"backlash" poems
im not trying to cause a riot
but no more nice girl being quiet
im telling my story this time
and its not my fault you commited the crime
i've been hiding in the dark
healing on my own
but im not that same girl anymore
im not going to pick up my phone
it wasn't "one little mistake"
no, you knew i was barely awake
you took away my choice
but you didn't take away my voice
i'm ready to use it now
to speak up for the truth despite
the backlash i know i will inevitably face
when i look you in the eyes tonight
you told me what happened
while your hand was on my thigh
"its embarrassing you got that drunk"
even my friends turned a blind eye
it took me years to process
a simple caress would cause distress
but now i can say
nothing makes it okay
and nothing gave you the right
when i was passed out
6 years ago, midnight
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 10:00 PM UTC
So I'm just sitting down
Beside a stranger
Playing his guitar beautifully,
Meditating on the idea of how we
As human beings can only go so far.
As far as you can go
Exceeds as far as you can see.
I'm physically near-sighted.
I'm not sure if it's because of that long ago accident
When a tsunami of gasoline soaked my eyes,
But everything far is a water color blur to me,
Is it in fact the same for you?
There are addicts on the curb,
Abandoned dogs without a home.
How did they get there?
I can guess and assume,
Without the slightest clue.
I'm as anxious as an alcoholic
In a state of withdrawal.
Did I fall from Heaven like Lucifer?
Slightly overweight
Then slightly anorexic.
I've thought of less lately,
Less of fate.
Struggled with labels,
"That kid is anti-social."
As soon as
Words *** like fertile *****
You regret the consequence's backlash.
Why am I even bringing up **** from the past?
Don't get me wrong,
My story is not a complete sob story.
Anything I hold back,
I will admit and confess and address,
Always.
Originally written 2/4/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
No, you cannot join in.
Unless of course you also want the backlash that comes with kissing girls in public?
Take it-
please
share the homophobia.
I have had enough to last me 18 years of shame
no, this is not a game and you do not have the right to take photographs of me while I kiss her.
Unless of course you are a photographer
here to celebrate our queer love in all of it’s natural beauty.
For my love does not exist for your enjoyment
we are not the characters in your fantasy novel
my love is magical and you cannot publish it.
My love rains all over your non existent parade because your homophobia does not exist at pride
wide-eyed boys
encircle us as if to say that our mouths brush only so that they
can paint the picture,
but you do not belong within my self portrait
you will not dip your ***** brush into my rainbow coloured paint set.
Clean your homophobia into the water
for our love is art
but you are not the artist
and my love is not yours to keep for later
for wanking your anxieties into pleasure whilst you turn my pleasure, into anxiety.
This, is plagiarism.
Copyright my love.
For I should not have to be aware of who is watching
or pointing or shouting or stealing, my love.
So put your hand down your pants and think of your homophobia.
No, you can’t come now
no, you cannot join in.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
An artist,
Bleeding his heart into the canvas
Carefully planning his masterpiece
Dutifully paying attention to every detail.
Emotionally drained,
Forced to finish his work
Grueling over an uninviting crowd
Helpless to the impending backlash
Inspired, the artist continues
Just to prove his critics wrong
Knowing that his work will be amazing
Loving himself even more
Meticulously painting his beautiful image
Never letting stamina get to him
Opening his mind to a grand illusion
Presented to him by an transcendent figure
Questioning if what he saw was true
Reveling in the moment of it all
Slowly, the artist comes to a finish
Trapping the moment inside of his easel
Unveiling to the crowd was his final test
Vociferously, he explained his masterpiece
When all of a sudden, the artist begins to run
Xenophobia had stricken him
You now know why most artists are obscure.
Zealous fans always ruin everything.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
There was a time telling my truth was hard,
Stuck between sinking or swimming looking for a lifeguard.
It was weighted, and heavy slowly pulling me down,
But I thought if I open my mouth, for sure I’ll drown.
That you wouldn’t hear me but find holes in my story,
Throwing Daggered questions at me as punishment in this reformatory.
I have the Vivid memories, I’ve tried to make blurry,
Then there’s backlash from the self appointed jury.
But You DO know hurt people, hurt people that’s a fact,
I’ve done my share of hurting, but no never that.
See I’m not on trial just telling my truth,
Trying to create a better future, One that protects our youth!
My hope is that by sharing “This happened to me”,
Helps you realize it was never your fault so stop feeling guilty.
Because I won’t let them discredit you, it doesn’t matter when it occurred,
We’re not speaking because we’re spoken too, we’re dying to be heard.
I’ve extended my heart to you with words cleverly placed,
With each line hope you feel my love in a tight embrace.
At first it’s hard not knowing how to push through,
But YOU ARE A SURVIVOR , I know because I’m a survivor too.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
Mother Nature
(Poem by Serenus)
Mother, Oh Mother
You’re such a woman scorn
Your children mistreated you
And now we’re caught in your storm
Your womb, birthed the earth
And from the earth, we were born
We use to be so close
But now we’re just a family torn
Smoke stole your sweet scent
We scorched your beautiful hair
Your skin sealed in cement
Suffering from thirst, but we didn’t care
We force fed you poison
We put a price on your head
Taking your gifts for granted
And we left you for dead
But Mother, Oh Mother
You have come back
With a vengeance!
Your temper is heated
With no signs of forgiveness
Your touch use to be gentle
Tough-love, but modest
But your backlash has been brutal
The judgment of a goddess
Hurricanes, acid rains,
Monsoons, tsunamis
Droughts, water spouts
And quakes that sneak up calmly
Blizzards, floods, tornadoes, and wildfires
And we never cried for you Mommy
Now our situation is absolutely dire
We are begging for a day that’s balmy
To protect yourself from your people
You are fighting back
And all we can do is stop our evil
Reflect-and stand back
But Mother, Oh mother
Can we be saved?
Or have you sealed our fate
For the way we behaved?
…Before she can be her children’s savor
Rescue us, from our own bad behavior
She must save herself "first
So don’t blame her
She’s a mother
Protective power
Is in her nature
She said she’ll get back to us later
…First she has to communicate
With “The Father”…Her creator
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 7:45 PM UTC
Write everyday, too much
That's a commandment for a to do list
in hopes it will manifest into routine
I can store the text in the internet
It's safer that way, these days
Store it in a place that actually doesn't exist
How can it be lost?
There's too many spies making logs
and in the rare artful moment of an agent
maybe I'll get discovered
Not banking on it
I'm throwing all my eggs at random houses
and wearing the wicker basket as a helmet to protect from backlash
in hopes that, by then, my poet spirit could leap from treetop to treetop
to avoid hollow bullets
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
To the outcasts
Do what it takes to outlast
The seemingly endless backlash
You were made to surpass
All the useless trash
~~~~~~~~
Don't forget that some of the worlds greatest figures were outcasts who changed the world because they were different.
They saw the world differently
And they had courage to be and stay different even when branded as an "outcast"
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
the Hebrews call the Greek myth of Icarus
by name: Lucifer - i know man is prone to plagiarism,
esp. in the religious realm, the easier the plagiarism
the easier the governing of men -
for indeed the Hebrews claimed
Icarus prior to the Greeks, the former with Lucifer
and the latter with Icarus -
but how i loathe peasants claiming
medicinal endeavours
of knowing only the spotlight cursors
to curate and environmental care of origin
of such negated ease,
they have no knowledge and no power,
their interests in the subject matter
would never encourage them
to run a marathon for accumulating funds
for a cancer charity -
one word answer? ***** they're basically
***** should have engaged in a family
life before you blamed me m.d.!
take your regressive anger and shove it
up your little bee magnet **** to take
a **** like extracting honey - now i'm ******
but look where i'm writing it: on a colour
of defeat - militant heaven of the archangel Michael
sword in hand and Satan defeated waggling a
tongue - isn't that importune to speak of
the current times with the defence of a freedom
of speech subdued by a fear of insult
demanding? monotheism did as much good
as it shouldn't have - and did as much evil
as it should have - and did, crafting the strict
labouring of judaism's orthodoxy -
so for each niqab there came the madness of
a jewish girl's care for wig - translated into
christianity as the donning of wigs in the 18th century,
and the 17th - bypass the concerns of
monotheists and you came across cuisine
freedoms of mandarin, and the colour backlash
sprinkling to a billionth birth, a land
where the homeless have a mother kamadhenu -
and celebrate Holi for chance of extracted mundane
hue of man polarised with fluorescent ivy
and x-rayed orange... or that's how the thing was said.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Not as eloquent
as a fountain pen,
not as artistic
as a sketching pencil,
not even as bright as a magic marker,
but one smart cookie to your kids.
We have cool names like
Cotton Candy, Manatee,
Razzmatazz and Inchworm,
and are non-toxic sticks of joy
to those little imaginations.
Yes, we sometimes look like
clumps of colored wax
smashed into tissue paper,
and we do break easily
or lose our wrappers at the drop of a hat,
then get tossed in a bag
or worse, become homeless.
And horror of horrors!
We’re reinvented as candles
or reheated into twisted zombies
of our former selves.
And neither do our achievements
reside in a museum or gallery,
why they're not even framed
and proudly displayed on a wall.
No, they're slapped on ***** refrigerators
and kept there by plastic alphabet
magnets that loosely spell
such mundane things
as ‘milk’, ‘cheese’ or ‘daddy is dumb,'
until they fall to the floor
or end up in the trash.
But hey man,
give us a break!
This is our plight,
it’s a harsh existence!
Perhaps we should organize,
form a union for children’s
writing and drawing utensils,
and thus ensure equality
for us crayons?
We realize, more than likely,
this poem's title will cause
some backlash by those
who insist it be called
‘Return of the Crayon,’
because we 'happy sticks', you see,
supposedly don’t take revenge.
Nonetheless, we stand by it.
It is what it is!
Your children love us
and so should you!
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 4:18 PM UTC
Different strokes for different folks, but if I stuttered when I spoke, there is a reason why I wrote, and if you think that I'm a joke, then stroke me, stroke me...
Empirical lyrically virile and viral a warrior reborn like he's gone out of style,
a rage unabated both non-syncopated and internal/external no meter's abated!
You wanted an anthem?
You wanted a cause?
You wanted a figure to even the odds?
You thought I was kidding
but now you're admitting that
I am the chosen whose broken the clause!
Rising in status, my main apparatus, the attitude: platitudes lack the finesse!
I'm searching for perfect not anything less!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Melding the milieus of millions and millions of masses who clash for the chance for the cash,
when all that was needed was truth to believe in, significance outed, you puppet let's dance!
No bragging, no lagging, and no more sandbagging, the hustle is over, your tussle is weak!
For soon we will savor the end of your flavor, fifteen minutes over, your outlook is bleak.
I'm nobody's pigeon hole, nobody's fool, I've seen quite my share of arrogant tools,
but here are the statements that lead me to greatness:
love me or hate me, go on instigate me, ignore me and gasp when you hear of my rule!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Now join me in raising a fist to the sky,
and pound upon pressure to powers that lie.
Make diamonds of rhyme-ends and squelter your silence
to pierce through the casket that left us so quiet.
Their reign is run dry, and nobody buys it, let's hit this at home so they cannot supply it.
Prepare the artillery pack in your fire, you're gonna need it , if the bars get any higher,
now hear from the jokee, I dare you provoke me, you still talking **** well stroke me, stroke me.
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
**I'm willing to take it for me and for you, THERE'S NO ******* LIMIT TO WHAT WE CAN DO!**
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
You could die for it--
love,
or refuse it altogether
and know nothing
except the urgency
of youth. Men
have been
solitary
for ages
carrying the
stoniest of hearts
in their broad chests
while we women
begin too early
brush the brown leaves
from our shoulders, go
from bloom to fade
as soon as
we see the sunrise
We let our eyes go first
Then there is the limp lolling
of our hearts from side to side
the tongue we cut away
the blind kiss on the backlash of night
the giving giving giving of skin
As women
we blindly wish
past the ****** of passion
as we vanish into a world of men
whose ribcages we were scraped from
Perhaps we are born of seeds
our essence crawling up the stem
to feed the bees.
Perhaps
every flower you see
is a woman
and when
she's in bloom
and when she is blooming
red
and when her leaves are wingbeats
of green in the autumn wind
beating wings of green, yes
even as the wind tries to humiliate her
it fails because
she's in love
and only she would die for it
2.7k
You’ll never know just how sorry I am
It was absolutely my fault
The world was spinning out of control
And my selfishness is all I sought
In my madness I became too lazy
To stop the world from all it's crazy
Spinning faster and faster
I was doomed to crash
Unfortunately you caught
The fall-out of my backlash…
Of all this **** I do confess
I’m the reason you’re a mess
Today we’re here tomorrow we’re gone
Just know you’re innocent and I am wrong…
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
the nagging pinpricks that flower in my chest
every time i hold my tongue
when i could take a stand
exhaust me.
some days i wish i were not stirred
by every minor injustice,
by every casual -ism.
i am not all angles and shards.
some days i am soft lines and rounded edges,
some days i am petal-small and twice as fragile,
some days i am tired.
some days the inevitable backlash
of speaking my mind
can send me reeling.
the accumulation of anger and dismissal and mockery
piles upon my shoulders
and seems sometimes too heavy to carry.
but even on these days,
these quiet, glass-boned lows,
i know why i am fighting, and
i know to the core of my being that
i
will
never
stop.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
cocktail of pills
flutes of smoke
run away baby let's just go
on a journey, earning our stripes
on a journey, to be us in spite
of all of the backlash, never returning to the past
the fruitful future is sweeter than the blooming flowers
stay with me please, just an hour
serotonin pumping, my heart jumping
out of my chest, kiss you on your neck
run away baby
run away again
into the green, grounded like trees
our roots intertwine, your soul is divine
run away baby
run away with your every time
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 7:31 PM UTC
Who knows who would
'true valiant be'
when you can't see
beyond the end of your nose?
who knows?
It has to be Sunday some day
and today is some day for some
hymns and hers (towels in the bathroom)
down the stairs
toast and preserves in the conservatory
not mandatory
but it's Sunday.
God must be reeling in shock
wondering what he has done
Jesus is getting the backlash
it's always a Sunday for some.
I'm going to queue up for my
holy wine and wafer
it's
safer not to sit upon the fence
and where else can you find this
kind of entertainment
for a pound or even less,
for fifty
pence?
beyond when I pass into
poets corner
where the monks and Friars
sort wheat from the chaff
I shall laugh
I shall rhyme
have a ****** marvellous time
Who knows who
'..would true valiant be..'
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
Gag gag and gargle
Draggin’ through the muck of
That place you said you’d never go back to
Screamin’ like a devil in the dark
The bump and grind of his *****
Bump and grind
Got you buckin’ backwards like a
Bulldog
But we both know you should’a’ never brought a dog
To a gun fight
Too late for tears darlin’
Bite lipped quivers never saved a soul
Can hear the fear in the breaks for sobs
The door to his apartment never beckoned
But you broke down the doors
Like you had something to prove
Bent you bilaterally like
The corner you backed yourself into
So perfect in your symmetry
Till you left me for him
Now you got the heart-sag
Jaw dropped
Dope fiend look
Tearing up at the sky
And the flowers
White powder pluggin up your nose holes
Can’t smell the **** on your knees now
Or the muck you got stuck in
You said I wasn’t as fun as he was
As he is
I never wanted to save you anyway
I just thought it was beautiful
The way you praised me for the things I say
And the way I say ‘em
Ya know
I got blasted backwards
By the backlash of you leaving
Kicked up so much dust in the rubble
And left me dizzy with the rumble
Of your feet fleeing the song of some ***** stomp
Headin’
Farther and farther away from safety
At least I was safe
I wasn’t bitter
Even my bite was gentle
Kind enough to remind you I still got teeth
But I won’t use ‘em
So before you leave me
Again
Take the burden
The baggage
The weight of my shoulders
The wait for the phone call sayin’ you finally
****** up and died on me
The mix tapes
The t-shirts
The memories of every moment my heart kept sayin’
“She won’t stay
But hold her for as long as she’ll let you”
Take it all
And go
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 5:03 AM UTC
Your violet iris leaves me naked
as your half-cocked upper lip remains stalwart while
a single drop of salt water backlash slips over,
falling to the ruin
where I tear your ventricles and,
blindly,
walk away.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
You can get used to anything--merciless debt, infidelity, death--anything, the photojournalist thinks as he stares out his open hotel window to the beach where two boys lay covered with white sheets.
The bombs fell an hour earlier. Upon impact they didn't so much make a sound as absorb it, syphoning off laughter over mimosas in the first floor cafe, blurring the start-stop of traffic into a shapeless background hiss. He was out there when it happened, on the beach, walking his morning walk.
From one hundred yards he took in the flash, the upheaval of sand, reaching for heaven and then, all at once, subject to gravity's retreat. He knew there would be a second bomb, like when you're cutting a tomato, and you look at your finger then to the knife, and think, I'm going to cut myself, and a couple slices later fulfill the prophecy.
He didn't rush to the boys. He got his camera out of the bag, grabbed the lens, adjusted for distance, for the wane morning light. Boys screamed and ran. He wasn't sure how many, four, five. The second bomb hit. One boy, smaller than the others, rode the sand upwards and back down. The photojournalist thought he tried to get up, but he wasn't sure.
He knew better than to rush over. An unidentified person pointing a vague object at the children on a satellite feed would garner backlash. So he waited, surveying the slight waves break, the gulls continuing flight.
Parents, people he assumed to be parents, moaned in an unfamiliar language. Their sounds though, both guttural and sharp, said all. He approached. A man picked up the smallest boy, his lifeless limbs, doll-like and pierced with shrapnel, hung off to the side.
He took twenty-five shots from behind the lifeguard's post, using the telephoto zoom. He lowered the camera and made eye contact with the father.
Now, in his hotel room, there's an urgent knock at the door. A voice shouts. The email sends. He drops his laptop in the bag with the rest of the gear. A taxi pulls into the roundabout outside.
When he lands he's not sure if he's fractured his ankle or just sprained it. He limps to the door, climbs in, says, "Airport."
"Maa?" the driver says.
The photojournalist punches the seat. The father of the boy, along with three other men, approach.
"Maa?"
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
we plant the seeds of our own destruction
"everything in moderation."
here I am in backlash station,
braiding my hair
with poison in my lungs,
on my breath,
in my stare.
my silver tongue has an alchemists tooth
a lung for a lung and the whole world's done
anti-smoke anti-drink anti-fry
diet coked, diet thinking, diet guy
yes, he's gonna die
bleeding through his finger tips
we touch lips, hips? say goodbye,
maybe take him home next time.
he's got me in a bind
stuck in his rhyme
he peeled me from the core
though I had a rind
but the fruit which I drink
is GMO such as he,
the fluoride in my sink.
a love poem made me think
a tag is such a drag
because a label isn't me,
a price could be
innocence
mystery
a held too close and you're history
he sent to me
late night called to see
if the aches from which I break have calmed down to be
more of a lesson than a test,
more of a sleep than a restlessness.
there's no one who should have to witness this...
"I'll be okay."
maybe I'll say it again...
"I'll be okay."
For once and forward because I want to,
a lot of people said I didn't have a choice but to
and I don't want to hurt any of you,
with the insanity of keeping things in
with the feelings that I simply suppressed
thought he made me happy and undressed
foolishly traded my tears for alcohol
sweet words for smoke, true love for a joke.
I've lost all I could lose
let him take all that I thought could be took,
and now I finally see what was to be had all along,
what was there all along...
you all were right and I was wrong.
I ran away, that's not okay,
but I'm back and here today.
I love you all, I love you most,
I wont push you away, so hold me close.
I'm breaking and aching, I'm shedding out tears,
I'm sorry for masking and mashing my fears.
I know I don't know and I wish to learn quick,
there's not that much time and there's no love in a ****
excuse my bad language for I do not speak French...
I'll stop with the jokes and go for what's true,
there's no more emptiness in the words "I love you".
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
i'm needy, i'm restless
don't know where my head is
got bruises and whiplash
every move's got a backlash
i can't tell you, i'm thinking
i'm constantly sinking
on the edge, see your face
but things just aren't the same
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Everything just passes me by
People, hope and opportunity, no matter how I try
The focus of my life is not to focus on the past
And it all goes by so fast
I'm stuck here in my room, on my bed
Reminiscing over things, trapped inside my head
Like this is where I'm at now, no doubt
I've got so much more to do
Way too much to lose, way too young to cruise
Should be getting out more often but I don't wanna bruise
The backlash of my actions, intended or not
Is not something that I've forgot
Not something I can forget
Because I'm not done just yet
I got things to do, much to lose
Now is not the time for me to cruise
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
You got in the way
Of the backlash
From uncontrollable,
Unreasonable rage
Smashed in the mouth
Blood and pain
Only left with
Broken teeth
You never saw
The coming meltdown
All you did
Was sit next to him
But he doesn't know
Never realises
Exactly what he did
Not his fault
He's only a child
On a high spectrum
You'll forgive him
Because I do
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Half white, half other
Mother of a soon to be
Born from an intent at backlash
Mother of a born to be
Plastic spoon in a microwave
Destitute, minimal,
designer criminal
Bun in the oven
Baby be coming
Out of any mind to choose
Mother of a soon to be
Potential property to bruise
Heidegger enlisted to the off-side
Probably due to the wave before
Baby lost to the in and out
of control, vessel of the past and preordained
Prescribed a will denying the innate
All joke, all alone
Began to end in a hot flash
Mother of a soon to be
Giveaway
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
I need to stop hating myself
for being the type of girl who loves love
because despite the bitter backlash I have never experienced a thing more beautiful
and that's saying something because
I'm the type of girl who hunts for a sunrise and feels cheated when I miss the sunset
I'm the type of girl that hates going to sleep because I might miss out on something amazing,
even if it's just a cloudless night
I need to stop over thinking everything because
I'm the type of girl who acts from the heart
and my head only gets in the way, makes me regret the decisions I know are right
I'm the type of girl who says what she means
and will cry if I'm hurt
if I'm mad
or if you're hurt
or you're mad
I'm the type of girl that cries
because anger scares me
When I fall, I fall hard because
I'm the type of girl that won't hide behind my pride
I'll put myself out there because
you can't feel love with only part of your heart
I'm the type of girl who loves love
I'm the type of girl who gets hurt
But I have seen incomparable beauty.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC