"appropriation" poems
I am Comfortable
able to ease your fears with
a smile or a flip of my
appropriately curly hair.
I am forgiven traffic ticket
proper sentences and twinkly
eyes, able to quickly ease your alarm
I am Just a Warning
I am The Exception
elegant sentences
king's English
never tolerating the incorrect use of their
I am private college education
the accessory to your culture
the other to your subject
always complimentary,
but never the source of discussion
I am Beautiful
Accompanied by "What are you mixed with"
A reflection of appropriation for my own culture
Too White for Black,
Too Black for White
I am inner city in the suburbs
I am Lightskinned
the kind of Black that keeps you
Comfortable.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
It is not wrong to be white
and to have dreadlocks
Though,
you may look like a pleb
but you offend me not
Nor would it offend
a black rastafarian man
of a temperate manner
I don't know any women
with white skin and
straight hair that get offended
by afro-caribbean women
wearing a straight weave
You're all just too soft now,
you're all just pet peaves
Stop getting offended
on behalf of other people
that don't even take offence
Excuse me,
whilst I build a fence
around myself hombre
Not to keep me here
but to keep you at bay
Cultural appropriation
doesn't exist
Cultural misappropriation
doesn't exist
You're all just
champagne socialists
You should get over it
Yes, you mate
The one that thinks
he's above
everyone
and must decide what is
politically correct
and whose life matters
In the end all this is
is a series of cultural
exchanges and we're
all wading through ****
Face it.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
We're not allowed to mention Christianity
A Muslim man discusses Allah, we can't judge.Black people have pride in themselves, so do white people .We're automatically racist and unaccepting. A man gets hired for a high paying job instead of the women.This is a case for feminism because it's injustice. A man cheats on his partner, he has hormones.A woman cheats on her man, she's a ***** A woman is ***** she's making it up.A man is ***** no one believes him. A gay person is disliked by a certain individual .It's homophobia, a black man kills someone and the whole race is blamed, a white man kills someone he's just a ****** You say crusty old white men are making decisions about your body.Should he change his race then decide if you can reproduce? I'm eating Sushi and I'm not Asian, it's cultural appropriation and it's offensive so only Asian people can eat at Asian restaurants? That reminds me of when segregation was going on. We have a right to our opinion but I say something I'm instantly prejudice and you don't want hear it. I made the wrong assumption now I'm a horrible person because you feel that you can monitor my thoughts. You all think that you're all for social justice but it's really going to come back and bite you in the ***
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Addict.
electrifying
steel to skin, metal caress
most intimate touch
intoxicating
pleasure and pain mixing bold
sketching hearts on sleeves
exhibitionist
walking canvas, ****** art
permanent war paint
*******
unhireable
regrettable decisions
just wait till you sag
appropriation
tribal skull, rose indian
meaningless symbols
rebellious act
futureless punk ***** loser
nine to five. conform.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Matters of love, you’ve reaped into me
Dynamics of knowledge, richness and profoundness
Bringing age to my heart
Knowing love and knowing brutal pain
More real, more powerful, more beautiful
Gifted consciousness filling missing part of potential
Crumbling down our incompleteness
Loving you more than consciousness of my thoughts will allow
More than the passion of my intensity
To be a model of human brilliance
Manifests within the existence of my being
I am a furnace
You are the only flame
Sparking this wild fire
I am a candle, inanimate,
You are the flicker that gives it life, light, soul
I'm am intrinsic potential waiting to be actualized
You are the catalyst of life breathing momentum into me
Through your existence
A flower, a beacon, weapon to my oppression and pain
Appropriation of your love, impossibility in my life
Immaculate potion to my sorrow
Like a wild flower
Withstanding thunder, hurricanes, and rain
An atom from another dimension
Your pulse travels through my heart and my soul
As dangerous as ore
You are the purest form
Deep underneath farther than I can explore
You are the most beautiful creation
You are the end to my means
Unconceivable new reality to my rebellion
The revolution I await
In the deepest part of my existence
Knowing it might never be
Key to my chains
Chant to my muted voice
You are the embodiment and the soul of my freedom
Always escaping from me
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
Once I lost you
Once I tossed you
You never said a word
I never could have heard
Miracle you bore
A refugee in the wreckage
Sharpening your wings
Withstanding dangerous oppression
Young being, incomplete being
Trying not to succumb
To your own capitalist appropriation
Eminent commodification
Implicating your body and mind
Who remained unscathed?
