"accuses" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
one more for Joni and the one who accuses me of
"owning the courage to care so blatantly."
<:>
accused of writing with blatant courage,
a 4 credit requirement for caring
blatant is a word of merger -
open obvious unsubtle and unashamed
and a dissembling misleading one!
it is all of these and yet can be a contradictory mask of
opposing, differing faces
my blatant is none of these
but appearance only
**** muses keep me coming back
to a particular lyric,
keeps seeking me out, so successfully, wherever I go,
I hear it
it’s invading my both sides now
the dizzy dancing way you feel
you think I have my own blatant courage, untrue!
so oft you mistook my dizzy dancing,
all fluff all humbug so obvious so ashamed,
a cover up, a most subtle cosmetic pretense of the truth -
of
no courage at all
and yet (they mock)
you do care...
just another of my peculiar
life’s illusions
(self-delusions)
I really don’t have blatant courage at all
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC
I've been aware
for many a year,
but cut off by him,
for crimes he accuses
for crimes undisclosed,
his silence is wider than
the great oceans,
with no means of passage.
till one day a word,
his brother uses a word
that makes no pretense,
that shocks, stuns, and
force!admits me to a reality,
I, knew but couldn't admit
schizophrenic.
here I am sundered speechless;
as a new form of sadness now
internally prevails, and I am
even more quiet than usual,
contemplative, they call it,
but
I recognize sad/mad in every one
of its manifold disguises, and wonder
just how much, own ingenious genes,
the paucityof my impoverished down~
bringing brought, bought, caught,
contributed to this loss, this onus,
this cross that has no answer to the
***only question that matters,
how much,
am I the guilty party
the disaster father***
Aug 22, 2025
Aug 22, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
What joy calls Silent Noise plagues me too
As the new love in young hides behind the sun
The House of Monaco burns
it is a simple matter
and joy pretends in two and three
She accuses that it is all in the eyes
Loosely veiling self doubt in the idealism of love
Complexity contradicts and she gives up
Preferring to live inside
It wants what it wants and Joy succumbs
drinking water she knows is poison
You are not a hopeless romantic Joy
You are a Romantic
You are all Woman
And twice as amazing
-The Zone
Your **** has torn my hinges off..... obliterated my door
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
From a fifth storey bachelor’s window
pondering shadows in the car park below,
Johnny opens another can.
I stuff another pipe.
We talk about our trip to Brazil
and how great it would’ve been had we gone;
Johnny turns up the radio.
I take the first drag.
Old girlfriends swing by in our conversation,
most of them giving us the finger, mind you;
Johnny dabs at his tears.
I pass him the pipe.
Dusk-scalpels are slicing through the curtains now,
they scrape over coffee table dust,
through Irish coffee stains,
cut open Johnny’s frown:
The neighbours are at it again, arguing;
he accuses her of seeing someone else,
she tells him *correct,
it’s your ****** sister.*
Johnny taps out the pipe in the ashtray,
says he has to do someone a favour;
throws on his jacket,
says take it easy.
Johnny’s shadow tiptoes into evening,
a car alarm screams and a gunshot cries.
I convince myself
this is Brazil.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
Composing Hallelujah
Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.
So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.
Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.
My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.
Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the psycho-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?
It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,
Depression
I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.
So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.
A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:
Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?
-
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
welcome to the courtroom where royal minds reside
and Memory records where no feelings can hide.
situation states the case at the stand
allowing Conscience the right to speak at hand.
a constant strife between Mental and Feel
for Choice to ultimately seal the deal.
Doubt gained its throne right next to Faith's;
as Faith needs Doubt to keep it in place
sadness silently hangs on the smile
weighing down brows and heavy eyelids
Sir Anger accuses all the while
but Sadness knows what Sir Anger did.
Inhibition fold arms in a hesitant state,
as fear keeps him from accepting debate.
Guilt scolds the Heart for hushing Conscience
"conscience gives righteous advice to all,
you should not allow your guard to fall!"
Pain demands to be felt by the Heart,
he's sent by Guilt to do his part.
welcome to the courtroom of the mind.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
The Smell of Honey, Coffee and Apples and Messes of Words, but
No Love Poetry
<^>
*my poetry suffers from a literately literacy,
the adjectivally of imagery wears away with
time and age eroding the imagination, when one’s
days are numbered, being serious is an natural
unpleasant hazardous haze, never in doubt
The morning meal of cooked oatmeal, steel cut,
laced with wildflower honey, slices of honey crisp
apples and Hawaiian coffee brewed,
singes the
Tropical Storm Ophelia thrumming humidity
that overhangs the ugly grays of NYC sky-paths,
one tickles me awake with contradictory impulses:
sweet and sour,
a robust stimulative, competing with the smothering of
grayling clouded weather weariness of
48 hours of rainy continuity,
a spirit suffocate
you see!
give you myself, my environment, in précis,
unimaginative exactly as it occurs to me, sensually, yes,
but cannot shake my disappointment that no,
can’t combine visionary notions that spin your swivel
chair around, powered by your exclamations of
ooh, ahh, and little stabs of weeee punctuating
our shared atmosphere
and bring forth
only love poetry
but no mas,
the love poetry doesn’t comes to the fore,
the forehead stuffed with words best listed as
basic, observable, factual,
Miley Cyrus, accuses me of being jaded,
but not with accuracy, more straight jacketed,
way past that half-way point of no return,
turning back is not a listed menu option
love poetry
demands, requires and requests
envisioning, precursor to dreaming,
but I am choking on matters-of-fact,
questions of survivability,
that do not
shed love poetry words,
I
love exclaiming
to any and all within hailing distance,
my loving firmament, but the damp atmosphere
swallows my hopes and sounds, even though
still can smell the lingering nearness odor of honey and apple,
yet, other hints of memory beg to differ,
and I sadly and easy confess,*
this is not a lovely poem…
- * -
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 12:44 PM UTC
No inner turmoil,
Will hold me back
I’m facing the world
And I’m poised to attack
I’m ready to fight
Before I die
Who are you to say
That’s he’s only getting high?
Who are you to say
That it won’t cure the pain
Of cancer, glaucoma,
And everyday strains?
Who are you to judge
Without knowing all the facts?
Why should we destroy
This very useful plant?
Hemp fiber is quite strong
And it’s easily taxed.
Legalization- an ongoing war
That mainly takes place
Behind various closed doors.
But I’m a supporter,
Like thousands of others.
You probably know one-
An aunt or a brother.
See, they’ve proved THC
Can shrink tumor size
In less than three weeks,
It’s the truth, not a lie.
All of these studies
Have successfully shown
The only harm known
Comes when it’s smoked.
But there’s so many methods,
Like brownies or pills.
With zero deaths a year,
Mary Jane doesn’t ****
But cigarettes do,
And alcohol too
Over 500,000 deaths yearly
What should we do?
Our forefathers grew it.
So why is it wrong?
Propaganda has brainwashed
Americans for too long.
Prohibition is immoral
And I will not be silenced
The only outcome
Is increasing violence
As the drug cartels rage
Below us in Mexico
We turn the page
To a brand new War on Drugs
Which, let me remind you,
Can never be won.
So many free citizens
With so many free minds
But the government controls
And accuses of crimes
As billions of tax dollars
Wash away, down the drain
Non-violent offenders
Are locked up and contained
Over-crowding prisons
It’s obviously insane.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 3:58 AM UTC
He accuses me of lying
Even though im being honest
He said he sent me a text
And did i not response
But i assure him
I never recieved anything
And he says "yeah right"
It hurts me to know
That i could swear on everything
And im still a liar
I wish for once he would believe me
But of course that will never happen
I hate the fact that im always being blame
For things i have never made
Im tired of being in this position
Always being accuse of lying
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 5:09 AM UTC
I only wish to be by your side
I wish for it every single night,
but you didn’t bring me along for the ride,
infact you didn’t take notice until I was out of sight.
Bury me alive,
don’t leave me at the door.
I’ve been stretching this drive
down to the corner store.
I’ve been chain smoking,
and breathing the cold air skies,
I’ll tell you that I’m joking,
and if you cover my ears, I’ll cover your eyes.
I’ve been trying to catch the ocean,
but ended up drowning in her eyes.
I’m stashing away every emotion,
and she accuses my sentiment for lies.
I want to go on a joyride,
I want to drive away but not to hide.
I want to go on a joyride,
but I’m feeling alone and you’re not by my side.
So I’ll turn up the music,
and ignore my pride.
Travelling the dark street
of that old quiet ghost town,
the ferret was very discreet,
but warned of us of the bear and to slow down.
Losing track of time and missing our exit,
with conversations holding a life of their own.
I’ll remind you so you won’t forget it,
now I’ll drive that highway completely alone.
Bury me alive,
oh wait, you made the shallow grave.
I’ve been stretching this drive,
it’s pitch black but I remind you to be brave.
I’ve been listening to our favourite song,
the lyrics I easily memorize.
Eliza Dushku’s turn was wrong,
but if you be my ears, I’ll be your eyes.
I know your measurements; head to toes,
and you’re perfect just the way you are.
You know I love how you look in my clothes
when you sit beside me in my dark car.
And all the streetlights went out
as we silently took a joyride,
it’s not unusual for me but I have my doubt,
that it wasn’t amplified by her by my side.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC
Living in a different time zone, still reeling from past decisions.
Fighting venemous events to no avail,
not letting go of lasting mass incisions.
Excision of life's excitements.
Removal of my livers, kidneys, colons,
but still, I shiver in the coldness
of the living.
Admitting to the voices in my head,
that the Lord's mercy still extends,
into heaven for the choices of the dead,
who did the devil's bidding.
A foolish folly for a younger self,
to fall afoot amongst a rotten hell,
hellish landscape brought into the realm,
of mortals and the bedroom shelves.
All my dreams upon a table,
and in the dusty drawers there lies the pain.
Honestly I'm never able,
to entrust another lover with my reigns.
To fly I must begin to build momentum,
but something's caught up on me and instead preventing.
And slowing my ascension,
Also did I mention,
that every other moment that I spend here in atonement
is a ticking to a redder deathly sentence.
Repentance, with a mix of learned and unearned lessons, accuses those who lied.
Impresses extra stress especially when the ghostly men attend and lean up on my bedside.
I use to shy away but now I stare them in the eyes.
Fear's been long gone since childhood,
when crazy layovers in hazy places
played a part of strongly breaking bonds with those I thought were good.
I've felt my death a million times and dreamed it millions more.
And yet I never let myself fall victim to the final tricks of it's afflictions.
Meaning it's a situation still remaining unexplored.
I know what I lived for, and I know exists a future still in store.
But god ******* ****** life is such a chore.
Lord,
Give me strength and give me more.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
I,
have issues.
But probably not the kind you think.
Mine were created by my father and big sister.
By their relationship.
I have strived for a better relationship
to be better at everything than her.
But I've given up.
I no longer see the point
When you're sixteen years old
And you're more mature than your forty-three year old father.
Even so I'm terrified I'll end up like my sister.
Albeit she's doing well now
She's a teacher and is happy
and, she hates our fathers guts.
I don't blame her though
when you're father calls you a *****
And accuses you of sleeping around
because you go to school early to get help.
I can see why.
It doesn't help when he sides with his sister-in-law
And he tells you to "respect your elders"
even though she tried to burn you with a firework.
I do blame her however
for that dark cloud over my birthday.
See the night I turned ten
she took those pills.
She drank that strawberry Hill Boonesfarm.
She tried to **** herself.
But see I'm the only one who remembers the date
I remember every detail of that night.
Every image
Every feeling,
Everything.
I remember the red and blue flashing lights.
I remember the gurney
I remember the cold of the night,
until I went numb that is.
I have no respect for my father
when you do that to a child how could you.
But I am terrified of that.
Terrified I'll end up like her
that I'll break
that I'll be the one on the floor unconscious.
He was trying to do better
but I think he's given up too.
And while my greatest fear is that I'll be like my sister.
My second greatest
is that I'll end up with someone like my father.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Like puppets dancing on strings
Are Presidents and princes
Prime Ministers and politicians
And the tune they dance to
Is older than their kingdoms
Behold the King of this world
Hidden away from the public eye
Yet commanding nations with a whisper
He was glorious and beautiful once
And he walked among the innocent
But, in one moment of vanity
He stole rulership of the world
His personality is stamped upon mankind
For he sets the pace
While most men follow
He spoke the first lies
Inflicted the first casualty
And he has never felt regret
Has never shed a tear
Though his wars have taken millions
And his devotees have enslaved nations
He is the author of confusion
The instigator of Hellfire and hatred
The creator of trinities and tribulation
He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness
Yet is himself running scared
And clinging to power and life
He is the excuser of unholy child abusers
And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs
He speaks lies about the innocent
And glorifies the guilty
He hunts all good men
As a lion hunts the deer
He will tear at your throat
And consume you
He is the Resistor
The Slanderer
He cajoles those who consider his existence
And paints himself in mythical proportions
He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it
Would rather ruin if he cannot rule
Yet the whole world is in his hands
But not forever
Because forever does not belong to him
And not life
For the gift of life is not his to give
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 1:55 AM UTC
52 Weeks: Whitman
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
52 Weeks: Mullein
The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape.
I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered,
And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed.
The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress,
My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer,
I am coaxed into existence once again.
I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you,
It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain,
To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense.
I won’t depart, I dig in my heels,
And I turn my back on the organized.
I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother …
And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely.
I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day),
But I am good for you none the less,
As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle.
And always I wait patiently,
for me for you,
for us.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
We're like Tom Robbins characters
You spoke those words yourself
I'm a princess and you're a felon
But we vibe so ******* well
You're a walking brain puzzle
I'm a recovering **** tease
You satisfy me, expand my mind
My body's never been so pleased
Don't you dare say you're sorry
You cannot undo the past
Why would you want to anyway?
I think you're falling for more than my ***
I won't be a replacement
I could never do what she did
I don't want a carbon copy
I learned what I needed to from him
Your mother accuses you of thieving
Mine points out superficial flaws
We share a lot of the same demons
They may stutter but it's loud
I'm done keeping up appearances
You're weary of a double life
We collaborate so effortlessly
Our future visions intertwine
Do I want to meet your parents?
Mine would love you at first greet
They'd give you a jar of honey
Maybe even some frozen meat
I'll help you to stay sober
You've gotten me to open up
Use my brain, try me on for size
I'll understand if you stop
But, imagine what we could be
I think synchronicity has a cause
Inspiration, it's contagious
Happiness, it tags along
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
I stare at the fight in the living room
Between my mother and me
From a distance,
Out of my body, I am disconnected because
She accuses me of harvesting
"Mental problems" while I drunkenly slur
Every self loathing thought I've lived with during
My short life, wishing it would end
And she screams "You have no idea what could have
Happened to you tonight, you're lucky no one
Took advantage of you"
Everything stops and I'm back in my body,
Looking at the fight from my point of view,
Her scowling face waiting for an answer,
"You're wrong."
Because I know that risk all too well
And she has no
Idea
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
if tonight's your last
and yesterday's past
intimidates you or
relentlessly accuses you
of the things that
once enchanted you
and you take a slap in the face
you cut to the chase
there's no time to waste
but really you're stuck
you feel out of place
and the rhythm of the sorrow
drags into tomorrow
because you cannot forget
and there is abundant regret
draining from the scars
that you've tried to hide
that you've put aside
and in reality, your soul
IS TIRED
of waiting, of praying
of feeling like it's straying
you breathe, you sleep,
you live as if you
were not dying
you're still trying
TO BE OK
but you are broken and
you cannot cope
and all of your hope
has gone up in smoke
to where has your spirit flown?
LET GO
for the love of God, release
give it to the One you seek
to Him whom your eyes have not seen
in this moment, you are
FREED.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
Wishes, I never said...?
Rolling tongues, admit appearances
Are deceiving, but purpose to lead...
Has an ear for a rainbow's chances
Rainbows lead to pouting voices...
Facing the stare, I make a quiet
Collective memory served; has choices...
The reagent of a house of colors, so bright
Star's that starve?
As the moment indicates...
Your rhyme for the silent, is another's liar...
Privilege behind a scare, finishes the irate
Races of fate, found in a valued youth...
Respite is to be, an awkward challenge
Of a time, that accuses you for couth...
Curses of final fear, are often to nearer mention
The fright in the rain
Told to sit, by a silver voice...
Sigh's and minding, the candor of pain
Will such a song, begin here with loyalty?
Does and doesn't...
Shame wear a passion's decision?
Deciding upon, a notorious lesson won't
Is a handful of salt, the only shared intuition?
Liberty, at all costs...
And a hill named only rage
That worth's the world, with hosts
Sent to a wish, I made...
Time be a liar's friend...
One step more
Like love and hates marvel, to lend...
The story of reach, is who's war?
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 9:08 PM UTC
YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!
Broke my heart again,
Yelled at me again,
Accuses me of everything again,
Saying I am the worst of all men.
Why did I let you in?
You blow up my house every time.
Makes no sense.
No rhythm no rhyme!
You are child,
And you play every game.
Freeze tag with my heart.
TILL I GO INSANE.
You have made me hate my choice.
Yet I wouldn't change a thing.
Our song was a fine one,
Yet it will not sing.
YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!
I AM ******* DONE,
DEFUSING YOUR SOUL,
STAY THE **** AWAY,
YOUR SELF DESTRUCTING HAS TAKEN IT'S TOLL!
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.
Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.
Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?
“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.
Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC
A man blamed,
A man feared,
A male struggle.
You give her a compliment,
She blames you for objectifying her.
You give the promotion to a better contender,
She accuses you of ****** harassment.
She gets vindictive.
She wears skimpy clothing,
It's hard not to notice,
Two seconds later,
You're labeled a pervert.
You want to provide,
So her nails are always polished,
She calls you a sexist,
All you had done was make her your queen.
So what is so wrong about being a man?
Nothing.
Why are you blamed for things never done?
Unknown.
Everyone speaks of the female unfairness,
Yet no one remembers the male sacrifice.
That women too exploit the male gender,
All so they can move up a ladder.
A sense of entitlement,
A pity self secured,
Used as excuses,
In everyday life.
Why is it okay for her to objectify you,
But she gets cradled in sympathy when you give a compliment?
Why is it okay for her to ask you to cook,
But sexist if you ask her for a meal?
Why should you always pay the check if she claims to be so independent then?
Why is there such a defined double standard?
I am a woman,
To empower man.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
how easy it is to pretend
that they would never feel the things we do
that they are so different from us
Do they look out the window as the past disappears
Are the words of poets more meaningful to them
Is freedom for the soul or for God
Who could know what is right
how easy to assume we will ascend
that we are forgiven while treating them cruel
that they are a race to distrust
What in their life accuses them of being in contempt
Is it outside God’s ability to control the message
Is freedom about fear or disobedience
Who could know what is wrong
how we try to dignify the end
they cover the bodies we expose like fools
but we both begin with a single cut
Is it what our parents taught us that we trust
Rebellion is only the ignorance of our youth
There is no world to possess
Only the moment to make them cry
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
I live in this town
This town that holds my childhood memories
Like you holding my clueless hand at the City Hopkins dance.
You seemed to never let go
Like the grass that stains my Blue, Sky Jeans.
I live in this town
This town that hosted many little league baseball games,
Hosted many right fielders prancing around the blue skies
Picking dandelions off of the ground.
These right fielders are looking at the jet streams in the clear skies
Imagining the streams are people are launching into space.
That’s funny
Its crazier than their dreams
Which are sealed up in their own imaginations
Like the fairytales they read about.
Yet their dreams hold opportunities
Holding like my mom dragging me to the bus on the first day of school.
Heh School
A place where reality slowly kicks in
Notes are passed around with pencils being thrown at the ceiling like darts
The girl I've known since pre K gave me a note today
We used to swing on that tire swing near the golf course
But now she kicks my skins and accuses me of “cootieness”
Meanwhile she is sitting on the front porch
Picking petals off of a sunflower
Does he like me?
Does he like me not?
Does he like me?
I live in this Town
This town that holds many monsters in the closet
Although on the outside of the story shows tinker bell shedding her pixie dust
If you flip through the pages
You will fall down the rabbit hole.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC