"antagonistic" poems
tell me what words are there
to articulate this savage parade
not here, not in all the Lebanons
whose crystal castles sparkle
like broken glass
on the dark horizons
at the jagged edges of the world
from which cultured minds have receded
and all humanity has been relinquished
to the barbarity of the frenzied flavours of fools
who will speak for this wild parade
without impediment to mythical protagonists
tell me where are the energised arguments
against sophisticated yet false laments
where testament is torn through
weeping cedar trees
producing the unpredictable accidental quality
that memorialises phantom caresses
that have neither been invented nor encouraged
the hallow that inaugurates
the distinctive features of
destructive energies that are both
exuberant and hard to comprehend
this parade where there is
a savage sensibility
capable of apprehending
contradictory ethical imperatives
that vouch for a mocking stream of
tragic political consequence
displayed vividly in the inextricability
of civil order and political violence
that defies exclusive claim
by casting itself as freedom warrior
in disguise as militaristic humanism
and burns the temple tree
and where human identity
becomes an elusive possession
owned by a few
who in the inevitability of ignorance
refuse to recognise their tragic error
and the world does not mount
a strenuous protest
at this headlong dash for Ephesus
where antagonistic language and
neutral expression of thought converge
and here the value of valulessness
repudiates, even in a single poetic moment
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
The City of Derby holds her breath amidst the crisis of historical ramblings and talkative expressions of inhibition.
Do not be deceived. Roaches are not mere insects, but are also three-course celebrations of haunting and religious engagements. There are Peaks which lie beyond the stratospheres of Leek.
Although the parameters of yesteryear project their own splendour, let us acknowledge the silver hair which drips with eternal statements of antagonistic adoration in Curzon Street.
Oh, rose of Sharon, in my sheer lack of understanding, I do not invalidate those instructions to depart from Birmingham New Street.
I have deeply immersed myself in Welsh pools of genuine loss, and have found a precious commodity which I had never beheld in former lifetimes.
Furthermore, I lament the loss of such generational integrity.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
queer creature of white stone:
the spirit of the island in the head of this lion,
the soul of the natives in the body of this fish,
spirit and soul, lion and fish, mingle together by
mere wry humour of evolution’s word
we revere this beast, (it watches over us
from nine metres above), we bow down our backs,
(worship it as our exemplar): for many of us,
unknowingly, we emulate the spirit and soul
of this queer white creation of stone.
standing tall (unshaken!) even as jaundice bolts of heaven’s
creep tip-toed behind its scales and strike:
its cemented steadfastness of stone we emulate,
for through the towering grey waves of crisis, and
the threatening dark clouds that foretell our very fears,
we too, have floated and transcended and appeared
unscathed.
mutated monster – child of bad genes,
they despise such unfavourable antagonistic features
(shall it rule like a lion or flail like a fish?):
its unlikeliness of surviving, of thriving we emulate:
for this dotted smudge of red pen ink on the globe,
destined to bow down to fate – bowed down not, and
flourished.
beams of white water spouting out in a
perfect shape of a quadrant’s circumference, endlessly,
its majestic spewing action we emulate:
this island of expectations, sterile smell of success,
fate of our future in the setting of an exam hall,
(in there do you not think we resemble the merlion,
our mouths the hoses, the papers our well?)
but, oh, the merlion – so many of it –
the merlions, same-maned, same-scaled,
fluttering and bursting with imitation across our home:
such congruity, conformity we emulate:
for years of yearning to swim in the mainstream waters,
of being goldfish, instead of losing the waters for flight like flying fish,
have made us very much, about
the same.
queer creature of white stone:
do you see not how we resemble your very self,
how we offer you praise (by
lifting our human arms, arching on our mere knees,
hoisting our lowly mortal heads, surveying your colossal royalty,
camera in hand)?
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
She hopes, silently, that he will chase her,
catch her in his embrace and smother her
with feverish kisses.
He wants to glance back, towards the stinging
sun, towards the opposite direction she has stayed in
and beacon her with words of licorice.
She wishes to let her voice drown the antagonistic
opposition to their current disposition and listen
attentively to reciprocated admissions.
But they cannot, will not, because
this is not a fairy tale, this is not a fantasy, this
is the sad reality of both decisions.
And so torn apart between letting go or
catching to,
they walk away towards opposite directions.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
**A lecherous
demeanor burnt
the tongue,
like cheesy solicitations in
antagonistic ruminations of
ventured conjecture, churning
sputtered calculations,
a tactile exercise
in the biting tang of
eviscerating maceration
regurgitating bitter sediment,
unctuous residue
slid down the throat,
the aftertaste remained
long after it was digested**
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
The empty air has a bitter tone
When it bites at my fingers
And yells profanities in an unrecognizable tongue.
It stings when it sings.
It has an aberrant gait
And a detached mien,
This lack-of being.
The tempest’s strides jounce its overly-wide shoulders;
Its prominent brow sends an antagonistic shadow
Cascading down its lip and jaw.
This active silence whispers age-old secrets
Its fingers tousling the amber leaves
Of my autumn’s long-dead trees.
The sound resonates,
And this taunting, all-knowing,
Omnipresent, nonexistent-but-still-there wind
Smiles at my naïveté.
Weary under the weight of the world
And the smog of self-importance.
Its eyes are clouded with grey rain,
Its teeth sharp with a bitter resentment;
“I’ve disliked you since the 1700s,” it breathes,
Throwing an airy, acrid gaze at humanity.
(“I’m sorry, but it is you who made me this way,
With your scornful industrialization.”)
Its eyes are frigid, piercing,
Wicked, yet reserved.
Cruel in their taunting assumptions,
Yet,
In those forget-me-not eyes
I found the sky.
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
Hello, little god,
cornered in this world of insignificance;
between sips of too-cold raspberry tea
create your own brand of madness
and label it "art."
From the blueberry stool
that is your throne, conduct
symphonies of beluga whales and
daisy chains molded together
to craft another colorful beginning.
Papercuts and calluses
are your battle wounds;
a diligent ballpoint pen
is the dog that marks its territory.
But then--
White knuckles
crumple mistakes,
transforming them into carpet-coating origami.
Your fingers keep the beat
that defines disincentive:
bmm, bmm, bmm.
Possessed
by antagonistic demons, tug
at the noose that is
a favorite paisley tie
and admit defeat.
Take another bite of your
overpriced Reuben sandwich.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"
–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"
And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.
Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.
Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.
Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."
Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.
Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair
Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions
Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.
Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.
© Sia Jane
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
there may
or may not
exist
certain colours
that the human eye
is unable
to see
an insipid
blueish-yellow
an unpalatable
greenish-red
each said
to be impossible
for our eyes
to process;
if seen
it could appear
in all manner
of forms
but would remain
indescribable
they say that
butterflies can see
the ultraviolet spectrum
and that
the honey bee
sees in infrared;
and so
it would not
be too absurd
for a person
to dismiss
the "impossible"
to believe
in the possibility
of the as-yet
unseen
although
scientifically
the only way
to perceive
these "forbidden" hues
is through trickery
and constraint
by forcing the brain
into seeing both
antagonistic colours
simultaneously
and
without reprieve
until the border
between
the opposing shades
finally dissolves
there may be
a truth
but it is hidden
somewhere between
the plausible
yet impalpable
and the proven
yet proselytised
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 11:30 AM UTC
NOT LOOKING AT OURSELVES
August 7, 2009 - Damascus
Ayad bin Izzet
Why is it so hard to think of ourselves?
Why is it so hard to change bad habits that seem to possess us?
It seems to be a near certain fact, that humans do not like to think of themselves; certainly, very few seriously, deeply think about themselves. Who asks himself: “How do I look like to people?” “How do I sound to people, when I say this and that?” “Why is it people like certain aspects of my behaviour?”
When you open up such a subject to people in general, it is common to hear: “Look, I don’t care what people may think of me”. But an answer like that will not help you go far in this world. You do need to pay attention to what people think about you, otherwise you will be, de facto, behaving like a tyrannical dictator – you are, in effect, alienating and restricting the advancement of your varied self interests.
Why you ask me?
Because we all need people if we are going to succeed in our professional and social lives. Without the agreement of people you cannot succeed, unless if your work can survive within a hermit’s context.
So why are people so antagonistic to change themselves?
I think that for people they are scared of thinking about themselves because they fear what they might find out the nature of what is existing within themselves.
Another reason, is addiction. A person may simply be compulsively addicted to the harmful personality he has – yes, even if he knows that his personality is harmful to his own self interests.
I talk about this subject because we all do need to change our selves, our personalities - since all the troubles of our entire lives emanate from one source: we dysfunctional humans!
Where else do they come from?
And yet, anyone who has ever tried to explain to another person their faults will surely go nowhere. No one is interested. I know one lady who I call the ‘Pharmacist’ because she lovingly showers everyone else with advice, while she herself cannot bear to hear one word with respect to her faults. And then, as the years passed, I came to realize, why all people are basically ‘Pharmacists’!
