"attacker" poems
****
isn't always dark alleys
and whistles
and pepper spray.
It isn't always
a stranger,
they don't always
look dangerous.
Whether it is
your boyfriend
or your teacher
or your uncle,
they are no longer on your side.
This is your attacker.
Do not be silent.
Do not be afraid to make a scene.
Whether it is a movie theatre
or a street corner
or your bedroom,
yell,
scream,
curse,
bite,
spit,
let no resonate from your lungs
so they cannot say they didn't hear you.
Send him home,
tell your parents,
tell your friends,
tell the police.
****
is not always
drunk men outside bars
or keys clenched between white knuckles.
Sometimes **** is silent.
Do not be silenced.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
homeland security
on these nuts
home land security
in your butts
home land security
look but don't touch
it's too much
for 'em to understand
***** jacker
**** in hand
hatin' big wacker
on tha attacker
i like 'em blacker
she's a ***** packer
don't like 'em battered
spell bound brain washed
what's tha matter?
Homeland Security Act
homeland security
tryin' ta scare
why can't tha government care?
socialist ideals
not tryin' to hear
hippie gal tryin' ta spread peace
until the cognizance cease
down with tha ****
come in your hair
tryin' ta do me long
they can't take it down
ya know they messin' around
neo-con trick
tryin' ta make brunette sick
don't they like the way i hold my ****
maybe i wanna take a lick
lyin' bitchin' wichin' cryin'
like a man's supposed to be dyin'
look at 'em fryin'.
sorcery zap to the court-ordered goofs
snitchin'
doin' bad things
mad federal schemes
they all occultic fiends
with yo mama church
as the ball swings
** **** on me
mother **** the holy see
what ya tryin' to be
....holy?
goons, screws, pigs and spooks
sayin cognizance aint to use
poor court ordered goofs so-abused
papists vowed in their delusions of grandeur
all you supposed ta think
...is white cop
expendable masses they say aint allowed ta know
while they call the pope pop
guardian protectors of tha white bred
they wanna make tha people brain dead
feds frivolous threats
tha number on your badge says zero
what you tryin' to be?
A super hero?
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
Happiness is an empty street
And a fast car.
Happiness is a clean, cold pool
You plunge into on a hot day.
Happiness is someone in your bed
Who’s gone in the morning
If you don’t want company
Or who stays if you do.
It’s someone who is happy to read the paper
Or take a hike with you.
It’s not worrying what others think
About you and your beliefs
And the wisdom to know who counts.
Happiness is strength,
Enough to fight the world
Or luxuriate in things gone well.
Happiness is attracting and repelling
Without having to try.
Happiness is a an aching fist
And an attacker’s black eye.
Happiness can be a warm gun,
Depending who gets hit.*
Happiness is not waiting for love,
Then falling in love in seconds.
It is knowing that you are fine
With or without a vow,
Yet being able to say “yes”,
When lightning strikes
And “no” when it’s just a cloud.
Yet happiness is not being sure
And bathing in uncertainty,
Of the pleasure in mystery.
Happiness is loving, faults and all,
An intensity so focused
That you’d gladly die for the one
Who was sent by some mixture
Of sunlight and shade,
On an ordinary afternoon,
Happiness is his body in yours,
His sweat on your skin in summer,
And body heat on cold nights.
Happiness is loving a little boy
Who looks like both of you
And knowing that love can transfigure
Time, exceed itself and encompass
More than one.
Happiness is contentment
In realizing how much you’ve had
And say you’ll feel rewarded
When your random life is done.
Happiness is the legend they tell
About you when you are gone;
The feeling is theirs and maybe yours.
Happiness is knowing that, if you go too far,
That there is no heaven or hell,
Or if there is,
Then anyone can play guitar.
September 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC
Women have so much to fear these days
We learn that when we're walking to our car in the dead of night
We should have our key jammed between our fingers in the fist of one hand
Poised as a weapon
And a jar of mace in the other
We learn to take catcalls as compliments
We learn that it is our fault if we get *****
Because when people hear about it, the words that should cross their lips--
"Is she okay?"
"Is the attacker doing time?"
--don't
Instead we hear "What was she wearing?"
Because if we dress a little less provocative
Maybe they will target someone else
Because we asked for this to happen
We are all learning the wrong way about everything
Instead of "ask consent" it's "don't get *****
Instead of "be respectful" it's "you should be flattered"
Instead of "don't attack someone" it's "protect yourself"
Does society not see how backwards this it?
Instead of preventing the crime altogether, it's "make sure it's someone else"
Because if it's not us, it's not happening
We say "ignorance is bliss"
But really ignorance is being stupid enough to think, over and over
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
Because it can
It can happen to anyone
At any time
And we need to try our ******* best to stop it
Because she didn't dress that way for you
And she most certainly didn't ask for it
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
"You're crazy and no one likes you." I don't know how to respond. I am ten and have never heard such hurtful words before. She smirks as I walk away in tears, silent in my own disbelief. At dinner that night, my mother says she is jealous of me because I am such a smart, kind girl. Now I am confused. Am I an outcast that is hated by all, or the poster child for perfection?
She is insecure
Envy green with jealousy
But she still hurts me
"Wow. It's really sad that you have to tattle to the principal instead of handling things yourself." I don't know how to respond. I am fourteen and am now embarrassed for asking my mom to talk to the school, and to make sure I didn't share any classes with my bully. I delete the post from my Facebook wall and lock myself in my room. At dinner that night, my mother says I am mature for contacting the school rather than fighting with my attacker. But I am confused. How can I stand up for myself if other people are solving my problems for me?
I cannot escape
Her words make me feel alone
What did I do wrong?
"Guess who." I know exactly how to respond. I am seventeen and I have had enough. My bully moved away two years ago; I thought she had moved on. Apparently, distance is not a problem for her. One sentence is all she will get from me: "I feel bad for you." The phone company has her number minutes later and I am proud of myself. At dinner that night, I don't tell my mother anything, because there's nothing to tell. There is no more confusion; I know that she is not the only one of her kind, but I also know that I am strong enough to handle anyone whose insecurites knock them down a few levels in the realm of maturity. I only wish the clarity had come sooner.
To my old neighbor:
Thank you for tormenting me.
You have made me strong.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of
Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering
And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now
I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain
And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her
But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation
and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.
But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.
She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.
The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.
For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.
"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."
The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.
Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.
"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."
Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.
In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.
"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
How uncanny!
Your stoic:
so suave,
so dapper.
How uncanny!
Your voice:
so sweet,
such a trapper.
How uncanny!
Your hair:
so fragrant,
such a teaser.
How uncanny!
Your eyes:
so magnified,
such an abrupter.
How uncanny!
Your lips:
like a bubblegum,
filled with eager.
How uncanny!
Your hands:
on mine,
no answer.
How uncanny!
Your silence:
in your mind,
like cancer.
How uncanny!
Your thoughts:
thorough rejection,
my soul's attacker.
How uncanny!
Your breaths:
fumes of disdain,
silent killer.
How uncanny!
Your scent:
faint whiff of trouble,
a heart-breaker.
How uncanny!
Your dreams:
misaligned with mine,
an eerie blockbuster.
How uncanny!
Your soul:
my bulls-eye,
a sharpshooter.
How uncanny!
That night:
I wish,
lasted forever.
How uncanny...
That night...
you wish...
hadn't transpire.
-my demise-
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
In my life I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled
But your **** jokes make the spark inside of me grow to a raging fire.
Because although I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled there is a nearly 1 in 5 chance that I will ***** in my lifetime.
Your **** jokes are not funny. Maybe you thought it was okay to say it Because you were with people who had never been ***** But maybe they just didn't tell you. Only 16% of rapes are reported to law enforcement. Your seemingly innocent joke may bring back memories they battle every day. Your **** joke puts the abrasive words right back into the attacker's mouth as they cut at the victim's skin. Your **** jokes have the power to remind them of being blamed, of feeling completely helpless, of wanting to die. The words of your **** joke will undoubtedly bounce around in a victim's mind. Pushing each part of the brain until everything is happening over again.
Sometimes I have stayed silent when I heard a **** joke but from now on let it be known I won't stand for it. It's not just that **** jokes aren't funny but **** is not a joke. So next time the words of a **** joke come try to be let out, roll the sentence around on your tongue, close your lips, and remember that your joke isn't a joke to everyone
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
A locked grave, a confined space
My heart pounding, a tight brace
the strongest oppression: time’s pace
alone and lost, I was chased.
Run, run, run, as fast as you can
Or do as some say: start, lest it began
But now it was too late, the attacker was behind
Edging close, a knife in her hand -
We will soon meet, at the time she feels
But there was a last resort, for those who were weak
I could leave the chase and fall off the cliff
Or just remain and receive death’s kiss
Arriving time, time has arrived
Slash, slash - a blood splash
A red boundary formed, impossible to cross.
Deadline - that’s what it was called.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 3:12 AM UTC
i.
Cometh hither darling, passeth through the enlightened pergola, seeith how ourn moniker's, art carved into the archway thither ourn bower; A chivalrous Noble tower.
ii.
No worrying mine dear, a buckler shalt be close to mine grab, for the attacker's shalt tryeth to invade, steal, and get all in a duetimes hand; though the circlet I shalt place upon thine top, shalt giveth thee shielding, from the Creation's that mock.
iii.
Artista, mine chosen of coëval; chalcedony balconies shalt giveth us visibility, up close we shalt toast, in thine calligraphist theory, in intimacy we'll float.
iv.
The eaves of ourn citadel, shalt be engineered by thine geniusness, none better to build ourn protection, as thou art a stalwart of the age, a queen aloft all name's, an angel upon a seraph's stage, as I wilt espy thee from the window inside thine midst.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts
hopscotch was another for girls
I'd try to work out the rules
but dare not ask, nor yet even
be seen to be showing interest
sometimes I'd be invited
to join in girls play
I could hold the rope
while others skipped
but had not the grace
or the agility to skip
at all well myself
there were role play games
of families with dolls
proudly displayed
tenderly nursed
and I would be offered
the role of 'daddy'
though I had no clue
of how to do that
having no father myself
so I would be told
to arrive home from work
to sit in my chair
to put on my slippers
to smoke my pipe
to hear tales of misbehaviour
by the children
and I would be amused
but would be told firmly
that I must be stern with them
then when that was done
to eat my tea and afterwards
to sit watching the telly
distracted from the game
that continued around me
or to go out to the pub
and I thought that
fathers must be
the most boring of people
The rough and tumble
was not for me
why would some boy think
he could throw me down
straddle me, pummeling
overpower and hold me there
trapped, despite my struggles
I learned early that
scratching, biting,
flailing, kicking
were not permitted
nor were tears
yet I shed them still
and screamed and scratched
and bit and flailed
if I could not avail
myself of natural defences
generally expected of girls
then why should my attacker
receive no more than
mild admonishment, if that
while I'd be advised
to "toughen up"
and the goading
carried on relentlessly
"you run like a girl"
"you throw like a girl"
"you kick the ball like a girl"
"you fight like a girl"
as though doing those things
like a girl were demeaning
Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.
firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--
stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.
"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."
this color is also one of spring.
it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.
before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.
it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.
now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.
it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.
this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
***** and
******
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.
do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.
it is not the color of singular definition.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
**When I was in an abusive relationship, I told myself I deserved it. I told myself I should be more obedient, as if I was a dog. My leash was held so tight that I couldn’t muster any words out even if I wanted to.
When I was in an abusive relationship, I soaked in every insult and only ever released apologies.
When I was in an abusive relationship, some days I flinched when he raised his hand or began to speak and other days I just sat there waiting for it. When my mom would ask about the bruises I would be surprised because I didn’t know my body was still reacting to it when my mind wasn’t.
When I was in an abusive relationship, tying nooses was a nightly thing and nothing to even be alarmed about, blood stained sheets were the norm, and suicide notes were just normal letters.
When I was in an abusive relationship, I took many different kinds of drugs throughout the day and didn’t really know which combination would **** me. Would the coke, Xanax, and alcohol **** me? Or would it be the alcohol, ****** and oxy?
When I was in an abusive relationship, all concern for myself vanished. As my addictions to many different pills such as Xanax, ****** Hydro, Oxy and many more grew, I started to smile again.
When I was in an abusive relationship, being asked how many drugs I was on was not rude or unexpected.
When I was in an abusive relationship, leaving permanently just didn’t seem like an option.
When I was in an abusive relationship, I had unconditional love for my attacker and always made sure he was okay even after he hit me.
When I was in an abusive relationship, one day, I had a revelation and found my voice.
Now, I am no longer in an abusive relationship.**
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Feeling her heart pound with the quickness of her breath she knows that she has found her long lost brother. Her eyes shining with excitement, not knowing what to expect from him, scared that he will turn away and leave her again. Holding her breath and quietly walking over to him, tapping him on the shoulder with her index finger, slightly shaking with fear. Her brother turns around and smiles. The reconization dawns on him and his face burns with fury of being discovered, by his own sister nonetheless!!
How could she, he wonders furiously! He had left home for a reason and now she has come to take him home he is sure. Well, not this time, she
won't. In his heart he knows she means well, but he can't go back. If only she knew why he couldn't. Gritting his teeth he tears out of the bar, leaving his sister looking after him with tears streaming down her face and calling his name. He couldn't stop; he had to get out of there so he wouldn't have to hear her crying.
She slumps down onto the stool that he was sitting on before he decided to leave. She had traveled so far to bring him home safely and he wasn't about to let her! She knows in her head that she should leave him alone; yet in her heart she couldn't just let him go on living without knowing that his family was there for him no matter what kind of trouble was, but she was going to find out, whether he wants her to or not!!
Shivering from cold and anger, he walks through the streets hoping that she won't come after him. He loves his sister, but if she ever found out about him she would never love him the same way again. Feeling wetness on his cheeks, he furiously wipes the tears away, cursing at her under his breath. Feeling hands on his shoulders he whirls around ready to fight his attacker but stops short when he realizes whom it is. He was looking straight into his twin sister's deep blue eyes. He saw only love and affection, not anger or
hatred. How could he have ever thought that she would desert him? She was his twin and she would stand by him through think and thin.
As she stares into her brothers eyes, only feeling love for him hoping that he will say something or do something to let her know that he wasn't going to run from her again. With her tearstained cheeks and teeth trembling from the cold, she gently takes his hand and caresses it with her fingers looking into his eyes pleading to him to let her back into his life. His hand trembles with cold or anger, she can't quite figure it out.
He catches his breath as she takes his hands while they shake with the confusion of not knowing what to do. He draws in shaky breaths and extends his other hand and strokes her cheek wiping the tears away from her eyes pleading with an emotion choked voice to stop crying. She nods and says that she will try only if he stops, making him smile, for he had wiped his tears away and her still knowing that he was crying on the inside.
She slowly offers him a smile hoping that he will open up to her. When he gently strokes her cheek, she feels his fingers shaking, now knowing
not from anger, but from love........
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 3:49 AM UTC
My little eyes
Squinted as they
Searched for an attacker
My tongue stretched out
To catch a fly
For my dinner
Out of the corner of my eye
I spotted a two legged creature
The same people who
Paved over my home
Killed my dinner
Stepped on my mom
And destroyed my air
The cruel beings
Who selfishly paved
A mall over my home
Killed the bugs
That were annoying them
And stepped on my mom
Like she wasn't even there
They don't think of
The frogs that lived in that swamp
Or the ones that are going to eat
The poisoned bugs
Or even the few
That may be out for a stroll
Just two small to be seen
The two legged creatures called humans
Are killing my species called frogs
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
I was the frightened little kid
Who got pushed against the wall.
I wasn’t terribly masculine
Had acne and was not very tall.
Or maybe it was my intelligence
Or artistic talent that drew the ire.
It was an ever-changing list
That drew my fellow student’s fire.
Maybe it was that my game
Was never quite there for sports.
Or maybe when I did not join
On jokes about **** and other sorts
Of woman demeaning quips
They had to have learned at home.
Parental misguidance one oh one
Not learned at school on the roam.
Whatever it was, I got beaten
And locked inside my own locker.
And I got called ***** and ***
Now isn’t that a big fat shocker?
I got shoved around in hallways
And knocked out cold by a creep.
I didn’t even know the ****
But he decided to put me to sleep.
And when the faculty was called
I was suspended along with the guy.
The school’s policy it seemed
Was to punish both kids. Ask why.
I asked and I was told sternly
That the school really did not care
The attacker and the attacked
Had the same punishment to share.
Now, in this case, the attacker was
Known to be a ruffian and a miscreant.
And I was known to be a wimp.
So why give me unusual punishment
When I was already being punished
For not being some kind of snorting ****
This was like the school system
Giving my jaw an extra and official sock!
It would be nice to say about this
That it was a totally isolated incident,
And that principals seldom pass out
This officially thoughtless kind of punishment.
But I heard that line so many times
I could have lip-synched right along with him
As the principal mouthed a policy line
From a time grown distant and dangerously dim.
School gym coaches called us girls
If we didn’t keep up with hand-picked brutes
Who enjoyed inherited musculature
And bigot approved physical attributes.
So those of us who were who we were
And could not manage mow down the men
At the line of scrimmages
Were called ‘lils’ and fairies once again.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
we stomp the child monster. my blood goes so far as to break its promise to leave my body. a dog with a broken jaw whimpers beside the unthawed baby of the odd seamstress whose love of bubble wrap is genuine. god says in the same voice step away from the vehicle as a boy close to his attacker touches himself under his breath. The Jesus
can’t hear in the dark. the last thing I see is making this up.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Santa Fe, Texas
May 18, 2018
welcome to America.
where there had been 11 school shootings before
the end of january of 2018.
welcome to America
where the mentality of the attacker
is the problem,
and not the system.
welcome to America
where a 17 year old Pakistani girl was killed in her school
among 9 other beautiful souls.
welcome to America, Sabika
which was greeted to you nearly six months ago
where you arrived in the "land of hopes and dreams"
to learn and grow and achieve.
welcome to America
the country that showed promise from the looming Taliban threats in Karachi, your hometown.
welcome to America
the country that you were going to help save Pakistan
by building stronger US - Pakistan relationships
and showing women empowerment by being
(possibly) the second female prime minister of Pakistan.
never again would you watch fireworks explode in the sky on August 14
never again would you count up your money on Eid
never again would you eat your mom's biryani on a hot summer day.
welcome to America, Sabika Sheikh
your hopes and dreams were alive and floating
in the land you gave your heart to
and the land that would take it away.
- a.g.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
[in the past I am describing god to my attacker]
I don’t take good care of things.
I can’t even give you
examples.
~
[dead child]
the future
the past
both are ready
to talk
~
[late poem]
one can only write so long
about loss
in pencil
find my house,
dog-on-fire
~
[reading and writing]
which one of us did loneliness hear coming?
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
this morning I found my computer had been hacker attacked
is there a way that a hacker can be tracked
my friendly computer repairer is going to have a look for me
to see what the attacker has stolen from me
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
Heart-shaped leaf,
Once a dancer with wind,
Now curls in his edges
To protect from the Sun’s glare.
Child with a heart,
Holding hands with trust upon a time,
Alas folds her arms across her *****
To protect from the Attacker’s blows.
Heart that pumps blood,
Once a dealer of life,
Now laces with the black market
To protect itself from Hades’ incubus.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Atheists insist that this existence subsists of nothing but
The density, material we feel and see and measure. What they're
missin' is in between the lines hooks and sinkers they bit
On the end of false authority's string, wrapped around their finger
They linger and cling to the things they've been spoon fed
From the same spoon belief was taken, the same they dread
But all they've pinned down for sure is themselves inside their heads
Waging internal war, thinking their thoughts can conquer
But only divide themselves
Every victory a loss when the attacker is the target
No stopping to look at the pieces, just charging ahead and trying to forget
No theory or equation slowing their self-invasion. No algorithm to save em. No laboratory haven
And when there's nowhere left to run, turbulent wakes don't wait, mental obliteration leaves you wracked and craven
But perhaps in the deepest rubble, after the foundations crumble
A seed may sprout that can see them out, new and humble
Unblinded equally to all sources of deception
Perhaps they can make a new life, a new perception
To err is human...but when we err far enough to break
We can rebuild, be reborn...a whole new future make.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
A sword, its curved blade
in an enigmatic smile shines,
concealing all dishonorable
objectives, stands displayed
on an alabaster white wall.
A sassy girl, hurriedly passing,
for a moment stood arrested
ran her thin, long, fingers over
the sharp blade, as if caressing
her lover, blushed for a moment,
then left hesitating, looking back.
A hot blooded youth,
his face arrogant and taut,
stood in front as if he owns it,
then that expression changes for this:
"I am it"
An old lady with
a million lines of pain running
crisscross across her face,
at the very first look, the universal mother,
had a rude shock, seeing this;
her disdain expresses in her voice thus:
"How barbaric! look at its hidden blood thirst"
Then, walks in the gentleman
wearing a green berret, as if he has
just come out of his olive green uniform,
marching stiffly as if it's a parade ground, he badly misses,
a look of admiration passes through his face
"What a fine piece, best for close combat" he rues
evidently he loves crude methods,
forgets battle fields are created first within warped brains.
A sprightly white lizard chasing a bug
accidentally steps up on
the cold blade of the sleepy sword,
as if struck by an electric shock,
down it somersaults,
falls on the ground with a dull sound,
looks up to see the strange attacker
that frightened him,
wanting to avoid any future confrontation.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
I am allowed to say no. In fact, I have the right to say no. My body is a temple, and I get to choose who gets to access the lower regions and the inner sanctum. You do not get to choose for me. You do not get to slide your slimey hands all over my body if I say no. You do not get to touch my **** or my front if I should say so.
Yet, many do not believe that a man has as much of a right to the word no as a woman. Let me tell you ladies and gents, I have just as much of a right to use and mean the word no as a woman does. I can get ***** assaulted, abused, bruised, and hurt, emotionally, physically, and mentally too.
Do you know how hard it is to get up, to go to bed, to sleep, to live with a smile on your face, when you're looking for the next person who might want take advantage of you. Do you know how sick it makes me feel when someone calls me attractive because that's how he tried to convince that I'm okay with what he was doing? Do you know how hard it is to not flinch when a man casually touches me. Do you know how hard it is to survive when touch was the only thing that offered me true comfort, but now gives me panic attacks?
Do you know how hard it is to survive on a day to day basis when the right to say no was unwillingly taken away. Do you know how hard it is to smile and laugh, love yourself and your life while looking around every corner, trying to identify who the next attacker is, wondering the next time you'll be the victim?
I have just as much of the right to say no as anyone else. Just because I'm a man, because I'm always supposed to want to *** because I'm confident in myself and my sexuality, does not mean you have the right to ignore words, ignore that I. Do. Not. Want. To. Do. Anything. With. You.
So many people say that they hold no stereotypes or expectations for other people, but the society I live in expects me not to have the right to say no. So thank you everyone, those who taught others that men can't say no, to those who tried to make me conform, and to those who say nothing at all because you, you make it easier for someone to take advantage of a man who doesn't know or believe he has the right to say no.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC