"chink" poems
**** the non-believers
**** the ***** and **** the fools
Go grab your Dad's gun and we'll go shoot up the
whole
school.
Yeah.
I got her nudes,
don't you think that's pretty cool?
You know that Jesus loves you,
would you like to see him soon?
You're so offended these days
well **** my **** you ******** *****
******* licking my Dad's ****
Donny T's alright,
Don't you think?
Jesus loves you.
I don't,
But Jesus loves you.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
I saw you one day and never thought a thing
As we grew 3 years, I noticed
My heart decided to thump faster
I smiled shyly at you and you smiled back
So I asked you a question, over a note
You broke my heart...You won't ever know
I cried when you left, clutching your answer in my arms
Sobbing for days, broken inside
Last day of school, you gave me a hug
High school began and I saw you again
My heart betrayed me, no matter how much I trained it not to
You smiled at me, and I grimaced back
I wanted to hate you, and I let you know
You talked to me, asking why?
I can't tell you, I might cry
I keep a straight face, a bravado to cover my feelings
Yet somehow, I wish you could see a ***** through my armor
I have a class with you
I stare at you, hoping you stare back
When you do, I sneer at you and glare
I confuse myself
I have feelings
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Her nervous laugh
is the ***** of a champagne glass
he does not care she has no brains
he worries about his tie
asks her to confess
she never loved Tom
showing off his wealth
built on the sand grains
of dodgy business & deceit
& brick of bravado
a siren, she has called his heart
to sail to her across the years
all to end in a gunshot
by a pool
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
The already preset disposition of being Asian.
I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket,
because they tell me I'm white-washed.
Born with foreign looks but a native tongue
my birth certificate calls me *****
I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world
but here,
I'm still considered an immigrant
in my own home.
When you are Asian-American,
you are also the stereotypes that trail your title.
You are sushi
You are jackie-chan
You are karate
You are good grades
You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE
WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED!
BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL!
Excuse me straight misogynist white male,
your Godzilla type of Asian,
or my culture?
When have I
as an individual
played a character in these quote on quote American movies?
Hmm oh yeah, that's right!
I was in Fast and Furious!
Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent
Cho Chang?
If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph
because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie
I've ever seen.
Or at least your people, right?
Don't try to tone down the damage
I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish
that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime,
nothing more, nothing less.
And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor,
I'd be considered as a social unnorm
a disgrace
but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world
I have lost touch of my heritage,
my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be
I wear a mask.
My friends speak to my mom in their native language.
Sitting there,
disoriented,
lost in pronunciation
I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue.
She says,
"because you are American."
And I still do not believe her.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
The first in over sixty years
The whooping cranes are living wild
Now one young pair has laid an egg
And, too, with luck, will raise their child
They near Kissimmee were released
Beating the odds, survived to breed
A ray of hope they might increase
And ***** the armor of human greed
But cranes need water as do we
As still we pump the wetlands dry
Our chains of lakes sprout fat resorts
The river of grass condemned to die
Yet dare we dream we might reverse
This harsh inflicted damage done
Still apathy is our nation's curse
Which battles none has ever won
Today I cheer the whooping cranes
Who still have hope that they might see
Upon some far and distant day
Their offspring's offspring flying free
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover
Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.
Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.
Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.
She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...
Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.
I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.
Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.
Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...
She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,
Despondence...
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
They weren’t all cut from the same cloth
*vilified tenders of the iron *****
some were lovers
(or lucid dreamers)
stage romantics
hidden behind jackboots
and skull caps
and switchblade seams
Caste members of a forlorn pack
counting their patchwork and deeds
conjuring up demons
around the console
filling their dreams
with radio reds
and dusted quarries
and faded sepia prints
Brass knuckles
and marches of the few
lightening bolt cracks
from a chilling blood moon
death’s dark specter
cold and ominous looms
the cobalt sea swells
near the nestled, and lost
Clubhouse at Kiusta
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
You came in late, again
I said hello, pecked your cheek
and waited for the flow of excuses.
None came.
You went and poured a drink
I sat awaiting your words.
You came back in, sat heavily down
and looked at the floor.
I felt rage inside my breast,I had news to tell.
You never asked how I was, or how my day went.
I sat quietly waiting, listening to the ice ***** the glass,
I felt as vulnerable as that ice cube, once solid now melting,
waiting, fuming, controlling my anger.
You looked up, you looked at me, no through me, and said
"I'm late because I've been having an affair"
Did a freight train just hit me? I felt despair, but you said more,
"She's pregnant, and is keeping the child"
Clarity liberated me from my stupor, late nights,
meetings, high mileage on the car.
I asked a question,
"Are you leaving me?"
You dropped your head, and said the words most wives dread
"Yes, I have to be a father, do the right thing, I love you but....."
Your words trailed off.
I stood up, took your glass and refilled it for you.
My turn.
"Did you start coming home late because of her? Or because I've gained weight? Or both those reasons?"
Silence.
"Pack your bags, leave the keys, get a hotel bed"
Those words came out so clear, you'd swear I'd knifed you.
~
At the front door, you turned, about to say something, I cut you off
"Send me your new address, I need it for the solicitor,
I'm divorcing you. And by the way, before I forget, you're not the only
one that's been late, it would seem you know how to propagate"
I shut the door, rubbed my tummy, and waited to be called mummy.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Not quite a hurricane
but a wind that still blows,
holding love aloft.
I prefer to be behind the scenes
like god,
observing the audience
through a ***** in the curtain.
I am prophecy self-fulfilled,
but I’ve been before mistaken.
Surprised to learn
that they embrace what they ****
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
The frost is still there,
Throttling the rhododendron leaf,
And ice stalls the dissolve
Of the stone-like snow,
Yet I am happy.
The sun-rays are almost Etruscan,
Filtered low through lace and blind,
Like that ***** of sunset on Irene’s hair
Sad “couleur de feuille-morte”.
Yet it is sultry.
I can open a window
And breathe the warming air
Finches flock close, careless,
Now desperate for food
And pluck menescent fruit
Off an ice-bound branch.
In the distance, a cardinal sings.
Thick drapes are drawn aside
And geraniums strain toward the light.
In a nook outside the door,
An old cat basks on a corner of sun.
He yawns, seeing me, and strolls across the snow.
All nature seems to wait, but poised,
For the final unfettered token.
Will it be a sudden, favonian breeze?
Or the robin’s unrelenting noise?
Telling us, “Winter is broken”?
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
One without looks in tonight
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white;
One without looks in tonight
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.
We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow;
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wandering, aglow
Four-footed, tiptoe.
4.8k
“Good afternoon”
Light kisses on the cheek
Walk gracefully to your seat
Cross your legs at the ankles
Never the knees!
“May I have a cup of tea, please?”
A porcelain teapot pours
With grace, three quarters full
And, as not to cross the paths of love
Milk is always last
A silver spoon in glistening pride
An inverted reflection
Of your well-bred smile
Stir, ever so carefully, from 6 to 12
Never ***** the sides!
Take a sip, looking into, never over
The cup. Laugh, smile, and converse
Indulge in a skon (not scone)
With clotted cream and raspberry jam
Always parted in two
As you say your farewells, praise yourself
You have made Queen Catherine proud
With your lady-like poise and elegant charm
At afternoon tea
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Today heard I a train,
while I smoke my cigarette, I heard a train.
The rumbles came trundling over mossing steel street bars,
the hooves of an iron horse shattering glass floors-
pebbles bickering like stone woodpeckers on the grounds to come.
The wind shudders,
and apologizes for the frost on the leaves,
the cracks in the ground and the holes in the sky,
my cigarette part blur,
awkwardness so comfortable,
this plastic train i recreate,
moments in-between,
where we lay down to day-listen.
The kinsmen that forgot call blacksmith,
scared with his welded skin,
protection in battle,
drunken dichotomy,
a hero ***** dans l’amour.
As great the fall of king, the fall of next in line.
The only thing to have moved quicker with age, time.
Lest we forget, the blacksmith here reside;(unfinished)
While the angel hath walk,
with long grey and black web moth wings,
stalking its sleeping prey,
his eyes wide open back,
watching the angel pace,
infesting the air with despicable knots,
its dangerous to stare,
but a contest never started is a contest never won,
and into the eyes of hell the blacksmith hast stared-
to the foot of his bed.
Where a three headed dog flap its ice wings to keep hell cold.
These nights in particular had been an awful one, and again the tapping, again the train.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
before that,
we sat pinned
and winded
on steel hands
and plated masks
near the crimson
jade pools
by the killing fields
of bordeaux
we did not look
we could not look
our eyes blinded
and seared
by the charred remains
and shallow graves
the battered birch
and caliginous path
drifters and vagabonds
and kings of kings
held witness
to the pounding
and overkill
the blades
cauldrons
and burning sweet-grass
all brought forth by healers
rammers, sages
and holy front men
glance behind
(watching them sort
through the rubble
and *****
the blood flow
spilling its warmth
throughout the
festering scene
they pulled the stops out
on this one ~
those sweated woodlands
and churned meadows
now framed
by a burned
and broken cross
autumn like winds
begin to chill
(casting spells over ground cover)
night lights flicker
beyond
the fallen trees
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
The greatness of Nature cannot be denied.
Her grandeur is plain for all to see.
Such sheer determination can only be admired.
See that tiny ***** on yonder rock face:
Some miniature plant has taken hold
Where nothing else could live.
We know that Mother Nature rules the Earth.
But what about the stars?
Billions of exoplanets wave at me
In my mind’s eye.
For life right here can thrive in boiling acid
And solid sheets of ice.
What scope for life is there out there,
Amongst the swirling galaxies
And gassy nebulae?
I tell you now:
There’s almost ENDLESS Opportunity
For life to evolve
Around this Universe
Alone.
Yes, she’s much, much more than “Mother Earth”:
More “Mother Multiverse”.
Mother Nature multiplied a million, million times.
Imagine That.
Paul Butters
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
What doesn't **** you doesn't **** you.
It does not necessarily make you stronger.
Does a crack in the wall make it stronger?
The bone heals the fracture. Stronger -
The pipefitter welds the pipe. Stronger -
Only work on "the broken" can make it stronger.
Become stronger -
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
She Looks Like a Tiger
See how she places her paws so lightly, so as not to be heard.
Silently, she moves through the crowd, head held high, today she doesn't want to hide.
Depicted in peach coloured stripes. No red, no brown, no blue, no black.
Today, is the first day she felt it was safe to show them.
Asking for the first time in her life, for the world to continue doing what it's always done
Lean on her, sing her our our sorrows so she could sing them back and pretend, that we could not see her scars.
She has always been the brick wall.
The concert hall
The shoulder to cry on.
The logic you would chase after with your pedestrian problems and she was the designated driver.
But when it looks like you're a casual on bridges over troubled waters, there 's no one talking you down from the ledge.
She would never have asked you to.
Hannah, your name sounds like a semi-permanent tattoo.
I hope that's what this poem feels like to everyone who hears it
So that every time they think they know broken,
they feel cold lines crisscrossing their body and can honestly wonder,
was this feeling your blueprint.
But I think you look like tiger.
And I know, I shouldn't give time to some little boys who refuse to use her real name because it fits her to well.
Callin' her some emo, weak hippie freak.
she's just looking for attention.
Because when you're the first person to make it through Hell and back alive, you're a liar.
A hitch hiker piggy backing on someone else's problems.
But her arms served as straightaways for razorblades for nine solid years,
and its no thanks to people like you she's still here.
You think, she should be ashamed of herself. As if scars are a ***** in the armour.
Like she was peer pressured into self-destruction and couldn't resist.
No one asks you:
"Hey there, wanna cut? Wanna, self-mutilate?"
Just like I won't ask you not to hate the idea of someone being that low
That every beat of the heart feels a little like ****** assault, and cutting was the best way she could find to say no.
She looks like a tiger,
and she didn't earn her stripes. People rarely do.
But she has earned the right to wear them for what they are;
Battle scars.
Things she's long overcome.
Her head is held high again.
And I know, I shouldn't be wasting my time on people
Who refuse to use her real name,
but Hannah is still Hannah inside out, upside down,
Backwards, Hannah is still Hannah,
Even with her insides out,
Hannah is still Hannah.
She's still here.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
i.
Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.
Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.
Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.
Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,
defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.
It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.
ii.
Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch
if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.
It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.
They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.
But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.
Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
I love the quick ***** of china cutlery when I close the plastic dishwasher
And the comforting sizzle
of the butter, which sun bursts
in the pan, as you are frying our dinner.
I love the way you say 'Nah'
and the way
my heart's pace
Increases at your sight.
I love the way the steamy light
makes shapes and shadows
on your face
as we lie together on grass.
I love the slam
of the front door after a rain day
and the lock
of our eyes
in the hall way.
I love mundane high croak
of the curtains
when I peal
them back as if I am
opening my eyes
for the first time.
Opening to see you;
China cutlery,
butter,
my steamy light,
and rain.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
The feeling of my intention was clear.
At one time or another.
"Find a place to share what's inside."
"Maybe, maybe it'll fade, at least for awhile."
"Mix it up a bit, shine light where you spread the dark."
Suffice it to say, I'm worried this won't turn out the way I had hoped.
It's not to say I'm on the brink of the end,
But at the moment in this lifelong battle, when my eye flickers to a detail I missed.
There's a ***** in my armor.
A small sliver.
As that unwanted passenger swings it's blade once again, sparks fly, and in that second of light, revealed.
The sliver is now a crack.
I can't seal this and sooner or later it'll spill out.
I just wish, one day, it'll stop.
Until then, I'll burn away and rise from the ashes like a phoenix to continue this infinite cycle.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
Heidi
I fell in love with you at the age of 15, and I remember how I rode my bicycle
The 4 miles across town almost every day that summer, two and a half years ago
How much effort I put in to make the 40 minute ride over, just to come visit you
Heidi
I remember your friends and they were nice at first, until your best friend Jaina
Thought the word ***** was a part of everyday language and I realized
She wasn't even good for much except putting people down and going outside to smoke
Heidi
I remember the stories you told me about them and how you said you felt obligated
To take care of them, and that they meant a lot to you, how you loved them
For their silly jokes and shenanigans and just the fact that they were ******* badass"
Heidi
I remember when Jaina, Miles, and David were over one night I came for dinner
They just walked in unprompted, and ruined the time we had alone
I remember how you all laughed at me when David made a sick joke about my racial makeup
Heidi
I got up from the table and went to the bathroom to cry that night
Not because I had to go to the bathroom but because you replied to his joke by laughing along
And you even made another joke saying "But he's our token asian"
Heidi
I remember sitting next to you on your bed when we would watch movies all evening
But I also remember your attitude and the things you called me the whole time
"Asian buddy"
Heidi
I started noticing things about you I hadn't seen before because my love was blind
Like how badly you treated people, just like your friends did
Like how self-absorbed you were and how quickly you and your friends ego's fell apart
When you realized going to the corrupt Art Institutes for art degrees to make art was probably a bad idea
Heidi
You were having a hard time finding yourself and what you wanted to do with your life
Because you'd spent all your time in high school thinking you were on top of everyone
I led you on for almost 8 months before I decided enough was enough
Heidi
I should have left you early on because during those 8 months I tried to change you
Talk to my friends, I talked to them nonstop about you and what I should do with you
I remember how I only stayed because it wouldn't be fair to you for all the work we put in
Heidi
I'm sorry I hurt you but you hurt me too and as time went by I realized
You weren't even close to someone I wanted to spend any time with
You were nothing I could love, a proven *****
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
_They say don't test the waters_
but absentmindedly dived
in blue and black
engraved with the souls that once adorned my body— bone crushed and barely breathing. Drowned in lovestruck, a ***** to an armor.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
_Acceptance that in this life
Blood and sinew define me
And yet my mind can fly,
Doesn’t come easily.
To find the pivot point,
The sweet spot where form and fancy
Co-exist in perfect balance,
Eludes me most of the time.
To lose myself in the dreck of daily life dulls my spirit;
To reject the limitations of my reality
Leaves me stranded in the in between spaces
Where discontent, longing and self-doubt flourish.
Engaging in this power struggle
Between my earth and my ether
Leads me to gainsay one half of my whole,
Either or, vice versa, within or without.
To find a ***** in my own armour,
To prise open the gap,
To embrace the paradox which is this person named “I”,
And walk the tightrope with panache...aha!_
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
Who? Wu? No, who! Jews?
No, you ignorant fuckin'
***** Juice! Not Jews, juice!
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
I bent over willingly not knowing
what exactly was going to happen.
I faced the door hoping help
would come through the ***** keyhole.
Thing is.......
I was always up after eight
and didn't have the power to fight
nor scream.
After this particular incident that happened
one too many times,
regularly.
Everything changed.
I slept early.
I had anger towards men.
I was afraid of speaking up.
And lastly I didn't know what it was.
Because it wasn't skin on skin,
Society would conclude and say it wasn't a scheme .
Because I didn't scream,
Society would conclude and say I enjoyed it.
So what is child molestation?
Skin on skin?
Or not wanting it to happen at all?
I didn't say "No" cause I was afraid,
I didn't say "No" cause saying it to an elder was rude,
I didn't say "No" cause he was the opposite ***
And I didn't say "No" cause I was seven years of age.
Now tell me I wasn't molested.
Written by :Leechle ❤️
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC