"advocacy" poems
Feminism ˈfeməˌnizəm/
noun
the advocacy of women's rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.
People try to change a word into something else
Fantasy, made up, fiction, created....
You get angry when something you hold dear is "messed up"
"Diluted" or "polluted",
But why are you so eager to change the meaning of feminism?
You claim you are for equal rights, but not for feminism
Are you claiming you drink water but not H2O?
You want to make something different
Your own,
You want to make everything about you
You are selfish, are you not?
And your argument is weak, too.
You say "Feminists discriminate, that's why you shouldn't be one."
But do you know the actual definition?
You are that lazy,
To not search two words?
Technology helps you know the definition,
And a lick of time,
But you are too hateful, lazy, and selfish to care.
Join us. You're better here.
Feminism means equality. Don't get it twisted.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
after...
and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
i want, their infantile
replicas...
i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
einfachfleisch...
what?
i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
i want their children...
i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
why?
oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
schindler...
required a list,
to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
anomaly:
i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
**** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
thank you jean-paul sartre,
for the... "i"...
i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...
may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?
gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!
oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow fart's
worth of argumentation.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
My 2 Cents
“the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.”
Let me start by mentioning that I don’t usually get involved with political matters, but in this case, I’d say it’s more of a basic human rights matter.
I’m a man, and I’m a feminist.
I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with three women; my mother and two older sisters. Growing up with them gave me an enormous amount of respect for women, (even though I may have lost a certain amount of socially expected masculinity along the way), and their current lives continue to increase my respect for the opposite gender.
My oldest sister is leaving to study abroad at Oxford in less than a week to major in philosophy. Philosophy. She also graduated high school with a 4.0 and was involved in power lifting competitions and is enlisted in ROTC. Simply put, she’s an animal. She’s worked hard her entire life and I’d hate to see a world that put that hard work to waste.
My other sister is working three jobs to pay her way through college and is planning to major in psychology. I’m always envious of her work ethic and level of commitment to not only her education, but to her friends and family as well.
My mother has been my backbone since I was a child. She was always the one I turned to in times of trouble, and continues to be. She works hard everyday, while going through mentally straining marriage problems, and comes home and still asks me about my day. She has given me nothing but unconditional love for my entire existence.
For these reasons, it boggles my mind why anyone would ever be anti-feminism. I am genuinely confused as to why, because their bodies are different, women get less privileges, respect, opportunities, and even money. I just don’t get it.
I am also disgusted that women are seen by most men as walking ****** organs. l will admit genuine guilt to using the number scale to “rate” women. It’s something I grew up with, but now it sickens me. Assigning a number to a woman based on your misguided views on how she should look, whether you would **** her, is something I find repulsive. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the opposite *** but no one gives a **** about your stupid opinion, especially the woman.
I hope someday if I ever have a daughter that she will have the privilege of living in a country of gender equality, tolerance, and open-mindedness.
Anyway, I just wanted to put my two cents in.
I am a man.
I am a feminist.
Peace.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
I am not an octogenarian
I am undoubtedly not clever
But i gave you a piece of counsel
If you are glum,
Leave your comfort zone and
Penned the flowing words into a paper
To see a new world which,
Scribbles trickles sparkles
Twinkle twinkle.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
An entrenchment of truths
That hold forth a funeral table
For gracious hospitality
Of gentle nostalgia
In indulgence of murderous affection
Which manifest adequate
Yet uncomprehending grieving
Ambiguities of advocacy
In their extreams of moralizing warnings
In fleeting appearances who tell bold lies
In the mosaics of enclosed palaces
Presenting bouquet upon bouquet
Of black flowers on this weighted table
Truths that have been deprived of their vein stone
Truths owned to identity of embodiment
Surreal and interchangeable
That resonate in timely dissorder
Like the noise of migrating birds
Flying to the edge of the world
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time
Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all
Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway
The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?
No
Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of
Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering
And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now
I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain
And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her
But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation
and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Infinite amounts of definitions could not depict
The extent to which a structured norm
Is measured
Blindness adjoins clarity, while sight provokes vanity
It is an aspect unhindered, lacking certainty
A single word yet so many portraits
Drawn on the canvas of our linked pathways
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
For my lips would quiver nonsense to you, to me
The mass of the universe that surrounds our whole being
The endless rows of glimmering stars that speak to our vulnerable eyes
Or perhaps, the raging force of life that springs from within us
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Because you would have to look at yourselves to see
The beaming smiles corresponding with velvet risings of cheeks
The abundance of glistening tears that have embodied those very same
And even, the flashing spark of joy which invites a feeling of utter content
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Otherwise there would be an influx of sentiments towards
The prettiness of colored nature, steadiness of height-breaking hills
The calmness of the bare sound of waves crashing into an advocacy for peace
The building blocks of surroundings that determine you and me
So if you ever want to ask me about beauty,
Bare the consequences in mind
Just the elaborate thought of such a question
Could raise a plethora of reasonings
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
...Here a man stands accused--the pellucid jury
of his peers come to themselves in their life's arms
through him.
He wails upright...a shadow continent wedging
The Flood.
Timekeeping horseflies besmirch his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consume
time till the singular advocacy of he withstood.
The imperturbable essence captured itself, as so
at the height of its powers there's interplay.
Ease culled from tribulation...countenance slackened
by degrees...overwhelmed by awareness.
Kingdom come Kingdom--shoring space of grace
that is freedom.
As if Everything centering of itself, fawning over itself...
polar opposites in conjugal bliss.
Here a man stands accused...of being--fit for steely
juxtaposition...the murderous implement of will, or
salvation.
Envision him post-Flood, waist-deep, the living Face
of the Deep...look upon him!
Timekeeping horseflies besmirching his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consuming
time till the Singular advocacy of thee...look upon
him!
An encounter of pitless ramification: fear or love...be
it the last man upon the earth.
Look upon him--O jury of his peers boasting billions...
pellucid unto one another...look...The Hour is radiant!
Won't thee come to thine life's arms through him?
For he is Everyman.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
i can fix anyone except me
bring me your problems
i can put them to sleep
its nothing special i just say what i see
you see it too or you wouldnt be talking to me
its just a form of devils advocacy
i see your demons and i speak their language fluently
let them talk through me
occam would approve
as deeply incised insight like mine
is built on a life in ruin
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
this country
America
has a lot to learn
from those that have survived
the making
and unmaking
of whiteness
this existential
exponential
build up
of advocacy
for noticing humanity
when it steps out of line
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
This fragile body hosts an infinite soul
whose human form may not be whole.
What may appear a tragic rift
is in fact a precious gift
to those whose spirits are attuned.
Extending our own body and soul
to others is what we truly know.
Often outside walls close in
with loneliness and credit cards spread thin,
as advocacy with officialdom weighs in.
But nothing will change what you do,
for this is what carers know.
Each body hosts an infinite soul.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
Socially Engaged Poetry
As an effective tool for advocacy
Creating partnerships and sharing skills
A voice to the voiceless, Split this Cliché
Empowerment to the empowermentless
Through bleats of provocation and witness
Copyrighted and stereotyped
In a World That is Forever 1968
Exploring and celebrating the many ways
We can score yet another guilt-grant
Asserting the centrality of the 501C3
Through bearing witness to diversity
As long as it behaves itself and thinks like us
Accessible and yet authentic
A n d l i k e d o s t u f f w i t h s p a c e l i k e u no
cause spaces
are authentic, and,
like
stuff
Poetry as a living, breathing art form
If you listen, you can hear its respirations
Gasping in the long, dark night of group-think
Obedient to a mission statement
And the careful construction of resumes
Committee integrate complexity
Formula dampens the authentic voice
Perform this vital work imagining
Personal and social responsibility
Revolutionary transformation
Write and perform this vital work support
Of human social justice experience
Grounded in holistic spirituality
Flouting the patriarchal something-ness
An act that requires community
If you love freedom, you dare not disobey
And let all the people say “Cogent!”
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
I’m grounded by your hands on me
And when your voice speaks to me
But if you’ve been away from me
I traipse away too easily.
Please don’t take it badly
My distance doesn’t mean you failed me
Regardless of good or bad things,
I find stability in self-retreating.
My body feels the wind in the trees
My soul feels the restlessness in my core
My mind is a wandering landscape of nothing
That matters to anyone but me.
I see you reaching out to me
I see you trying to touch me
And I feel you shrink away when I don’t respond.
I’m sorry I drift away, but I can’t stay.
My head is lighter than the clouds
My feelings are your only constant presence
I’m someplace else, and I’ll be a while.
My body feels the wind in the trees
My soul feels the restlessness in my core
My mind is a wandering landscape of nothing
That matters to anyone but me.
There’s no point in denying
My wings have caught air, and I’m flying elsewhere.
You’re better off reaching me
When your eyes look back and see me.
Ideas are too real to let go
And I blizzard them blindly like snow
And I don’t miss you when I’m caught
In the independent world of the unknown.
25th March 2018
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
unlike some psychadelic advocacy
concerning chimps...
how about "hunting"
for chanterelle or honigpilz
and then pickling them?
no good?
well... my idea of an evolved
chimp, or taking psychedelics...
wrapping a leather belt,
over your eyes...
beckoning the absolute night...
that the simple,
silk, or cotton blindfold of
the Versailles court, simply can't,
replicate...
no latex... no condoms...
leather belt,
prior to a boxing glove
hiding the knuckles in
st. Andrew's X...
but then... over the eyes...
leather...
and yet... people ingest
psychedelics...
yet... do not feel inclined to
pay secular respect of:
NOT HAVING TO *******
WRITE ABOUT THEIR EXPERIENCE!
having read what was or wasn't
said?
let them pass the needle...
i'm pirate ******* happy
with a bottle of *****
no... my psychedelic
experience?
wrapping a leather belt on
my head and over my eyes...
now...
oh my, oh my my my...
i'm starting to see the lost
excess of colo(u)r!
i'm seeing it!
i must have been a Daltonist
all along!
given:
how can you actually add...
to the given colours?
i've seen one sadist give an LSD
tab to a cat...
i'd love to give such an example
of a "human"...
the mad cow disease virus...
just to see him break-dance,
and find himself...
with a few broken extensions,
should he survive...
my idea of psychedelic drugs?
a leather belt,
strapped to my head,
heavily over my eyes...
preventing me to blink...
given...
that i see the world in colour...
my absolute psychedelic
experiment?
pitch-black,
and then...
a return to: alice in wonderland
eyesight.
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is May’s poem. Enjoy!
City streets littered with couples holding hands,
But we aren't one of them.
We can't be.
These streets are Titanic safe.
False promises are everywhere you look;
People who support as long as they don't have to watch.
We are always made to feel like the other.
If they could see us at home,
Maybe all would be different.
They would see themselves.
Simply, a couple.
So, we walk down city streets like friends.
Our expressions stand as the only truth.
We are new to this world.
Perhaps our courage will grow.
Maybe self-advocacy is to be had still.
This feels like someone else's war.
Our armor remains in the closet.
We escaped long ago!
All I want is to grab his hand.
My love shows in other ways.
Power is always on display.
The public can't take that away from me.
My love is real.
City streets are war zones.
We are merely soldiers of the sidewalk.
Our only goal is the destination;
Often, simply, returning home.
There is safety and security.
There love flourishes.
Just as it should.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
As summer air swaddles me from
ear to waist, the most benign of all sounds sets off a biological riot in me &nights; like these
take my breath away enough to stir up in me the awarenessthat
I
am not
what they want.
Neither Satan nor Substandard
could beg more than what I've been aching to portray.
Both less than and less than
hold their finely tuned scopes and too-broad knowledge to every detail I present.
Neither more eager to please than the other, I blend
devil's advocacy with indifference, but I still can't make either pair of eyes
lips or
fingertips
meet mine.
Oh & Satan,dearest when you take my hand I melt,
I'm desperate to stitch it toyours. But you've no use
for the doppleganger I'd become
to coax approval from the masses.
With that, I crane my neck to see the tower that you are, Substandard. Pleading indecency
and
scoffing at regret, I could almost
mistake your saccharine tone
of voice for the alluring Song of Satan.
I gather up my sins into a bundle and leave them by your side while I plead with fate to condemn my
soul,
elicit a wisp of affection from you,
something for me to hold onto
until winter returns.
What sort of discomfort can coerce a girl to pray for madness just to win inadequacy over?
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
/ nietzsche wrote
his *ecce ****
book...
now?!
apparently we're all supposed
to write a book, entitled
mea culpa... (?)
i just want an authenticity
of using the index,
index finger,
and being able
to point...
without sacrificing
the ownership
of a shadow attachment...
and how
does the víšégrād group
(oh i'm into linguistic
sabotage,
writing such a word,
treating it as a bomb,
and knowing the "nuance"?
well...
the manchester mob,
the panic,
and what is the concept
of islam if not advocacy
for literacy? no? really?!)
invite the bulgars... (?)
like a birth of a 2nd. yugoslavia...
or the shift of
the 2nd holy empire
to the, "left" in copernican
"terms"...
there are the narrators,
the observers,
the critics,
and the: chanced eyes on the mess...
no... in the collectivist / corporate
mind-sent?
mea culpa is not on
the agenda...
"we" have already
stressed the situation past
the mea culpa:
come: ecce ****
and the crucifixion /
guillotine.
come the bulgars...
and why am i not expressing
an intellectual ben hur
of an index finger?
managed to punch myself
20 times in the face
and give myself a plum beneath
the eye?
so what's wrong with
"flexing" attributing
the tongue to an index finger
"exasperation"?
so few books are actually
ecce **** orientated...
always the mea culpa,
never, never, ever,
tua culpa:
ergo?
ecce ****
shh...
quiet...
just mention the concept
of mea culpa
to elißabeth fritzl
how much of masochistic
"moralißing" does it have
to take place, trans-temporal
and justifying
the mono-spatial realm
of a "past", and, "now"
before being crucified
is no longer deemed
the same as labouring with
a hammer, or a chisel?!
i say that: metaphorically
frothing at the mouth.
firt i learned to throw a punch
onto my face...
give myself a plum just beneath
the eye socket:
now i know the mea culpa mantra,
as i know the existence
of the index finger, being
differentiated from the fist...
and?
the tua culpa mantra.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
A pinch of idiocy
A drop of kindness.
Half an ounce of feeling.
Just a spoonful of stupidity.
A suitcase full advocacy
Stroke it with purring passion.
Take out a box of uncool lies.
Discard it down the drain.
Along with a kilo of this could be a ****** mess.
The cake is baking merrily.
We can almost hear the oven sing.
Open up the kitchen window and throw caution to the wind.
And then just wait and see.
(c)Livvi
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
The inheritance of loss
Often told as a tragic story
I sit here writing
while gripping onto the edges of every passing day
hoping to change the narrative of this pain
I'm sorry to my daughter;
there were too many things I never solved
I walked with this heaviness
with a dream to transform the world for you
but instead, I lost and lost
and left these wounds on your carpet
watered a grass that was already dead
and called it advocacy
The inheritance of loss
is beaded into these gold bangles
the same ones my mother gave me
the same ones I keep for you
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 12:46 AM UTC
telling someone
they look
thin
or
skinny
can be just as harmful
as telling someone
they look
fat
or
heavy...
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 11:09 PM UTC