People have an obstinacy that harder than leather, colder than an icicle; we simply will not improve, as human beings, if we remain this determined not to reform our minds.
And there is nothing else to add on this sorry subject.
How pathetically sad.
A fine epitaph on Humanity’s grave.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
Today, I am decrepit and
my body is not my friend.
My lungs are being unkind,
Squeezing, wheezing, teasing
With occasional, ecstatic gulps of air
It's not fair!
I am one huge ache,
I can barely stay awake.
Medicine rendering me narcoleptic,
pessimistic, antagonistic, unrealistic,
but I must still be mummy
Bathing spots, and finding dummy
I am wilting, like a week old rose,
Exhausted
(Off to wipe her nose)
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
First I was born
Then I began to die
(there's no way out)
(and there never was)
Nursing wounds
Gangrene and obscene
Promiscuous and unwanted
I favor the blessing of the Black Mass
Shrouded in the catastrophe of disillusionment
For the first time in my life
I’m disappointed in your crucifixion
And all the reasons you said you did it for
Antagonistic misanthropy in Maplethorpe grays
Humanity cultivated arctic aspirations
First I was born
Then I found a way out
First I was born
(Then I found a way)
(Away from you)
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 11:15 AM UTC
New International Version
For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want.
New Living Translation
The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other, so you are not free to carry out your good intentions.
English Standard Version
For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do.
New American Standard Bible
For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please.
King James Bible
For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
Holman Christian Standard Bible
For the flesh desires what is against the Spirit, and the Spirit desires what is against the flesh; these are opposed to each other, so that you don't do what you want.
International Standard Version
For what the flesh wants is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit wants is opposed to the flesh. They are opposed to each other, and so you do not do what you want to do.
NET Bible
For the flesh has desires that are opposed to the Spirit, and the Spirit has desires that are opposed to the flesh, for these are in opposition to each other, so that you cannot do what you want.
Aramaic Bible in Plain English
For the flesh craves anything that opposes The Spirit and The Spirit craves whatever opposes the flesh, and they both are contrary one to another, lest you would be doing whatever you want.
GOD'S WORD® Translation
What your corrupt nature wants is contrary to what your spiritual nature wants, and what your spiritual nature wants is contrary to what your corrupt nature wants. They are opposed to each other. As a result, you don't always do what you intend to do.
Jubilee Bible 2000
For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary the one to the other, so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
King James 2000 Bible
For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that you cannot do the things that you would.
American King James Version
For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that you cannot do the things that you would.
American Standard Version
For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are contrary the one to the other; that ye may not do the things that ye would.
Douay-Rheims Bible
For the flesh lusteth against the spirit: and the spirit against the flesh; for these are contrary one to another: so that you do not the things that you would.
Darby Bible Translation
For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these things are opposed one to the other, that ye should not do those things which ye desire;
English Revised Version
For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are contrary the one to the other; that ye may not do the things that ye would.
Webster's Bible Translation
For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other; so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
Weymouth New Testament
For the cravings of the lower nature are opposed to those of the Spirit, and the cravings of the Spirit are opposed to those of the lower nature; because these are antagonistic to each other, so that you cannot do everything to which you are inclined.
World English Bible
For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary to one another, that you may not do the things that you desire.
Young's Literal Translation
for the flesh doth desire contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit contrary to the flesh, and these are opposed one to another, that the things that ye may will -- these ye may not do;
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
bold face lies
he experiences them everyday
masked in a never ending blanket
that unknowingly smothers him
confining him to a mere subject of ones own trickery
giving him the comfort of trust and honesty
then tearing it away
at the cost of ones own credulity
smirking in a way that makes him want to
lift out of his mortal body
damaging the soul of the antagonistic entity
the same entity that stole his confidence
that shattered his reliance on credibility
that shunned his desire to persevere
and at what cost?
an elitist mentality that was created to fool him?
what reward do the liars get?
for they are deceived as well
but are blind to knowing it.
their minds clouded by their own self resilience
that when they are the ones in need
they are alone
exiled to a vast plain of empty yellow pages
a victim of ones own doing
and from what origin is this conduct of behavior
well... have you ever been lied to?
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
I squander countless days
Reading in the library
since our last encounter
the tales I have learned
About women of magnificent legacies
Amazement on how you
Imported the hunt for wild game
In the African regions
Your skills bombarded as my attraction
Which is so astounding?
Preying behind me
With loss words of love
I was pounced
As the night falls to darkness
We intertwine to the drumbeats
Of African native songs
Doing their sacred dance
Heartbeats overrun
By antagonistic contemplation
I cannot let go
To a mystic woman
Whom I can't forget
Sep 23, 2009
Sep 23, 2009 at 1:01 AM UTC
Bounds and bounds of names of the forgotten,
I wandered through the dredges of solemn
Wastes that had entangled my thoughts,
The antagonistic braves of loss,
The ones who’ve left ones petrified,
The ones who’ve died, left crying alive,
I have also forgotten each name,
The false memory of these people, all the same,
Dead is dead, this flair for the living,
This selfishness bears no arrogance deceiving,
I am one who welcomes death,
This fortitude alarming to some who step,
Along the edge of insanity,
I am the abyss, the abyss is me.
So strong I was, walking head high,
Disregarding tokens left behind,
Until a sight then stopped me cold,
A sullen grave but marked ”Unknown.”
-
I couldn’t move,
I was frozen in place,
I was then proved,
My heart, indeed, was laced.
Not even I, who so asked for sleep,
Could even stop tear
From escaping me,
I couldn’t stop but wont to weep.
-
Aside from the sorrow ”Unknown” had caused,
What’s worse is that he had someone,
Here I was, alone and hateful,
Someone remembered, and was grateful,
For the stone had upon it but five little roses,
Alive and well, not dead like the others,
Some person some where had remembered ”Unknown”
So that not even ”he” was left alone.
-
Destroying everything I have believed,
Spiteful, hateful, and aggrieved,
I stepped back and cursed him in jealousy,
Fell back, I tripped, shocked, and conceived,
That perhaps I was thinking like a child,
Everyone deserves there life so mild,
Who was I to curse anyone?
All in all, I wanted everything undone.
-
The real beauty in this situation,
Is that no one earns stagnation,
No one knew him when he was buried,
But someone now shows care and hurried,
To his site to show their love,
I just hope he’s diseased, but Above.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Antagonistic
adorable
pink
rushed
in my
cheeks
speaking
instead of my
real emotions
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
tachyphylaxis - tach·y·phy·lax·is (tāk'ə-fĭ-lāk'sĭs) n.
1. A rapidly decreasing response to pleasure following initial administration.
I didn’t know this
demon had a name.
Ugly as it is it fits,
a random mish-mash
of unpleasant sounds
and equal unpleasantness
felt.
I’ve known the *******
forever, manifest in vitamin cures
and psychological processes,
SSRI’s and stabilizers.
He attends to the end of
affectionate loving and all
the designer vacations
you've ever taken.
He is the golden handcuffs of
square foot home ownership
and his business cards are
set in silver.
To put it bluntly
his continuous presence
is intent on destruction
of any contentment.
He is all things along the way
that appear so promising at first
but never last.
Synonymous with tolerance,
antonymous with precedence,
the antagonistic leaven of all living.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
*Is it really any wonder
That we court the God of war ?
When a man offends in innocence
With imprudent comments poor,
When the slightest altercation
Leads to seeking of red blood,
And grudges borne with vehemence
Paste protagonists with mud.
Why is it that we tip toe
Through the fragileness of life ?
How is it that you rage
When he glances at your wife ?
What generates the jealousy
Of competitive bright flame
And activates the trigger
In the deadly baiting game ?
Why should we seek redemption
When the way is set in stone,
When antagonistic temperament
Is the customary way home,
When the flare of angry attitude
Leads the bearer to abyss
And inevitable conflict
Throws all reasoned thought amiss ?.
Reflect on how protracted
Is the winding road to love,
How long to place the building blocks
Of friendships’ hand in glove,
How gradual the process
Of steady cultivating trust
To the wondrous actuality
Of a brother bond that must.
Why does the God of war surmount
Mans best and dearest quest
To find a peace and harmony
Despite discords’ very best,
To live his days in certitude
Sidestepping risk of harm
To work toward tomorrows’ dawn,
And evening’s soothing charm.
Shatter prides absurdity
To dare to breach the norm,
To reach aloft for courage
And scale the unknown’s form.
To rail against mans’ enmity
To flail against his foe
To conquer human natures‘ worst
This beast of war must go!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2010*
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
Obsession of all possessions
A weakness of mankind
What God once upon a time
Ordered of the Sabbath,
The pharisee's set forth
To have control intertwined
Using God's name
To have control of days to come
Jesus came forth to the scene
To open the regular man's eyes
To the motivation of the truly unclean
Showing them the cost that they
Paid was worse than the sum
He showed them they had been led
Down a path of antagonistic fools
Their motivation just
Selfishness and mean
Jesus is our best economy
Our path for direction
He is our leader for protection
Let us relax on the Sabbath
For it is to worship God
Kneel to our relationship
With His Son
"It is Finished!"
As this piece of poetry is done!
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
Serenity: that's what goes through my mind when I think of you.
Extroverted: takes over from the previous thought and changes the dimension of my fantasy. I look around, all I see is cold war. A form of cheap resistance from my egometric side. then I let go and let you in.
I walk beside you, when alone, in a crowd, anywhere. I feel the warm grasp of your soft fingers; happiness smears my heart. I dwell in colloidal eternity as I gain a clear entrance into your serenity bowl, your heart.
it starts with attachment, then emotional induction sets in. At that point when you pull all strings trying to gather fences round your fetish desires. "Get a Life", I tell myself. I walk away from the walkway with my head bent low as I look upon your intimidating glare not knowing how soft-laden your heart is.
As I walk back towards your outstanding figure, my heart colloids in pleasure. I notice your beautiful curvy legs. they hit me hard on the most integral part of me. I feel dipped in love, so I bury the hatchet with my antagonistic soul. I move closer, hold your hands and there I feel it; the most common of all senses leaving me. Am filled with fresh new blood, full of hope and desire. It is then that I realize how hard I have fallen. Fallen hard in LOVE.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
Where are you to hold me when I need you to?
Where are the understanding thoughts others have of my imperfections when I can't help myself either?
Why do the horrid memories replay in my hippocampus when I thought I already turned them off?
Where is my mania to squash my depression half?
Why do I seem helpless and wait forever to succeed in the adult world?
Why do I get so intensely excited then become an antagonistic monster?
Why did I not know then what I know now?
Becoming a victim completely unaware.
Proved wrong and I strip to be the bad one
so everyone shuts up.
Humiliated and hurt and everyone looks out for me.
Naive behavior and hunger too strong I steal from others.
Tears swelling in front of small children.
A girl who wanted nothing but for me to suffer.
A boy who wanted nothing but my genitals.
A troubled woman who wanted nothing but my time.
A guy who wanted nothing but for me to be his *****
A guy who possessed me,
Though everyone at some point
Did.
I've been owned, abused, humiliated, hurt, assaulted, victimized, bullied, made fun of, attempted to **** myself, blown off, screamed at, fought with, admonished, antagonized, used, looked down on, bossed around, yelled at, pushed, shoved, thrown away.
Today,
I have love that is a beautiful miracle and proof I will be loved without being pushed into what's only for him.
I have a few good friends who care and don't grab my hand.
I occasionally hate who I'm becoming when the anger within is the kraken in my body swerves herself around me inside slowly and aggressively.
Only way she comes out is through profane vulgarity in my words and through my lips.
They're gone,
They're not mine,
They're hurtful,
But remember they're only for a moment.
I'll be done with the anger one day someday,
and the kraken is just a myth.
Though my traumatic stories may seem like a myth too,
be grateful I'm still here and
smiling.:)
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Happier times
unknown before
now revealed
against antagonistic
Future's unlikely
circumstantial meddling
wrathful Clouds
arrived ruined
death
defeated
de novo
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
people who feel like to extend their pinky fingers
when the others have been recently offered
in assistance to greedy children, antagonistic husbands,
selfish friends.
they would never see people that way though
because if they did, and on the few days that they do,
when humanity is tire slashing puppy decapitation,
the people who feel crumble into a *** of sappy person,
resorting to gulping sobs and furious scribbles in
a journal no one will read.
people who feel like to assume they are alone,
that if God wanted to, they might all have been
rounded up, dumped on an island, and left
to offer conciliatory remarks, hugs, and shared
assumptions of responsibility and ethical treatment.
people who feel like to believe people are good,
as good as cotton wrapped tightly
around a small, slender, white stick:
dutiful, essential, uniquely purposeful.
but those people who feel woefully forget
the Ones who Feel
and feel to such a degree
that they create destructions and downfalls,
messily, angrily
like a toddler desperately trying
to make the blue crayon look black.
they are dangerous.
powerfully effective at harnessing the attention
of those who digest and regurgitate what
Society has in mind about the condition of people,
that there are troublemakers and peacemakers,
but the bad apples are more capable of wiping out
the apples who never had a chance,
and merely were in line of fire because they were
apples of the same kind at the same place
with the same name.
people, plain regular people, like to remember this
silly notion from childhood,
the devil and the angel entertaining either shoulder
of people, all, everyone people.
but what I think, me, who feels and feels and feels
until the feeling goes far away
until I beg for it to return,
everyone feels. some listen too keenly. some explode. some are deaf.
others mute.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC