable:
*the way shadows lean into the soft chambers of her lungs,
the way light, when chosen,
can rewrite the blueprints etched into the bloodstream.*
This is the battleground..
her body,
her breath,
her most involuntary places.
Where no poetry of
seductive manipulation..
no whispered counterfeit
can cover what is real.
Only substance speaks here.
Only intent.
Only what survives the fire of accountability
earns the right to stay.
The particles come;
stripped down,
atomized,
refined.. not by accident,
but by the slow, steady grind
of volition.
They enter her;
through breath,
through pores..
*through the quiet, relentless openness
that even fear cannot close completely.*
And inside--
the war begins.
.. .. .. ..
Mitochondria spark—
tiny engines deciding
what stays,
what burns away.
Capillaries widen,
rivers branching through her like
tributaries
willing to carry
what is real,
what is earned,
what is Light.
The counterfeit falters here.
Pretty words mean nothing
to oxygen.
False portraits
dissolve beneath the chemistry of truth.
The cells remember;
they choose.
And as the Light infuses
the quietest corners of her..
her thighs, her hips,
the soft stretch of her waist;
there is no seduction,
no trickery.
Only the hard-won intimacy
of substance made pure.
Not by the blending of oils,
not by the friction of skin,
but by the deeper,
unseen alchemy
of what enters,
what lingers,
what refuses to bow
to darkness.
The battleground is hers now.
And though the shadows will not
yield easily,
they cannot claim her;
not where light
has been chosen,
earned,
metabolized.
The war is not over,
but benea.th her skin,
within her blood,
*Light has begun
to rise.*
#
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 11:54 AM UTC
I have it in spades
But it comes in waves,
In the climb, I know I'm worth it,
On the precipice, it feels so clear,
In the curl, I'm tested,
It's in the break that I get lost,
And just as it pulls me in,
I ride upon the backs of the strong women who surround me,
Holding me accountable,
Exposing the humanity that grounds me,
Resolve is a funny thing,
I have it in spades,
But it comes in waves.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I fell in love with you because you were cautious with me. You were cautious with my heart. You were nervous and aware of every little thing you did or said; you were careful with me. I fell in love with you because you were my friend. You made me laugh. I started to feel safe and comfortable being around you because of how easily we got along, how simple it was being with you, and how happy I was in your presence. I fell in love with you because you listened to me. You looked at me and never averted your gaze. You soaked in every little thing I had to say. You made me begin to realize my ideas meant something. You became the ears for every idea that I felt able to share. You gave me the ability to share myself. I fell in love with you because you shared yourself with me, too. I fell in love with you because you were way more cautious with my heart than you were with yours. You were vulnerable with me; you let me in so quickly and so deeply. If you had any walls, then I never saw them. You made me feel like I didn't need walls either. I fell in love with you because of your interests, because of your intelligence, and because of your dreams and aspirations. I fell in love with you because of your kindheartedness, nobility, and because of your unfailing honesty. I fell in love with you because of your perseverance and your patience when I became hard to please. I fell in love with you because you saw me at my worst and still made me feel beautiful. I fell in love with you because you learned my deepest, darkest secrets and insecurities and still saw me as a whole person. I fell in love with you because you shared yourself with me and I was able to love you as a whole person, too. I fall in love with you every day. I fall in love with your smile and your laugh, just like I did the first night I met you. I fall in love with the words that you say and the respectful touches that you give me when I need them the most. I love you. I love the arches in your brows when you focus; I love the curves of your smile when you're intrigued; I love the way your hands fold over mine when you walk with me. I love the sound of your voice that feels like home; I love the sky blue color of your eyes that hold my gaze; I love the words that you say that make me feel safe. I love the way you love me and hold me accountable for being who I am. I love the way you encourage me and uplift me in every way that you can. I love who you are and I always will. I fell in love with you then, I love you now, and I will always fall in love with you every single day.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
Man becomes woman woman becomes man
headline dictation that makes you understand
but what's this? The scene goes beyond extremes,
the black/white photograph is of color underneath.
But **** me, I'm being erratic. I'm standing on tables
shouting so your disdain's automatic. What's up with
this new fad? Uhmurika never had it this bad. We have
a literal metric ton of whining millennials wanting to be
special snowflakes. Man, who could take all of this social
pressure? Being held accountable for a miserable, literal lack
of knowledge about the world around us? Man, definitely not
for me. But seriously, bro, did you get your **** cut off? What's
up bro, **** you get your **** sewn on? That ******* ***** lacks
a ****** That motha ***** lacks the design that gives him a similar
package when his blood pressure rises. Don't talk to me about feelings
before you've had the operation -- because before you've done that step
it's better if you don't implore my empathy or patience because you're
just not real, I won't feel the weight of your complaints and frustrations.
Matter of fact, for you, ess jay dub, my emotional core's on vacation.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
Discourse is not for me.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
How do you prefer to ***
Is it this hard to admit to your audience there's something else outside
yourself? I can see how defining the lines with alacrity makes it easier
to breathe the air you breathe to stay alive. It must be nice to stand tall
and be you and not have to bray declarations of self to stay confident
and true to the compass. Walking is all it ever takes you yet when I say,
"Actually [...]" it's enough to make you think it's me getting in your face
with another liberal lecture, but I'm just keeping real straightforward
about which terms I prefer in our vernacular. Shut up, you **** up, we
advocate for your finish, only requiring you fit into our premise.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
Discourse is just not for me.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
How do you prefer to ***
I just think it's best to have some canned material
in case you need it.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
My Bio Poem
in third person:
Priestly
Author
Who wants to start T, legally change his name, and top surgery
Who needs therapy, medication, and to stop living in fear of being killed for being queer
Who feels like a freak, fear, and righteous anger
Who fears being killed for being queer, never getting “better,” and having his PTSD define him
Who would like to see that his trans brothers and sisters stop being killed, racist cops be held accountable to their actions, and the world becomes a safe space, ******
Lover of men and women (though not bisexual), caffeine, and the smell of new and old books
Resident of Rhododendron, Welches, Portland, and the LGBTQ+ community
Stout
My Bio Poem
in first person:
Priestly
Author
Who wants to start T, legally change my name, and top surgery
Who needs therapy, medication, and to stop living in fear or being killed for being queer
Who feels like a freak, fear, and righteous anger
Who fears being killed for being queer, never getting “better,” and having my PTSD define me
Who would like to see that my trans brothers and sisters stop being killed, racist cops be held accountable for their actions, and the world becomes a safe space, ******
Lover of men and women (though not bisexual), caffeine, and the smell of new and old books
Resident of Rhododendron, Welches, Portland, and the LGBTQ+ community
Stout
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Love... doesn't care about you
Love is looking for someone prettier and with a tighter ****
Love is looking for who everyone else wants to love
Love is looking to own
*Love has the power to make the air worth breathing
to make gravity redeeming
Love will assign you a new colour that you may add yourself beautiful to the human tapestry
Love can take the nausea of daily orbit and turn this spin into dancing
Love keeps in time with your heart beat*
But... love doesn't have you
Love is looking for someone more handsome and with a bigger ****
Love looks for characteristics that have nothing to do with character
Love is an opportunist
Love eats for free
Love can't be held accountable
Love hears you have passed away and has trouble remembering what you looked like
Love laughs without getting the joke
Love doesn't return your calls when you call it love
Love is letting go and waiting for the rest of your life
Love doesn't apologize
Love thinks it's your fault
Love doesn't want to fight
Love wants to win
Love wants to beat you down and hates you for being weak
Love is waiting for someone else to call
Love doesn't show all it's cards
Love is immune to your tears
Love doesn't think that half-truths are the same as lying
Love doesn't know what to get you for your birthday
Love doesn't care you don't sleep at night
Love doesn't have to tell you where love has been
Love doesn't owe you anything
though, you would give everything for love
Love waits for it's turn to talk
Love can't be held responsible for its actions
Love wants to be judged by it's intentions
Love doesn't know how to give straight answers
Love will forgive you and not mean it
Love only wants to play
Love thinks of about somebody else during ***
Love... is better than you
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
As culled from an arts magazine, 13 March 2019
Socialist Realism - The official doctrine in Soviet art and literature after 1932 that evolved from the traditional commitment to social and civic concerns into an all-pervasive general ideological mandate.
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 20th Century Russian Poetry
collective exhibition space vibe community
interactive narrative brown neighborhood
defined commodified Indigenous
identity tone-deaf decolonial
narratives populist intertwined
exhibition curatorial vision
culture local artists arts district small galleries
DIY spaces speaking out against
gentrification displacing shelter
studio space elsewhere late stage capitalism
collective mantra underdog art savior
corporate entity partnering insensitive
ignorant collective brown people art
contemporary work that may not fit
into establishment art galleries
media advisory venture collaborate
creative community authentic
local statement of expression excitement
creative energy arts district project
many levels collaborate local
creative important creative
community what that collaboration
looks like ongoing local artists going
to be engaged in planning commissioned
project community buy-in consulted members of the creative community Indigenous artists curators museum
directors professors burgeoning landscape
cultural framework critique talk individuals
entities inclusivity open
dialogue opportunities project
conversations collaboration discuss
your projects share our work with you
common ground work together healthy sustainable
accountable decolonization
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
I don't recognize this face in the mirror,
this didn't use to be me,
what am I?
How far away am I?
All the damage I've seen,
all the harm I've done,
maybe I deserve to be uncertain.
All the life has been ****** out of me,
I might've done this to myself,
I could be held accountable.
I try to be smart enough to show what's inside,
I don't believe I am,
no words seem to be enough to show what I mean.
Is this all just selfish of me?
Narcissism, is it what this is all about?
Not everything is about me,
why do I feel all the pain?
Can anyone tell me what this is all about?
I'm scared, hopeless, and alone.
Every sentence might be the last.
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 7:34 PM UTC
All the bones at the bottoms of the rivers
Piling up under the bridges
All of the grief and lonely shivers
Washing out from the land to the seas
All of the mothers and sons in their caskets
For father’s ammo and daughter’s lies
All the babies placed in rivers in baskets
With hopes for their futures and tears in their eyes
The suffering fools can’t be accountable
Their fates stand on the edge of a knife
The suffering fools won’t be available
They don’t last long in the world of lies
I suffer the fools not gladly, but solemnly
It breaks my heart that I’m not on their side
I’m suffering fools and I can’t be responsible
I’ve had to suffer fools all of my life
From the desert of the mediocre, aggressive and arrogant
An oasis of sincerity is what I have sought
All this time I’ve put up with ignorance
to deny my merely rational thoughts
Each of the myths that was meant to save us
A foundation of sorrow and hopeless consent
What can be done with satyrs and saviours
By now no one knows what they really meant
The suffering fools can’t be accountable
Refusing to give, but eager to take
The suffering fools won’t be available
And decline to shift even for their own sake
I suffer the fools not gladly, but shamefully
It breaks my heart to know what’s at stake
I’m suffering fools and I know it’s disgraceful
But I’ve suffered all the fools that I can take
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
I sat on the edge of the bed.
You smiled.
I am your daughter,
But words mean to you
Something else.
I took your hand,
Telling you I haven’t slept for a year.
I write reflections,
Tame the voices behind my left ear,
Assemble thoughts about the darkness.
I pour a warm, salty liquid
That burns the skin – it doesn’t moisturize.
It helps me,
This pseudo-therapy.
I hide behind my nickname,
So that no one holds me accountable
For what I’m supposed to be.
You also sat up at night,
You read books.
You carried hidden sadness,
I stick a smile on my lips.
I hug people who carry Egregores.
You and I,
we are not afraid of the night.
Your hand is cold.
You smile,
You put together syllables into strange words.
You know that I matter to you.
I pretend to understand
What you wanted to say.
In a moment, it will get hard.
You’ll start screaming like a little boy,
Or again you’ll wait
Until this state of life passes you.
Life?
It’s a kind of space
Where people, because of fear
Bite and scratch
Like frightened, rabid dogs –
And then soothe it
With controlled tenderness.
I sit with you on the edge of the couch
And I think:
We write with the left hand.
We are beings of the night.
Our path was shared –
In fear, to protect a small piece of “I”.
I fear I’ll lose language.
I desperately defend myself against silence.
I dream of non-human languages.
I write words as if I wanted
To cast spells on reality –
Still, it’s not enough.
The anesthesia stopped working.
One day, this will be the end,
Yet as long as I live,
I’ll be the naive one.
That’s what I want.
I choose sweet, sugar-coated hope,
With pink sprinkles,
Telling myself that he, she
Didn’t mean to trample –
Only life pushed them
Into that dark corridor.
My hope
Is not a soft blanket,
This is a heavy, tight helmet.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 5:30 AM UTC
What if my pain showed on the outside?
What if the mental scars showed on my skin?
The emotional wounds,
The cuts and bruises.
Yellow and green,
Black and blue.
If everyone could see what you do,
Would you stop?
If everyone saw every time you made me feel worthless,
Every time I was made to compete,
Every time you ignored me,
Would you stop?
If everyone could see how you hurt me,
Would you stop?
If you were held accountable for every word,
Every action,
Every ounce of pain you've caused me,
Would you stop?
What if the evidence was right in front of your eyes?
What if you were no longer able to deny the proof?
No amount of smiles and lies can cover it now..
Here's your proof,
These words on paper,
Like ink on my skin.
Will you stop?
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Ballads R-U the
nourishment
Like the Bella baby
greens
Tossing your salad like
The artwork deviant
Like the myriad
The musical chairs
Messages unique piece
Playing the brain organs
The new road of legions
Cerebellum moving
Perky pinks the possum
We move into a certain era
Intense Opera breathing, pacing, dreaming
More feeding the balance of love needing
Musical digestion
Heart rate inside
your movement shows
affection
All themes like soap operas
The nervous system musical brain
Gets damaged like the Asylum
So emotional heartbeat got more
rhythm
Your hums needing tums
The Lifes crises
But not feeling
accountable the brains works
Every function ballads of love
Inside your heart diction
Like the ballad-making
Your best transformation
Orchestrated hands to lead
The musical brain
Love letters arrive on the train
So tranquil love
physical momentarily
Has a certain quality
like the ballad of love
mutiny
We find in life its a long sip
The brain wave long neck
Giraffe hot cafe
We feel everyone's tragedy
Living so high
in the (Castle) the step up
Not giving up the highness the
majesty the brain depressed
But such a parody foods for
the soul no control eating binge
You want to dodge out
But you're the musical genius
Magical brain fast and furious
Is tricky to remember you have
The talent
To be Lucky*
Fill it with love and gravity
He's the laughing stock
of the comics
Like the simple life
He's the built-in love
a ballad with such structure
The popular form of poetry
Musical notes a blend
of symmetry
Chariots of fire the key to love
Whats truly above all we need is love
He takes your breath away
Reading into the
"Britannica"
Archie comics and Veronica
Historical moments Cleopatra
The ballads of culture
Songs we remember
I love September the day I was born
Ballads and songs
"My Girl"
"Stop Look Listen to your heart"
"Love is all around"
You came to the right place
Peace and love, please
stick around we love you
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
I hope I don’t **** this one up
If I make a mistake it isn’t my fault
My credibility can be diminished by the way present things
I, the way I present things
I am afraid of publishing something someday and
******** up the end result
Someone will read it and laugh because I missed word
A word, I missed a word
****
If I am to ever mess up a final draft then
I will laugh because nothing is final except for maybe death
Maybe
Books scare me because when they are printed the work becomes permanent
And I’m not sure I want anything I create to last forever
I don’t know if anything I say will ever be kept for that long but if it is I want my mistakes to be as clear as what I am attempting to say
I am attempting to say I cannot be held accountable for everything I do wrong
People will look back and doubt that I can be trusted because I didn’t use the write form of right
Even so, I hope my errors are good enough to be remembered
I hope I can incite a cringe or two with my fallibility
I was not made to be perfectly correct in all that I do, my words can attest to that
So if I **** this up, if I make a typo,
Let’s just pretend it was on porpoise.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Are we the sum of our experiences?
We are not the sum of our experiences
When we live in the moment, we become that moment
It’s in the now; in flow
Where our authentic selves are found
Past eddies, riffles, or undulations
Of our lives have as much meaning as we choose to give them
Meaningful or meaningless is moot
If we’ve found our authentic selves
And are willing to let that Self drive
To be in tune with Tao or Source
Or whatever you want to call it
Find your authenticity and live it out fully
My guiding virtue and vice is to
Remember that I am always accountable for my actions
We live in a realm created by our actions
Creation can be tumultuous
Spring storms are balanced with spring flowers
Remain calm while in the storm
Step into the third eye
Stand next to those who steady you
There are others who gather in the eye of the storm
These are good people (usually); mentors and friends and peers
How do you find these gatherings?
In my experience, you have to come in through the out door
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
I don't need anyone to keep me company
When the Universe is with me at all times
Paying attention
Keeping me accountable
Being present
When I feel lonely inside.
Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 12:01 PM UTC