Who wreaked the havoc?
Just...so many wings could gain wind
In this cage, lacking space
System simply cannot withstand
Cost of everyone's liberation
Convenient systematic predilection
Where some are never meant to fly
Miracle you bore
A refugee in the wreckage
Sharpening your wings
Withstanding dangerous oppression
How can any wings soar
When the trail of their shadows
Hide systematic traps for our failure
To ensure only a few course the skies
Liberation is not meant to be
Just yours or mine
No commodity for private consumption
Its usage, embrace, and appropriation
Has universal implications
A radical transformation that seeks to complete a human being
Emblematic of an ideological reconceptualization
A revolutionary new understanding of being human
A re-authentication of our own liberation
Purely predicated on that of others
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
When the guests arrived we would hasten to sit in separate rooms.
Quick to cover and observe deep voices through walls,
Men with domed hats and flowing kameez would arrive and wait
for steaming chaaval,
brought in a mound topped with cloves.
Dishes placed and eyes down, they would acknowledge with
half nods,
hairy knuckles to pour the saalan over geometric bowls.
My aunts would hush in the kitchen,
pinning their scarves in a zig-zag fashion.
The colours burning from the tiles,
watching them made me dizzy and inside
I longed
that my plait would one day thread gold like theirs.
Timed silence was a key,
and a pyramid that was never fell,
unlike the tasks that could be
stitched to your hands,
structured stiff – like a testing lap.
Boiled milk in china cups,
there would be nods, gap-tooth smiles, low chatter
with ears pricked to
the humming of satisfaction within.
Sounds through division that showed that yes,
in the right hands
the colours could burn brightly,
and that yes,
in a brush of joint henna,
we would stand separate from your
Vision of us.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Enough-
Its enough having these corporations run our nation while the infiltration of money making keeps destroying world peace aspirations-
Its like Satan and his manipulation keep telling me that success lies in the accumulation-
And the accumulation of that money making is what makes life exhilarating?
And the exhilaration of materialization keep growing as a representation of America’s successful creation-
And soon it becomes discrimination-
Upper class elevation vs. lower class stipulations-
The poor patient vs. Rich patience-
The barring margin of APR regulations-
Keep our nation rotating-Gaining speed and evaluating-
The appreciation of desperation is all for corporate gaming-
The memorization and commercialization keep our nation deprecating from the rest of the worlds visualizations-
Our accreditation creates frustration-
Segregation and integration by the new world organization-
Integration to a peaceful appropriation is questioned by this American administration-
AND I QUESTION IT?
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
Confide in me
the irony
of laughter as a crutch to keep
with self descriptive Bildungsroman
in view of Schadenfreude's Ad hominem
Mask the image, compensate, compensate
Power struggle, shift division, relegate, relegate
Egocentric discharges inhabited by identity crisis
Circumstantial Deus ex machina, plastered on by streams of vices
No wreck, no head on, but a path beset by tolls and diversions
Somehow I must find a way to make these scattered routes converge
Dead and othered language roams the fields of pomposity
More ironic self aggrandizement, an appropriation of ferocity
Paint them a picture in the mind's eye of your blurred forward vision
I want to see the target marked, but attention is a competition
I'm Viable, I'm Jovial, I have the means to take these chances
I'm lying now, it's one or the other, let's hope I make the right advances
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
To be brown is to
know racism in every shade -
internal,
or
external,
microaggression
or
aggression.
To be brown is
an inquisition,
every time you step foot outside –
*“What are you?”
“What does your name mean?”
“Have you tried that restaurant?”
“Have you been back?
“What religion are you?”
“Say something in your language!”*
To be brown is
the shame
of either
too much
or not enough,
that you try to
press down, ignore,
forget about -
don’t be so sensitive.
To be brown is
an investment,
the way you are always supposed to
rise and rise and rise,
have the opportunities of the west
and the values of the east,
marry a nice brown heterosexual,
go to graduate school,
have a good career,
earn more money than your parents did,
be safe and settled,
provide for your parents,
your parents,
who only pressure you
and push you
because they want you to be
happy.
To be brown is
diaspora,
the way your tongue
trips over the words of native languages
you never grew up speaking
because English was always taught
first
to generations before you,
the way you weren’t born with
any real community,
and even now
most of your friends
are white,
the way
you have to move in the world
hearing your name
mispronounced in every way imaginable,
the way you
scan the room
for any brown face
because you know
a brown person will
understand,
the way you realize
how often you are the only
brown body
in any space,
queer or straight,
the way you really are a
minority.
To be brown is
reclamation,
the way you learn to
find beauty in the brown and the hair
and the body type,
the way you learn to
let yourself feel Anger
at appropriation,
the way you learn to fight
for identity –
correct the mispronunciations
learn the language,
listen to the music,
cook the food,
wear the clothes,
go back to the country
learn the history,
do what you need to do
in your
imperfect
perfect
way,
****
what anyone says.
To be brown
is to be
enough.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
How to hide your blackness it the hardest test of them all so now take your pen of "oh no she didn't" And replace it with a blank white paper, not a smudge to see
Don't clap your hands or they will the shackled don't throw your drink cause this is last if you cry well that's your *** show a little class and get rid of all that sass
We will be fine don't "Drank Some good" you will drink wine but not a lot be a lady
And tell your men that they won't be shot if they off that slang and be a grown man if put it in you have to take care of it and you will be a Byron your name will be Bill
This is called cultural appropriation and it will be taken over my nation my name in on the line and your neck will be in a nouse.
You will hang like an ornament on a tree and you work for me I'll whip your back till it bleeds. And you will be begging on your knees but there's no need to plead.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
That's it.
It's done.
"My ancestors did that not me!"
Get over it, **** it up, don't you dare take a knee
"I have a few black friends so its ok if I say the N word"
Stabbed in the heart from injustices' sword.
Another beating from a sheet and ain't a **** thing Uncle Sam is gonna do about it.
Declaring that we're equal but I get the feeling that Brian has more rights then Daquan.
In the eyes of the law there’s no such thing as one.
Putting up walls and banning my siblings. Meanwhile Brian just put two caps in his neighbor's kid's chest.
A few years max and he's still able to become free and get a check.
Daquan got caught up selling coke and he's not coming home.
Locked in a cage with no light he realizes he's alone.
'Bam'
'Bam'
'Pow'
'Pow'
Here lies the body of John Doe, a great man who perished because of the raise of his brow.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
Violence in our hearts
Ignorant vice of our plans
Praising
What we read
What we see
What we hear
Acquiring knowledge we seek
Enriching others' minds
You can't always enlist
Minds are being allocated
Oppressive struggle nurtures servitude
What is your brain being allocated for?
What kind of freedom are you looking for?
Can't be one of us
If you're another capitalist appropriation
Poster child, a temporary venture
Falling in line to become another
Worker or bourgeois hypocrite slave
Isn't that why you study for?
What kind of life are you looking for?
There's no saving your soul
When your freedom depends
On chains of other men's hopes
Fighting to keep yourself, your family
Future generations being born out of you
Out of the venom of oppression and pain
Living life without concern or consciousness
Just the same as living in a prison cell
America, how many inmates do you host?
Security, don't you want a guarantee?
Your family may now have peace
But when you're no longer here, there's no guarantee
Can't be one of us
If you don't join in the struggles of our brethren
Because our security is not guaranteed until they're all free
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
There once was a lass
who gazed upon the sky,
like a sailor’s widow
with eyes pining the sea.
A different ocean,
with clouds and birds—
not crests and reflections,
another kind of mirror.
A looking glass, yes:
one reveals past and present,
the other is a blank portal,
not yet formed; possibility.
Burdened by years of earth,
the girl reached up high.
To fly free in the skies,
a plan she did birth:
Simple avian appropriation—
"What could go wrong?"
Manufactured imitation—
"In the skies I belong!"
Remnants of spent candles,
some old pillow filling,
so easily on handle
to construct her wings.
And like that, she flew!
Never close to the sun,
no solar balance due—
destination once begun.
Wise to not create cracks,
a creature in the sky;
falsified wings on her back—
her presence flies on lies.
Nary a muster, ****** or flock
would take this creature in.
Unwelcome, artificial stock:
a lost and confused being.
*"I have no nest, no call, no cry,
no wind-song born from feathered kin—
yet higher still I ride the lie,
if not a bird, then what has been?"*
Her wings were stitched from want and thread,
a blueprint torn from childhood dreams.
She passed the clouds, yet still she bled—
unseen by all, or so it seems.
*"You gave me wax, you gave me fire,
a name I wore, a borrowed skin.
I climbed the hush of false desire—
but never learned the wind within."*
{fin}
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 4:24 AM UTC
Why am I called "white"?
Why am I an absence of color
To be associated with purity
Flawless innocence
A clean slate
Why am I called "white"
When I have the blood of monsters in my veins
There is nothing immaculate about my heritage
Simply from a lack of pigmentation
My hair is braided with the ******* of masses
My eyes see the broken lives of the oppressed
My ears hear the echoes of homelands invaded
And my hands hold the books with the historic lies enclosed
Why am I called "white"
Compared, as if, to the paper
On which my people's crimes could be written
Repeating so frequently with so many new victims
But we are never called to justice
And the cycle remains unbroken
When we are addressed
We stand up from our thrones, screaming
"Unfair, cruel, why attack me?!
I don't understand, what privilege do you see?!"
We act like the victims, fed by the system
And we eat it up with our metaphoric silver spoons
Why am I called "white"
I've been stained from the years of hatred
Perpetuated by a people who claim guiltlessness
Just because they are a newer generation
What was once called subjugation
Is now appropriation
But both are used to deny culture and rights from nations
But I won't sit by and prolong this delusion that we are any better
Any more beautiful then any other one of God's creations
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
Righteous Isis,
priceless queen, rife with green
vines winding between her lungs,
around her tongue, crowned with beams
of the ancient sun, power of Ra
beneath her thumb, life-giving wife,
wild child of reptiles, pride of the Nile--
righteous Isis,
she who gives birth to heaven and earth,
sovereign sorceress, steward of words,
my ancestress, blessed with flesh, this
bright protectress, next to death with
theft of her name, maimed by insane fanatics
grasping semi-automatics aimed at
righteous Isis,
spliced into terrorist crisis
situations, sacred name on a
radical federation, used for devastation,
appropriation of my divine mother,
brothers-in-arms killing the culture
of their own nations, of past generations, of
righteous Isis,
torn from her temple by
scorned fundamentalists,
prayers to her used to take
insurgent censuses
now when i bow to my goddess,
my empress, the powers suspect I'm a member of
rightist ISIS,
who crosses off competition
with crucifixion,
lays foundations for jurisdiction
with immolation, with detonation,
decapitation of journalists, their
murderous fists taking nations,
rightist ISIS,
whose power rests on the shoulders of dread,
men obsessed with erasing the names
of every goddess we hold close, of every man
who knows Mohammed did not preach death,
of every Buddhist, every Jew, every pagan, every Hindu,
choking the breath from those who don’t believe what they do--
rightist ISIS,
you think you own the sun but not this one,
not this pristine queen who tears the thunder from the skies,
and she will strike you down with pestilent blight
she'll smite you with a blistering light,
she'll drown you and ignite the tide,
and you will die with the second rise of
righteous Isis,
whose hand rocked the cradle of civilization,
whose shrines make the sacral heart of nations,
whose each breath gives divine illumination,
who shakes off the wasted shame
and patiently waits as we chant her names--
all ten thousand in glorification.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
So fascinating black women's crowns are.
For so long we couldn't accept them,
Well if Jesus can wear a crown of thorns
you sure as hell can wear those curls, those naps,
that glory, relaxed or not.
Your crown, your choice.
"Yas natural." No.
So why is it my hair is automatically deemed less beautiful when asked if I am "down with the creamy crack" or "all natural"?
My crown loses its glisten when another black women tears me down for not bearing my natural thorns.
And yes I've always considered going back every 8 or so weeks when my curly new thorns start sprouting back in.
"You should try this product. Great for natural hair." But...
It's just that, if I am not my hair
why must it matter so much what stage it is in?
No I am not rejecting my blackness, no appropriation needed
my curls still rejoice, even if i didn't wake up that way
contrary to popular belief
I do not like my hair straight.
"Your hair gets so big. Are you natural?" No.
You call society racist for being so fascinated by our hair.
Racist for asking us to limit our hairs
heights and widths to accommodate their dress codes
Racist to change ourselves
"I love your hair. Are you natural?" No.
Well it is prejudice to deem me insecure, unnatural, and "bad hair"
because of how I "choose" to wear my crown.
Poor assumption that just because my hair is often curly and is thick that I must in fact be natural.
Hair is beautiful is various forms.
Please let me relax with my relaxed crown.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Waking as a woman, new skin glistens and the skies are bluer
My baggy clothes fit no longer,
and my window pane is the devil's eye
Heels tap tarmac
Hair long, singing, alive, loving
Wolf whistle samurai, old me dies
This is how it feels to be accepted
Nightfall doldrums, walls sweat profusely, laughing
Skin tight clothes, constriction, regret,
and liquid death like poison in the throat
Gang dem talk loud, wolf whistle predator
Racing rabbit, running running run, run
Cold breeze silence
and sobbing into the handbag
Waking as a spirit, ethereal pleasure
The re-appropriation of gender
and manic transcendence
Post-modern love.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
My thoughts are always wrong.
Rehearsing things to say so long
that I'll never respond.
Too hard to take my time.
Too quick to jump this gun.
Fixating on all the most inappropriate fascinations.
Holding tongues on all the worst occasions.
Let's play a good old fashioned game of Russian Roulette.
Rushing to do all the things we'll regret.
And forgetting all those words we pretend to believe.
I'll always have one more deception up my sleeve.
That might just be the old me.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
it's not plagiarism,
rather, a collectivist
coincidence -
i can't believe people
in the former days would
reduce themselves
to plagiarism -
they'd sooner die than
relieve themselves
of an original idea -
working with a mythology -
how could such
differentiated people
achieve copernican
globalist relativistic /
globalist impetus,
and yet, somehow succumb
to an ethnocentric -
genesis of unoriginality...
yes, unfathomable,
the concept of polyphony,
synchronicity inter-people...
plagiarism is a modern
phenomenon,
it doesn't exists in
collectivism of inter-ethnic
conundrums of
segregating categorization...
just like evolution is god's
take on the thrill of gambling...
an original idea...
allowing an in group focus...
it could never be a plagiarism -
the segregating process of
techno. advancement...
toward a...
less cultural appropriation...
and more?
cultural loaning...
"plagiarism"...
perhaps i should "read" into
solving crossword puzzles...
now plagiarism is easy...
any son of sam
is not an arsonist...
but as my continued fascination
continues with
andrei chikatilo...
and batman, the dark knight rises
scene on the plane:
why would you shoot a man,
before taking him into a prison cell?!
ah... christine chubbuck...
this fascination... will not, die...
such a solemn,
vernacular death...
worthy of a Vatican pawn-ship
of preceding the scourge of death.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
Girl, around 27.
No, woman, rather.
Her youth walked through and hung there, dry, as mine did in exchange
so we pick and choose a role and sidle along the bar where
I am with a perk in the feet, lifted by the ***** of,
but a lot easier than you can imagine as
she lays her words out like warm hands and with a blue bird of compassion,
asks me how I am.
I gripe and she listens in a knowing way then reverse
in very clean queues and open mouths
She says, “They say today is going to be the busiest day of the year”, with a fire lit
behind an eye where she does not smile of her face, but through a grit in the teeth
I laugh inwardly, towards myself in a search for appropriation and then spit heavily onto table, “well, it looks like we both have something to look forward to, then”.
Then angelic laughter where my cheeks couldn’t follow and I am ****** in.
There was a moment then, which I wish could be brought to plate and silver.
a sort of cunning lock between a soul and my own where I hope only to god,
that I’ve thrown a key down river.
She walks out after our matching eyes and mirrored moves
So I watch her,
not her ***
not her chest,
not her brown, burning hair,
but the still skin of her neck in an open sense where I want to take it in
as if she had the happiness and I am jealous
like a tearing gabble of a baby.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC
800 points down
plummeted the DOW:
seven hundred billion
waiting appropriation
from our pockets
poor lawmakers
have to do their jobs
but they hide too deep
in trenches they dug
panic sets in
on Wall Street
while Main Street’s
been panicked all along
the walls are crumbling—
this pig’s too big
to sit so high
above the clouds
give the corpse
to the masses;
Pork: it is what's
for dinner
my wallet’s thin &
thinning by the day
& it makes me think
money’s worthless, anyway
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:47 PM UTC
Well hey babe, don't you look cool
You've got your spiffy clothes,
Your e-cigar, and you're good to go
Hey babe, you look so great
You've got on those ridiculous mom jeans,
And you're running on fumes
Hey babe, looking reeeeaaaal good,
Your hybrid can't go up hills but,
"Hey, I'm saving the earth!"
You can't keep up with these
Hipster habits
Tricks are meant for kids you,
Silly rabbit
You can't save the world,
You're just a silly girl,
Your life is not a trend.
Your cat pics are going viral
You've built a record player,
And you've turned tumblr into a bible
There are these clear men-wear inspired oxfords that you've "Gotta have!"
Shopping at goodwill can only get you so far,
Especially when you filled yourself with angst that's outdated.
It's not even like you're brooding in a bar
You can't keep up with these
Hipster habits
Tricks are meant for kids you,
Silly rabbit
You can't save the world,
You're just a silly girl,
Your life is not a trend.
And you could write me a strongly worded letter,
but don't make any mistakes dear, because your typewriter's not that clever.
I'm reading articles about appropriation,
And learning how to join the "body posi nation"
I dyed my hair white
And my paelo weight watchers points are out of sight!
Your Essie polish doesn't match your insta feed,
Oh look you've made a hipster out of me.
We can't keep up with these
Hipster habits
Tricks are meant for kids you,
Silly rabbit
We can't save the world,
We're just a silly girls,
Our lives are not a trend.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Kings. Queens.
Consummation. Kids.
Chiefs of clans.
Children of chiefs.
Close knit communities.
Continued cycles.
Change.
Colorless crews.
Coins. Captures. Chains.
Chained to you.
Chained to the cruise.
**** me. **** he. **** she.
Check teeth,
Choose wisely.
Chastise. Cracked whips.
Change name:
Kunta, no Toby.
Change, charge.
Christ of captives,
**** them!”
No, **** him.
Continue evil.
Change.
Break chains.
Knots, no more.
No, change chains.
Lose claims.
Coax comfort.
Contradict. Corrupt.
Cascaded crucifixions.
Charred chandeliers.
Coerce without cognition of
Coming chaos
Of civic correction.
Civilians conform society.
Combatants conquer and confer.
Continue.
Cultural contributions.
Cultural appropriation.
Cultural controversy.
No complications.
No conversations.
Did not conceive,
Cannot convey.
Concede. Not Conceit.
Continue.
Kings cower before
Crowns clarify.
Kings killed.
Queens cope. Queens cry.
Queens say,
**** compliance!
**** cordial!”
Queens coordinate, combat,
Condemn, don’t compromise,
And command cessation
To corrupt civilization.
Queens continue
Coils, kinks, curls.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
in pieces
they tell me i must like someone now that they are dead
or react appropriately
to their appropriation of their name
the name of a corpse
is not dignity or repose
the eternal rest is merely
decomposition
composure and praise
are for those weak and faintly hearing
how bad
is not a reaction but an instinct
rest not
for merely death stalking
his blade reaping
is the sound of silencio
por favor
there is more work to be done
playing back into being
the fresh citrus
the nopal
street tamarinds
and hugs
well
they are good
see
but hardly ask me to reply
for i must rest
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC