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"aggressions" poems
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
0
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
generation Z
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
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39
I’m Biracial. Which did you notice first? The me that looks like you or the me that looks like other? There is no denying what I am— from my last name to the shape of eyes, you’ll know I’m not white. But you’ll also immediately notice I’m not quite not white. I’m not quite not white enough. White-passing. “extremely” white passing until: someone sees my last name takes longer than five seconds to look at me notices something “other” about me. Other... not one box to check on your “optional” choose one diversity survey Can’t check White. Can’t check Asian. other...“Decline to Answer” I’m Biracial. White-passing— but not enough to stop ignorance ignorance in the form of questions and comments meant to be “harmless” or “curious” but ones that strip me of defining my own identity “So are you a math Asian or a **** Asian?” “You don’t look Asian enough for your last name.” “Why are you trying to whitewash yourself for them?” “Diversity quota” And in comparison, those aren’t the worst things to hear. By age ten I knew which words were meant to hurt and which were meant out of ignorance. Which racial slur applied to me. I’m Biracial. The same system that builds up half of me tears down the other half. But— The model minority myth means something to you. So you’ll build my other half up at the expense of someone else. You’ll make me feel uncomfortable in my own identity to fit what you need in the circumstances Statistics to fit your workplace diversity quota But still white passing so you can use micro aggressions as a joke because I’m “white enough” that they should be funny. I’m Biracial. Not other. Not part you and part not you. Not “missing” something. I am wholly biracial.
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Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC
Enough of What?
I’m Biracial. Which did you notice first? The me that looks like you or the me that looks like other? There is no denying what I am— from my last name to the shape of eyes, you’ll know I’m not white. But you’ll also immediately notice I’m not quite not white. I’m not quite not white enough. White-passing. “extremely” white passing until: someone sees my last name takes longer than five seconds to look at me notices something “other” about me. Other... not one box to check on your “optional” choose one diversity survey Can’t check White. Can’t check Asian. other...“Decline to Answer” I’m Biracial. White-passing— but not enough to stop ignorance ignorance in the form of questions and comments meant to be “harmless” or “curious” but ones that strip me of defining my own identity “So are you a math Asian or a **** Asian?” “You don’t look Asian enough for your last name.” “Why are you trying to whitewash yourself for them?” “Diversity quota” And in comparison, those aren’t the worst things to hear. By age ten I knew which words were meant to hurt and which were meant out of ignorance. Which racial slur applied to me. I’m Biracial. The same system that builds up half of me tears down the other half. But— The model minority myth means something to you. So you’ll build my other half up at the expense of someone else. You’ll make me feel uncomfortable in my own identity to fit what you need in the circumstances Statistics to fit your workplace diversity quota But still white passing so you can use micro aggressions as a joke because I’m “white enough” that they should be funny. I’m Biracial. Not other. Not part you and part not you. Not “missing” something. I am wholly biracial.
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46
Sometimes a man find himself encased in a total stare. Memories of the abusive one whose aggressions he could no longer bare. No one would listen because of the fact that he is a man. Nobody cared to go to his defense nor tried to understand. The gender card was exploited and always on full display. Lies held against him will always be until his abusers dying day. Hurting inside because the man forever lost a child. The abuser stands by watching with an aggressive smile. The abuser never cared about nothing or the damage she caused. She was more concerned about the good image to be lost. What his child look like today the man he just cannot say. He finds himself stuck with the image of yesterday. His abuser has purposely torn away parts of his heart for many years. His eyes has never dried up from the many tears. Avoiding the abuser this man had to be the one to pay a lifetime price. Escaping the claws of the abuser the child became the ultimate sacrifice.
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Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
"The Abuser"
You ask me why I’m so angry all the time I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry, I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry. And then you’ll call me emotional and hysterical As if we’re still in the era of old where simple female reactions Were pathologised and the bold locked up for being “mentally ill”. You ask me why I’m angry and I simply scoff And deny because if I start speaking about why The rage in me will boil over like lava in a volcano And then where will we be? [pause] I want to tell you, I want to tell you why. Why this rage, this utter, all consuming anger, this deep-rooted grief. Let me tell you how I feel like crying whenever I hear about Another **** case, another girl murdered for daring to refuse, Another woman of colour who endured terrifying pain, All because she was who she was. Another minority violated, another black trans woman killed, her ****** unsolved, Another child abducted and sold, like a commodity Another another another It never stops and it never ends From micro-aggressions to gross violence I feel it all in my heart Like a stab between the fourth and the fifth rib And it adds to my rage. The words burst forth from my lips, But I rein them in Because even though I want to protest Against your complete ignorance and your casual misogyny And my being revolts in response to your words, I stop myself because you are my family, my friend, my peer And if I say something You’ll just ask me why I’m so angry all the time. Sometimes there’s no winning Resistance is futile In a world so steeped in patriarchy That it’s unaware of the consequences Of perpetuating sexist narratives. But I still want to fight The oppressive systems that chain the girl child, The casual way we respond to certain slights Against the all encompassing freedom of women. And I’ll take on a thousand such questions If only I can change one life, If only I can spread the word and fight the good fight. And, I would have told you all this If only you had asked. If only you had the patience To listen as I blathered on About statistics and documented proof Of how 50% of the world’s population Is still under constant threat to their lives. I repeat, fifty percent of the world’s population Lives with a constant threat to their lives. I would have told you about how there are thousands of accounts Of harassment and abuse and violation of basic human rights, The right to say no, the right to thrive. I would have told you, I would have told you all If only you had asked. So don’t ask me why I’m angry Ask yourself why you’re not.
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Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
don't ask me why i'm angry
You ask me why I’m so angry all the time I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry, I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry. And then you’ll call me emotional and hysterical As if we’re still in the era of old where simple female reactions Were pathologised and the bold locked up for being “mentally ill”. You ask me why I’m angry and I simply scoff And deny because if I start speaking about why The rage in me will boil over like lava in a volcano And then where will we be? [pause] I want to tell you, I want to tell you why. Why this rage, this utter, all consuming anger, this deep-rooted grief. Let me tell you how I feel like crying whenever I hear about Another **** case, another girl murdered for daring to refuse, Another woman of colour who endured terrifying pain, All because she was who she was. Another minority violated, another black trans woman killed, her ****** unsolved, Another child abducted and sold, like a commodity Another another another It never stops and it never ends From micro-aggressions to gross violence I feel it all in my heart Like a stab between the fourth and the fifth rib And it adds to my rage. The words burst forth from my lips, But I rein them in Because even though I want to protest Against your complete ignorance and your casual misogyny And my being revolts in response to your words, I stop myself because you are my family, my friend, my peer And if I say something You’ll just ask me why I’m so angry all the time. Sometimes there’s no winning Resistance is futile In a world so steeped in patriarchy That it’s unaware of the consequences Of perpetuating sexist narratives. But I still want to fight The oppressive systems that chain the girl child, The casual way we respond to certain slights Against the all encompassing freedom of women. And I’ll take on a thousand such questions If only I can change one life, If only I can spread the word and fight the good fight. And, I would have told you all this If only you had asked. If only you had the patience To listen as I blathered on About statistics and documented proof Of how 50% of the world’s population Is still under constant threat to their lives. I repeat, fifty percent of the world’s population Lives with a constant threat to their lives. I would have told you about how there are thousands of accounts Of harassment and abuse and violation of basic human rights, The right to say no, the right to thrive. I would have told you, I would have told you all If only you had asked. So don’t ask me why I’m angry Ask yourself why you’re not.
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64
your George Klooney appeals to your filter. you brunch with Tungsten and straight up toxic marriages. the mob rules the Jupiter, so therefore and ever after you mop Hell's kitchen while you slideshow your thumb through the wreckage of your tender aggressions in the marsh where the hard sky lobs acid and false globs of character... we blur the chi chi's and wiz bang the last dirge we incur the wrath of our blissful innocence and sweeten the Lama with our Lambda,  " all back of the bus, and ****  " we betwixt the twain. and that's the grease in the varmint. the tuft of luscious. you gob-smack the kiwi and chip away at the porcine thunder of our pagan banquet. the lungs you drum with; are even now less equipped to sermon the mount where your meek inherits lengua tacos. and your life means nothing, really....
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Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Bizarre Foods America
*She touches gently... And conquers my aggressions She does, every time!*
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Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Midas Touch (Haiku)
Im a Grouch. On the inside I try to be a lot of things, I try to be a good friends, a good, listener To be generous and forgiving, try to be a, man of my word I try to be all these things. That would be easy if I wasn't so angry "Your a grouch, go live in a trash can" Nothing could be more accurate eh? A receptacle for the worst of people A place for them to discard the spent little pieces of themselves Crumpled up and thrown away. You become filled with that. The wrong stuff You become a discarded napkin on the inside Coffee and lipstick stains the echoes of rough mornings and old heartache. Other people throw those things away and move on. But you, their ******* bin are forced to hold on to those past aggressions Is it any wonder I'm so angry? Were all like that, memory is garbage. A festering old sandwich in a bin that clearly reads, paper only, recycle please.
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Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Use your inside grouch
“writing is a minefield of life happenings…blessed be the seers for they keep the faith.” patty m <!> life is a series of provocations and evocations, I will indulge you and define them as hundreds of micro aggressions, or a combinatory, minefield which comes first, the explosions or the writings? chicken, egg, cart, horse, surely your surly certain of the answer, but I will not beg but differ the itch, the need, the urge, ignited by the fuse of arrogance of a devastation of self esteem, or the aches of breaks of your severed body parts are uniquely yours, requiring explication, repair by the surgery of your own words shared. searing unique pain, makes you confident enough steering you into becoming a seer.
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May 6, 2023
May 6, 2023 at 3:31 PM UTC
“Writing is a minefield of life happenings... blessed be the seers for they keep the faith”
Well I slept through this cold night, Hell, I've been through worse. Heard a wicked story, of Glass and tattered sash. The fire keeps me friendly, This fire tells me more, It's all just ganna burn up theres nothing else left but ash an Lyme. That moon is watching; cautious. It's makin sure I don't break more hearts. I already feel so guilty, I don't need this sentinel, to remind me of my transgressions, of love fueled aggressions. So I might choke on this cigarette, I might drown myself in drink, You burning oh so bright, I feel it's warmth from here, For me its fuckin' bitter, For whoelse it's cinnamon treats, Please dim down your lights, You make it real hard to ****** sleep.
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Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
~Musta brought the bad weather with me~
on the first Tuesday last month, I saw my Black Lab propose to my grey and white cat, I had noticed a certain something going on; I thought it was aggressions over territory or food, never imagined they had deeper feelings. He had a little collar , with rhinestones, for her, about like what I could afford if some girl tickled my fancy. She, answered with ,  " meow" and a cheek rub, how could I turn down their romances. I filled their dinner dish with fresh hot dogs, their water dish with clean cool water, and a few rose petals, went outside to let them be alone, heard such a ruckus, reminded me of my honeymoon. When I came in  my remote was chewed up. The next month, Time Warner sent me a bill for an ****** movie ,  101 Damnations does a ***** I laughed.
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Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
it was a bizzare day
I was told by a pair of pity-filled stares that simmered frantic shock and dared That I could not have him. I rebelled, furrowing mutterings of what is fair while hope suspended me in whirling air, Picturing scenes of hush and quiet laughs. Ironic, then, how indifference settled into his expression and met my joy with sarcastic aggressions. Ironic, still, that I catch myself delving not in the sea-bound winds unravelling over the coasts of mythical lands, But in the shape of your hands on mine.
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Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
The Senselessness of Dreaming
What does it take to Change the world? What does it take to Make you answer To all my questions With no aggressions? How much it will take to Improve myself? How much it will take to Do the work And change your mind To make you see the world unlike a blind? When things will start to Go according to my dream? When you all will start to Treat each other with a cream Keeping a smile always Which forever stays ? Where should I go to Find a place unique? Where should I go to Start my trip With a herd of sheep And not having a relation cheap? Why you act like You act like you don't care about what I say? Why you always get fooled by Yourself, assuming your life is free While seeling yourself with a price By the Ellites, who just roll the dice. Have you ever thought About those question's birth? How I always feel About the people of earth? I love you, But It's not that I don't hate you.
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Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Are those the Questions?
Today, I fell into a medication nightmare, because I don't know why, I really don't care I DON'T GIVE A **** But I did give a dare ! I lied to you about past aggressions, deep recessions and loud obsessions. These jagged little pills are in my possession. I swallow them whole, one after another, the red one, the blue one, sister or brother, see you don't know me any more, So just look away and don't even bother These pills are my family, my welcome mat. They say "HI, how are you, would you like a drink with that?" They greet me in the morning and kiss me before my evening nap!! They take walks with me from the cup to the sink, three minutes later, my mind stops to think, I stumble around in lucid dreams, and two seconds later, I dropped that drink. Body numbed and pill jar emptied This medication nightmare just reached out and bit me. I opened my eyes and could not see clearly, and said to myself "What day is it, please?"
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Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
Medication Nightmare
I try to ask you how your day is going but the bravery slips from my lips and I am worried those are not the right words- all I can muster up the courage to say is whats up? I tip-toe around your emotions like this is minesweeper waiting for any move I make to make you explode- but it seems the only thing I'm sweeping is my mind in an attempt to rack yours. Am I yours anymore? Because these days all seem to blend together and I try to avoid the explosions but they seem to come anyways always hiding behind passive aggressions and misread text messages because you don't like texting so I tend to keep quiet. Try to stay silent as long as I possibly can but with every good thing that happens I want to turn to you and every bad thing, I want to run to you. Is that a crime? Am I a nuisance for sprinting to you with my issues and am I naive for thinking that you would welcome them with open arms. I feel like this is high school again- because I think that was the last time I was actually scared to talk to someone.. See my heart beats out of my chest for you but it seems everyday I am struggling more and more to keep it beating less because I am an anxiety ridden mess already and not telling you about it makes it worse- trying to make you understand makes it worse- you not believing I can't control it makes it so much worse and these things I wish I didn't go through I ******* do so why should I have to keep them from you? BOOM. Another bomb dropped at my feet and all I can make out is the ringing in my ears I'm so ******* tired of not being me.. I just warily wait in the corner for another explosion these days and you keep telling me to talk to you but the words come out muffled and I am flustered. I'm not sure how to explain to you if I can't over-explain it or make it a big deal because these things, to me, are a big deal I'M A ******* BIG DEAL! I am the bomb ready to explode, I am the snake in the grass nipping at your ankles- I am the ******* 4am phone call crying for help. And I am worth every single ******* star in the entire universe because I shine just as bright and provide you with a way out of your own darkness- so ******* treat me as such.
0
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
The nightlight that leads you to your bed, can also keep you awake.
I try to ask you how your day is going but the bravery slips from my lips and I am worried those are not the right words- all I can muster up the courage to say is whats up? I tip-toe around your emotions like this is minesweeper waiting for any move I make to make you explode- but it seems the only thing I'm sweeping is my mind in an attempt to rack yours. Am I yours anymore? Because these days all seem to blend together and I try to avoid the explosions but they seem to come anyways always hiding behind passive aggressions and misread text messages because you don't like texting so I tend to keep quiet. Try to stay silent as long as I possibly can but with every good thing that happens I want to turn to you and every bad thing, I want to run to you. Is that a crime? Am I a nuisance for sprinting to you with my issues and am I naive for thinking that you would welcome them with open arms. I feel like this is high school again- because I think that was the last time I was actually scared to talk to someone.. See my heart beats out of my chest for you but it seems everyday I am struggling more and more to keep it beating less because I am an anxiety ridden mess already and not telling you about it makes it worse- trying to make you understand makes it worse- you not believing I can't control it makes it so much worse and these things I wish I didn't go through I ******* do so why should I have to keep them from you? BOOM. Another bomb dropped at my feet and all I can make out is the ringing in my ears I'm so ******* tired of not being me.. I just warily wait in the corner for another explosion these days and you keep telling me to talk to you but the words come out muffled and I am flustered. I'm not sure how to explain to you if I can't over-explain it or make it a big deal because these things, to me, are a big deal I'M A ******* BIG DEAL! I am the bomb ready to explode, I am the snake in the grass nipping at your ankles- I am the ******* 4am phone call crying for help. And I am worth every single ******* star in the entire universe because I shine just as bright and provide you with a way out of your own darkness- so ******* treat me as such.
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54
I had no idea Why we clicked Snapped right into place But we hit And when we collided My thoughts, memories Feelings and pent up aggressions Knocked out, jumbled my sentries That were protecting the words From escaping my lips But I've set them free Past my finger tips Unto your hands Your long fingers, cold I hope that you keep my secrets Till you are weary and old My dear friend Who I've burdened with so much trust Please understand my words Don't let my stories rust
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Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Rusty Rhymes That Are Sublime
MLK described his hope to live in a colour blind world, What he meant, was to acknowledge race and colour first, and be concerned, Concerned what privilege we were born into, and what was not earned Not disregard the differences or how inequalities are preserved. you’re supposed to see colour first and understand the struggles people face, face for having different skin colour or being a minority race. Call out racist jokes when you hear them with your friends and family Because these micro aggressions need to be addressed for their brutality Brutality with its unimaginable gravity and tragedy On people who have worked so hard to fight grim actuality. When tragedies occur do your research and infer, with plenty of resources online to educate ourselves on the history and the issues that present themselves. As communities, we should take a moment to think Think of the frustration, limitation and the unimaginable disintegration of wealth disparities, justice bias, education and housing discrimination That the colour of our skin gave us different experiences and oppressions So no, we aren’t ready to call ourselves colour blind because we just cannot be. The colour of our skin was an agency of   prejudice, power, and prosperity. At a time like this, when its hardest to fight, fight for what’s fair and right and ask as many questions as you’d like Or racism will continue to blight humanity at its sight.
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Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 9:10 AM UTC
Don't be Racist
my hair is your obsession because it's ***** it's curly it's exotic it's ethnic i wrap it up because it's fallen out and you call me aunt jemima i wrap it up because it's damaged and you call me carmen miranda you taped a photo on my desk how about i tape a photo to your desk? compare you to every white person you remind me of touch your hair every day and point out your split ends your bald spots your imperfections and send you a photo of the whitest white woman and say, this is you; you are her your ignorance fascinates me and yet i'm not allowed to say **** i sit in my chair and i let your micro aggressions build up into volcanoes that make me want to erupt on your fantasy island where all white is all right and all black is all nap and latinas serve your tequilas you always want to put your ******* fingers where they don't belong you believe your simple gestures are innocent but you're wrong
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Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
my hair; your obsession
At the end of the day, even if you walk away you've called my tenderness to wake bringing love to every day. and it will never dissipate, the love you've set inside my veins, and I won't let it escape as long as your light never fades. you've taken me and rearranged the empty spaces in my brain making me forever changed, leaving my aggressions tamed. maybe it's been hard to say all of the things we need to say, but even if you walk away, you've called my tenderness to wake, I am forever changed.
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Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
evaporated
You **** me I **** you muslims I see killed by jews no one is clean muslims **** too when will we be free from this dogmatic glue asking us to pick and choose who we should kick and bruise until we're sick and lose. Neither side is too witty doing the war machine's bidding fighting over a magic city for their brand of madness to be winning the wheels of capitalism spinning which has arms dealers grinning due to population slimming. I sit on the sidelines wishing I could buy time to write the right line serving as a lifeline to end the Palestinian oppression and both of their aggressions but I get the impression there's no single lesson that will cause deflection. I honestly don't know why people feel the need to pick sides right wingers **** ride everything the Israelis try while some on the left decide the Palestinians are great guys I'm just tired of the blatant lies based on each given state's size the way both those snakes slide to sympathy saying their victimized. Neither side is a gracious host both sides create hateful ghosts for control of the coast for control of the most for control of the boast of which religion has dominance and which one is toast not receiving the world prominence of United Nations votes so they build their moats and block the other's boats fighting over a hill like goats people ask me which side I dote and I just say **** them both.
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May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 5:16 PM UTC
Palestine/Israel
There are words that are left unspoken to the ears that will never hear. There are hearts that now are broken and lives that died in fear. ~~ And we ask the empty questions to the vast and bitter cold. And we grasp at our aggressions and leave our secrets still untold. ~~ Is a soul void of compassion and so blackened by its rage? Is it blind to resolution, to the illusion on the stage? ~~ There were words of desperation; for mercy they did call to the ears of Lost Salvation, who'd died long before his fall.
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Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
Lost Salvation
my life revolves around lies but I continue on but with a heavy conscious I can't get out my mind how I told a little boy, starving for food, I didn't have spare change How I would look at the world and tell it everything is ok But in reality that's just it, my reality is a lie I find it harder to sleep telling her I love her meanwhile I don't You I'm more complex then the average man I'm a never ending series of doubt and reason Reason for doubt but only in myself I can't stand what I've become It's today the day I change or do I wait for tomorrow only for the day after to come Physically and mentally I'm drained somedays it's seems easier to stay in bed all day With the flooding of thoughts and past aggressions But then I think to myself who am I I am the man I'm chosen out to be
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
the lair
To my drenched Turtledove. ­ Sorry to see you in such a state,through my bedroom window, Drenched and rather confused by the sudden flush of rain,below. Surprised by this painful view,tears came promptly down in a row. There I stood,like so many in this world,witnessing,facing tragedies, Becoming nummed by what I saw,speechless by the realities, Of wars,aggressions,deaths,hunger,homelessness,and all lossess. As I stood glaring at the outside world,I retreaved my reasoning, Within a short while,our glorious sun,imposed his presence,loving As usual his smart amazing surprises:now the rain:now the sun. Us two,little Turtledove,have regained warmth,safety,and conforting Conditions,thanks to our faithful sun.Sadly the wars are still acting Destroying our fellow people's dreams before our own eyes,with fun. Kindred spirit like yourself is difficult to find,Turtledove. Geneviève.
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Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
To my drenched Turtledove.
Oh... Oh oh What they said What they said What they said about you What they said I didn't believe it Because I believe in a little thing Called giving a chance But you took my word Went and smeared it, I just can't Let it happen again No, I can't stand the thought of it But the saddest part of it Is that you don't see the fault in your trangressions I tried to talk and tried to sit But nothing would put a stop to your passive aggressions So I just went and left I could'nt see us moving mountains In my thoughts where you once crept Now bears a black liquid spewing fountain No, I don't harbor any bad feelings I just feel like you don't know the meaning You're so shallow when you're sinning All you know is death, your life's been waning Now it might sound insensitive But when I walked away from you I never felt better No, no No, I never felt more free
0
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
What They Said
What Perfect Timing you see, waking up in the morning, her love is gone instantly. "Last night was the best!" saying it depressingly, "Why?!" "How could you leave me?!" asking questions, "It's all I had to give" answering with some aggressions. I loved her with everything I had, the good and bad, she left with no reason, I loved her, and that's a confession.
0
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
Perfect Timing
I am tired of looking at my body as confinement, like a last ditch effort. the impermanence of being is the beauty of it. I displace, upon my skin, subconscious aggressions creating critical space in between the me that is now me and who I used to be: a bruise placed as a confession upon the unforgiving curve of my hip or the marring of my expressions through abuse over time. This big event, my singular revival, is not a realistic thing. My survival depends upon small changes, Regular and routine, that will bring me up to speed again. to escape the weight of grievances past, I have to recall what it is I've done right.
0
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
kronos