"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.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
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.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC
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.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
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.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
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....
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
*She touches gently...
And conquers my aggressions
She does, every time!*
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
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.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
“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.
May 6, 2023
May 6, 2023 at 3:31 PM UTC
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.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
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.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
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.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
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.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
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?"
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
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.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
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
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
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.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 9:10 AM UTC
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
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
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.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
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.
May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 5:16 PM UTC
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.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
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
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
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.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
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
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
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.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
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.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC