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Carly Bunch Mar 2014
I just want to sleep
close my eyes
relax
then wake up in the sweat
of my dreams
from the murderer
swinging the axe across
my arm and amputating
the only leverage I had
Ailin Apr 2014
never hearing the applause
or the symphonies he orchestrated
amputating the legs of his piano
to feel the vibrations on the floor
only to get down on his knees
for music
Shane Koyzan's Beethoven, youtube it. You will not be disappointed.
jack of spades Apr 2016
i’ve found that i do the most learning during second semester.

for example, second semester of freshman year i learned that losing friends is a lot like losing a life,
that losing friends kind of usually makes you really want to die,
that losing friends is like a comet blasting its way through your heart--
it sets you ablaze for a moment,
but then by the time you notice its absence it’s already circling another planet.
losing friends is always hard.
keep a death toll if you have to, but adding a tally mark for yourself isn’t worth it.
learn the art of letting go.
learn the art of getting by.
it’s hard, and it sometimes feels impossible,
but don’t expect too much from anything.
don’t expect too much from anyone,
but god forbid you let yourself lose all feeling.
yes, feeling hurts, yes, feeling is hard,
but going numb and cold leads to frostbite
and you'll just end up amputating the limbs that you have left.

the second semester of sophomore year,
i learned what it was like to never feel at home in your own bones.
you’re always drifting, interstate international interstellar intergalactic.
it’s all the same thing.
it’s okay to let yourself wander,
and it’s okay if you find yourself kneeling on foreign bathroom floors clutching porcelain like it’s your last lifeline.
learn that home is where your heart is.
don’t invest your heart into anything.
learn that there are teenage boys out there who will spin galaxies into your spine when they hold you close,
but learn that romance is stigmatized.
learn that relationships don’t have to be forever,
that nothing is ever really forever.
learn that friends will last longer than lovers,
and learn to tell the difference between friends and lovers.
make plans to travel the world with your soulmate,
and make sure your soulmate is someone who wants to travel the world with you.
the second semester of sophomore year,
i learned that losing friends is a lot like losing a life,
only this time it was worse because this time i was built out of scar tissue
and scar tissue is tougher to tear through but they did it anyway.
i’m still learning the art of letting go.
i’m learning that it’s okay to write as much angry, heart-broken poetry as you need to in order to get over it
because friendships wrap tighter around your heart than any other kind of relationship.
learn that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
but learn to be kind to your mother, because she is trying.

the second semester of junior year
i learned the names of every single person that i could pour my whole soul into,
and just because i don’t share everything with someone doesn’t mean we aren’t friends.
i’ve learned that i have friends.
just because we aren’t awake together at 3 a.m.
doesn’t mean that they don’t sit next to me in all the classes we’re both in,
it doesn’t mean that they don’t go driving with me at 3 p.m.
a friend doesn’t have to be someone you spend every waking moment with.
a friend can just be someone that you coexist with,
someone who makes you feel like you aren’t really all that alone.

the second semester of junior year i’ve learned that i am still learning.
i’m still figuring things out.
maybe by the second semester of senior year i’ll have learned something closer to, say, what i’m doing for the next four to six years,
or maybe i’ll finally master the art of letting go.

the second half of high school
i’ve learned that, yeah, scar tissue grows.
but scars fade.
and the concave space in your chest doesn’t have to keep on growing into a black hole,
that you can fill up your cracks and crevices with stardust and iron.
losing friends is like losing a life. but, god, when they come back--

it’s okay to feel things.
it’s okay to feel too much and all at once.
it’s okay to vent and rave and scream.
it’s okay to write bad poetry about sins that you’ve already forgiven and people you’ve already forgotten and places you’ve already left behind.
it’s okay.
it’s okay to hold onto your humanity.
make maps with your own freckles and follow your veins to your eyes.
make eye contact with your own reflection.
if you can’t teach yourself something,
then how is anyone else ever going to listen?
EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY
Vic Jun 2019
I fell of the stairs for the 2nd time today.


(This is a joke ssshhh)
(I did fall off the stairs though)
A poem every day.
Påłpëbŕå Jun 2021
there's this eerie feeling

that's crawling up my heart

wounding all my healing

forcing me to over start

all the progress made I

seems to be nothing for

don't remember going high

drowning in my mind for sure

my roots keep pulling me down

my branches amputating my growth

family, friends and foes frown

upon this meaningless life's oath
Lawren Jun 2012
Banished from my life
To me, you are dead.
Amputating your white knuckles
From my lungs I revive the breath
Which had previously been taken.

Sneakily, I crept upon you
Stealing away the blinders—
Regaining my peripheral vision
And ability to see the world around me.

I plug my headphones into my body
Drowning out your drill sergeant
Yelling at me to run faster,
Push harder,
Be better.

Removing your sparkling diamond ring
From my finger,
I cancel our engagement.
No longer will we live together
Intimately sharing our space—
MY space.
There is no space for you here.

Quickly and ferociously
I throw your **** out the window
Leaving you mute, homeless and limbless;
Unable to communicate with anyone else,
Or invade their space.
An exterminator has been in and out
Killing the parasites ingested
From the food you tainted.

With the worms removed
And the eggs uprooted,
You’ve lost your control over my body.
My firewalls are up,
Protecting me from further infection.

I know and understand your acid rain
Will fall upon me again,
But I have built a house
Upon strong supports
In which I can enter
When I am enticed
By the tingling burn of my skin.
Word of the Challenge
{Cerulean}

I tried smiling and pretending,
Amputating my memory of your sea lover,
Simply there’s a cerulean hue when I see you,
Again thoughts of her mermaid hands on you,
Gashes a pain from my heart in ICU,
And realisation of my flatline faith in you.
It keeps reminding of that ******* the beach you kissed and I can’t be with you no longer. Goodbye.
lemon Jun 2016
I don't think I know what love feels like anymore
Since all I can gather of it
Is equivalent to amputating your leg
Without anesthetic
its ****** and hurts a **** lot
Vivian Apr 2014
I never write poetry anyway
What am I doing with my life?
and I'm not looking at paths
but spheres
that can cross and weave
that's my life, breathing and living for
progress and change searching
far across the plains of my mind
making reason and emotions combine.

Do I want to go to art school?
*******
Who am I anyway?
I want it so badly but shutting a part of me feels like amputating
I was never one for pain I didn't derive pleasure from.

Pride is a silly thing
SC Oct 2015
It wasn't the fierce words
thrown with malicious intent
that happened.
It was the cold silence that
demolished tender moments
replacing laughter with tears.
That dreadful silence that supplanted
every gentle touch and
amputating all knowing smiles.        
That repugnant silence
which slowly drowned
any love we knew.
It is that silence -
Forever ringing in my ears
That I  simply
cannot
forgive.
Jonathan Foreman, Daily Mail (London), August 18, 2013
The 16-year-old girl’s once-beautiful face was grotesque.
She had been disfigured beyond all recognition in the 18 months she had been held captive by the Comanche Indians.
Now, she was being offered back to the Texan authorities by Indian chiefs as part of a peace negotiation.
To gasps of horror from the watching crowds, the Indians presented her at the Council House in the ranching town of San Antonio in 1840, the year Queen Victoria married Prince Albert.
‘Her head, arms and face were full of bruises and sores,’ wrote one witness, Mary Maverick. ‘And her nose was actually burnt off to the bone. Both nostrils were wide open and denuded of flesh.’
Once handed over, Matilda Lockhart broke down as she described the horrors she had endured—the ****, the relentless ****** humiliation and the way Comanche squaws had tortured her with fire. It wasn’t just her nose, her thin body was hideously scarred all over with burns.
When she mentioned she thought there were 15 other white captives at the Indians’ camp, all of them being subjected to a similar fate, the Texan lawmakers and officials said they were detaining the Comanche chiefs while they rescued the others.
It was a decision that prompted one of the most brutal slaughters in the history of the Wild West—and showed just how bloodthirsty the Comanche could be in revenge.
S C Gwynne, author of Empire Of The Summer Moon about the rise and fall of the Comanche, says simply: ‘No tribe in the history of the Spanish, French, Mexican, Texan, and American occupations of this land had ever caused so much havoc and death. None was even a close second.’
He refers to the ‘demonic immorality’ of Comanche attacks on white settlers, the way in which torture, killings and gang-rapes were routine. ‘The logic of Comanche raids was straightforward,’ he explains.
‘All the men were killed, and any men who were captured alive were tortured; the captive women were gang *****. Babies were invariably killed.’
Not that you would know this from the new Lone Ranger movie, starring Johnny Depp as the Indian Tonto.
For reasons best know to themselves, the film-makers have changed Tonto’s tribe to Comanche—in the original TV version, he was a member of the comparatively peace-loving Potowatomi tribe.
And yet he and his fellow native Americans are presented in the film as saintly victims of a Old West where it is the white settlers—the men who built America—who represent nothing but exploitation, brutality, environmental destruction and genocide.
Depp has said he wanted to play Tonto in order to portray Native Americans in a more sympathetic light. But the Comanche never showed sympathy themselves.
When that Indian delegation to San Antonio realised they were to be detained, they tried to fight their way out with bows and arrows and knives—killing any Texan they could get at. In turn, Texan soldiers opened fire, slaughtering 35 Comanche, injuring many more and taking 29 prisoner.
But the Comanche tribe’s furious response knew no bounds. When the Texans suggested they swap the Comanche prisoners for their captives, the Indians tortured every one of those captives to death instead.
‘One by one, the children and young women were pegged out naked beside the camp fire,’ according to a contemporary account. ‘They were skinned, sliced, and horribly mutilated, and finally burned alive by vengeful women determined to wring the last shriek and convulsion from their agonised bodies. Matilda Lockhart’s six-year-old sister was among these unfortunates who died screaming under the high plains moon.’
Not only were the Comanche specialists in torture, they were also the most ferocious and successful warriors—indeed, they become known as ‘Lords of the Plains’.
They were as imperialist and genocidal as the white settlers who eventually vanquished them.
When they first migrated to the great plains of the American South in the late 18th century from the Rocky Mountains, not only did they achieve dominance over the tribes there, they almost exterminated the Apaches, among the greatest horse warriors in the world.
The key to the Comanche’s brutal success was that they adapted to the horse even more skilfully than the Apaches.
There were no horses at all in the Americas until the Spanish conquerors brought them. And the Comanche were a small, relatively primitive tribe roaming the area that is now Wyoming and Montana, until around 1700, when a migration southwards introduced them to escaped Spanish mustangs from Mexico.
The first Indians to take up the horse, they had an aptitude for horsemanship akin to that of Genghis Khan’s Mongols. Combined with their remarkable ferocity, this enabled them to dominate more territory than any other Indian tribe: what the Spanish called Comancheria spread over at least 250,000 miles.
They terrorised Mexico and brought the expansion of Spanish colonisation of America to a halt. They stole horses to ride and cattle to sell, often in return for firearms.
Other livestock they slaughtered along with babies and the elderly (older women were usually ***** before being killed), leaving what one Mexican called ‘a thousand deserts’. When their warriors were killed they felt honour-bound to exact a revenge that involved torture and death.
Settlers in Texas were utterly terrified of the Comanche, who would travel almost a thousand miles to slaughter a single white family.
The historian T R Fehrenbach, author of Comanche: The History Of A People, tells of a raid on an early settler family called the Parkers, who with other families had set up a stockade known as Fort Parker. In 1836, 100 mounted Comanche warriors appeared outside the fort’s walls, one of them waving a white flag to trick the Parkers.
‘Benjamin Parker went outside the gate to parley with the Comanche,’ he says. ‘The people inside the fort saw the riders suddenly surround him and drive their lances into him. Then with loud whoops, mounted warriors dashed for the gate. Silas Parker was cut down before he could bar their entry; horsemen poured inside the walls.’
Survivors described the slaughter: ‘The two Frosts, father and son, died in front of the women; Elder John Parker, his wife ‘Granny’ and others tried to flee. The warriors scattered and rode them down.
‘John Parker was pinned to the ground, he was scalped and his genitals ripped off. Then he was killed. Granny Parker was stripped and fixed to the earth with a lance driven through her flesh. Several warriors ***** her while she screamed.
‘Silas Parker’s wife Lucy fled through the gate with her four small children. But the Comanche overtook them near the river. They threw her and the four children over their horses to take them as captives.’
So intimidating was Comanche cruelty, almost all raids by Indians were blamed on them. Texans, Mexicans and other Indians living in the region all developed a particular dread of the full moon—still known as a ‘Comanche Moon’ in Texas—because that was when the Comanche came for cattle, horses and captives.
They were infamous for their inventive tortures, and women were usually in charge of the torture process.
The Comanche roasted captive American and Mexican soldiers to death over open fires. Others were castrated and scalped while alive. The most agonising Comanche tortures included burying captives up to the chin and cutting off their eyelids so their eyes were seared by the burning sun before they starved to death.
Contemporary accounts also describe them staking out male captives spread-eagled and naked over a red-ant bed. Sometimes this was done after excising the victim’s private parts, putting them in his mouth and then sewing his lips together.
One band sewed up captives in untanned leather and left them out in the sun. The green rawhide would slowly shrink and squeeze the prisoner to death.
T R Fehrenbach quotes a Spanish account that has Comanche torturing Tonkawa Indian captives by burning their hands and feet until the nerves in them were destroyed, then amputating these extremities and starting the fire treatment again on the fresh wounds. Scalped alive, the Tonkawas had their tongues torn out to stop the screaming.
The Comanche always fought to the death, because they expected to be treated like their captives. Babies were almost invariably killed in raids, though it should be said that soldiers and settlers were likely to ****** Comanche women and children if they came upon them.
Comanche boys—including captives—were raised to be warriors and had to endure ****** rites of passage. Women often fought alongside the men.
It’s possible the viciousness of the Comanche was in part a by-product of their violent encounters with notoriously cruel Spanish colonists and then with Mexican bandits and soldiers.
But a more persuasive theory is that the Comanche’s lack of central leadership prompted much of their cruelty. The Comanche bands were loose associations of warrior-raiders, like a confederation of small street gangs.
In every society, teenage and twenty-something youths are the most violent, and even if they had wanted to, Comanche tribal chiefs had no way of stopping their young men from raiding.
But the Comanche found their match with the Texas Rangers. Brilliantly portrayed in the Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove books, the Rangers began to be recruited in 1823, specifically to fight the Comanche and their allies. They were a tough guerilla force, as merciless as their Comanche opponents.
They also respected them. As one of McMurtry’s Ranger characters wryly tells a man who claims to have seen a thousand-strong band of Comanche: ‘If there’d ever been a thousand Comanche in a band they’d have taken Washington DC.”
The Texas Rangers often fared badly against their enemy until they learned how to fight like them, and until they were given the new Colt revolver.
During the Civil War, when the Rangers left to fight for the Confederacy, the Comanche rolled back the American frontier and white settlements by 100 miles.
Even after the Rangers came back and the U.S. Army joined the campaigns against Comanche raiders, Texas lost an average of 200 settlers a year until the Red River War of 1874, where the full might of the Army—and the destruction of great buffalo herds on which they depended—ended Commanche depredations.
Interestingly the Comanche, though hostile to all competing tribes and people they came across, had no sense of race. They supplemented their numbers with young American or Mexican captives, who could become full-fledged members of the tribe if they had warrior potential and could survive initiation rites.
Weaker captives might be sold to Mexican traders as slaves, but more often were slaughtered. But despite the cruelty, some of the young captives who were subsequently ransomed found themselves unable to adapt to settled ‘civilised life and ran away to rejoin their brothers.
One of the great chiefs, Quanah, was the son of the white captive Cynthia Ann Parker. His father was killed in a raid by Texas Rangers that resulted in her being rescued from the tribe. She never adjusted to life back in civilisation and starved herself to death.
Quanah surrendered to the Army in 1874. He adapted well to life in a reservation, and indeed the Comanche, rather amazingly, become one of the most economically successful and best assimilated tribes.
As a result, the main Comanche reservation was closed in 1901, and Comanche soldiers served in the U.S. Army with distinction in the World Wars. Even today they are among the most prosperous native Americans, with a reputation for education.
By casting the cruelest, most aggressive tribe of Indians as mere saps and victims of oppression, Johnny Depp’s Lone Ranger perpetuates the patronising and ignorant cartoon of the ‘noble savage’.
Not only is it a travesty of the truth, it does no favours to the Indians Depp is so keen to support.
Graff1980 Oct 2017
My *** is a phantom limb,
of long ignored desires
that stir within,

Imaginary women,
****** fairytales
of strange scenarios,
silicone sexiness,
constantly urging
cupping and grabbing
licking and *******
my long meat stick.

I am unable discern
the reality of it
because it has been
over two years for me.

So, I give up
looking for love
and get down
to the ***** business
of amputating my desire
with *******.

Internet ****
plus hand equals
tension relief
and my ability to focus
increases.
Satsih Verma Jun 2019
Will you cheat me one
day by your sinful hands, I
ask the city in bloom?

*

You can call full moon
after amputating my legs,
so that I don't run.

*

It was not tragic
ending, when we pretend to
find a pink tiger.
in close association with the katakana:

       -a                𐀀

to create a D - oblivious me:

having to cut off
the following "matchsticks"

   to create, not a D but a D'ah

     𐀀

|- moved across - slide: amputating |
to create:
    
                               𐀅        

yet so primitive before tangent A:
     Δ came along... linear beta:
prior to standardised A... the tangent

weaving out ideographs...
𐂀 - man
              𐂁 - woman...

like the katakana -
there is DA     but no(t) AD

vowels can stand alone -
but consonants need to precede them
when "complexing"...

added...        impossible in linear B...

προστέθηκε - prosthetics: etymology
from prostethike...

     𐀞𐀫𐀮𐀳𐀴𐀐
pa-ro-se-te-ti-ke

     only much later would an F
emerge from 𐀏        KA

as Θ and Φ           but now i can see how:
and why...

how then similar to katakana?
katakana: 5×10 grid (gojūon)

         ゴユオン (goyuon)

             yīn                   adjective: sonic...    

SA-TA-RA-YE
   satire:       but no saturn... RN...
no two consonants meet...

          サチレ         satire

サツレン         SATUREN: but not SATURN

no L in Kyoto no F on Heraklion...

𐀊𐀆             jade - jay'd but perhaps ja'dé
like rose is to rosé

  hei matau taonga:       タオンガ
                       but see apparent:
possible for consonants
to meet: with diacritical addition on GA
hence how polynesian culture
started in Taiwan almost 5000 years ago...

can i see μυ in 𐀘       ?
      as much as i see γ.      in         Υ

κόλλα γλυε κόλλα γω

oh i'm pretty sure those ancients
                were stupid
as modernity has taught us to believe
that the Medieval
    times were harsh is true
but that somehow stupidity was rife
due to superstitions
                                    astounds me
given our own gallery of whims,
quips (about the past)
and pronoun debauchery...

    ビンゴ         !

possible root of birth of letters:

a special place of N among consonants -
coda:


ナ ニ ヌ ネ ノ
ア イ ウ エ オ

yīn and 🔊
       and 🗣️
       and 💬                sonic:
                           ọrọ ni nwachukwu

kiniun ariwo: eyin ti o padanu
                                  wa sisi: nani anajua

origins in spice - chillies...
🧨       or      𐂑: aroma
🚀

                           repenting me, O repenting me,
silly me, now digressing me.
Bard Mar 2020
President wants us dead for the bottom line
Maybe after its over they might give him a fine
More like he'll get paid and it'll get called fine
Every rotten thing I thought of this home of mine

Confirmed by massive stock dumps at the onset
Could have saved a thousand lives instead get
To make a death cult worshiping  the market
Divided on whether our lives are worth it

Government is arguing on if they should **** the poor
Cause they aren't making enough millions this quarter
Trying to push the death toll even higher
Nothing changed, seeing its just easier

Bloodshed of decades propagated by us
Bloodshed instigated by our vote in the U.S.
Now the murderous ignorance will hurt us
Uneducated voters and idle people of the U.S.

Blood of the poor who cant get healthcare
Blood of the third world to small for care
Lives ruined for capital and power ever year
Lives ruined for capital today its so near

Ice rinks filled with corpses are the price
Sweat shops and misery are the price
Ghettos and brutality are the price
A world burning to ash is the price

For our gross negligence these are the costs
For our uneducated country lives are lost
For a red cult once again America could be lost
A new red scare more insidious than the last

People support elephants as they get crushed underfoot
They loathe they're constituents willing to make any cut
Cut education, cut healthcare, but the always get their cut
excised the experts, gutted the cdc, its so clear ******* cut

Who is rotting the body why is this body failing
Maybe its all those cuts amputating everything
Maybe its the glut of wealth stopping blood flowing
Maybe its the suicidal gasping and grasping

Always reaching for the wealth and power
Rabidly wanting higher, higher, higher
When 99.99% of ******* fall lower
And the .001% stand on corpses piling higher

And all I can do is sit quarantined and vent my anger
Ryan O'Leary Jan 7
But for blood stains,

the occasional blue

bullet proof jackets

on dead journalists,

Al Jazeera's footage

appears to be shot

in black and white.

Amputating Gaza.

     It’s a rap.

— The End —