"classifications" poems
I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately. I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones.
The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me.
I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain. A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain. An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire. A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with.
My thinking is extremely black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories. The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings.
So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me. I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck. The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings. And that is terrifying.
I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose. And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else.
Remember those rabbit holes? When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings. The only way to climb out of that hole?
Literally feel my way out.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Everyday’s affliction with what we know is missing
Countless moments wishing that fishing was as simple as whistling
Remembering that willows wither in winters un-warmed
and wandering wonders willfully repose when rivaled against ripening woes
Come closer potential memories of exposes’
Clothes skydiving with expectations of faceplanting into the floor
Lady classifications disguise the actions depicting a *****
Heaping hopefuls cascade over glistening gazes that persuade the perilous to lay dormant
Come closer to the oops
That second guess in the back of your head that taps the shoulder and says go
That same go that was an initial no and now corruption has spidered the criteria
It seems the cat may have found the trick to the ball of yarn
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of vacation
******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation
White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion?
Millions inside the boxes of convention
Justified superficial, backhanded salutations
Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention
Pulled by a string of instant gratification
Finding freedom’s temporary
If ever, long term locations
Constricted, system of classifications
The socially admissible connections,
Not to mention gangs of corrections
Flowing through the previous, my own generation
For the infinite hours
One after the other
Trade integrity for the illusion of power
Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward
Face the souls sold on Wall Street,
Remember those from Twin Towers
Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate
The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it
Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture
Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture
As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured
Held at gun point, then forgotten years after
My children will one day look to me for the answer
What’s society, this twisted maze we live in?
I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question
And don’t ever allow me again not to mention
Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions
Some incapable of that level of retention
As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention
Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation
Kiss police *** only to go to the station
Before the thought of who signed the citation
Treated as if it were a felony violation
Our basic rights according to our nation
Arizona & Co for minority elimination
Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations
vi.i.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
I wonder sometimes
What it is the that people see
When they look at me
What it is that people notice first
It never ceases to amaze
Just how many seem to have
A hard time really classifying me
I think that we tend to classify people in general
Its often very easy to just
To automatically make assessment off of what we see
We almost have a harder time
Dealing with the people that are ambiguous
That we can't classify right away
Than the people that seem to fit
The stereotypes
Or are preconceived ideas
About how we think
People should behave
Or even look
And if people don't
Automatically fit
Into our neat little boxes
And into a neat little
Classification
Its almost like we repel those people
Somehow it scares us to see people
That don't fit into our ideas
Our ideals of normalcy that is based
On social constructs that we have
Built ourselves
I think we need to step
Away from putting people
In small boxes
We need to start really
Looking at people
Getting past the stigmas
And the social constructs
That we put on certain people
And seeing the person for who they are
Everyone is lost in their own ways
We all could use a little help here and there
But when you automatically
Shun someone
Or push someone aside
Based on superficial constructs
You ultimately end up alienating them
But you are ultimately alienating yourself
Living in lies and false fears
That are based on false precepts in the first place
We all want to be seen as people
We all want to have our own voices
To have our own views
Without worrying about being judged
Or classified by anyone
We are all human
We all deserve to be treated as such
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
How well do you know your Facebook friends.
For the six family members, I am glad to have them as my Facebook friends.
For the twenty nine people I have met and known for more than ten years that don't include family thank you for old memories that never die.
To the four people I have worked with and the things that have changed over time.
To the six of my internet friends I have actually met with, it would never have happen if not for social media.
To the ninety two internet friends I have never met, for some reason social media have us connected.
To the eight people who share my same last name (birth last name) it is great to see you here.
To the fifty two people in Canada not including family, go Canada.
To the three people from Ireland
To the six people from England
To the 8 people from Australia
My dearly beloved friend from New Zealand I will always remember our times and adventures in Auckland, rest in peace my friend.
To all my forty five American friends you tip the scales as the cream of the crop.
My three Europe/Asia friends I know you are not many but I know who you are.
And to the one who who somehow fits into so many of my silly little classifications thank you for being my Facebook friend.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
Ascetic are our ways,
But vitalizing, our planet.
A beast of ever-changing,
Host to a home of restless thinkers.
We plan to live, to thrive, to marry, to survive,
But never to accept mortems call.
It is our way, it is our want, we never change, we only taunt,
To continue with the optimum:
To continue to destroy, to hate, to ****
We claim to evolve, yet remain astray,
Step in sync, we demand,
Join the march of regret.
We cry wolf:
Declare deaths unnatural--
Only proper if they fit our chosen form!
We cry dog:
Condemn those like us, yet not us,
Brand them evil for daring to exist!
We cry human:
Denounce those who dare not follow our rule,
Who betray our command!
To be a person, to be a human, we set limits, we set categories, we set nature,
We dictate what 'right' ought to be,
But who are we to decide what should and shouldn't?
Who are we to assert good and evil,
When nature simply exists--
To neither be right,
To neither be wrong,
Beyond our classifications and laws,
Is to be natural.
But then arises the paradox:
To be truly natural is to be beyond,
To not comprehend anything that lies beneath,
To be truly neutral and never bound,
Is to coat our mural red,
Is to shatter our world as we know it.
So we heal, we steal, we build, we break,
Not for the earth--
Not for the beast who knows no sin or virtue,
But for the world we forged in fire and din,
A world of our design,
A world of human hands.
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC
So far away
No longer even allowed to call yourself a planet
Does it hurt?
To be cast out, like your namesake was cast from Olympus
To the underworld below
Too small to even be allowed to keep your title
Your power stripped
And for what?
Classifications, science, progress
Progress is important
But did they have to take away your status, Pluto?
Do you still bear resentment for all they did?
Do you still harbor a grudge against us?
You can say yes, my sweet Pluto
I will not blame you
And even if this is the last time
Anyone ever calls you a planet
My Pluto, my Pluto
You are still a planet in my eyes
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 3:20 AM UTC
When I was young I used to long for tragedy to swiftly come and relieve me of my family...
I didn't want my life.
I figured if they were gone then there would be nobody to hurt when I made my departure, and I wouldn't have to watch them waste away...
It seemed logical to me...
I would wonder why when I started talking openly about my own suicide people would get really quiet and even clam right up.
I didn't understand why it was such a big deal...
(I mean it is my life isn't it?)
I was confused as to why they couldn't be happy for me knowing what I wanted to do with my life..
I didn't understand...
I thought to finish "the race" was the goal.
And it made sense to me that if I did not fit into these classifications of occupation that I had no business being here...
(So why drag it out?)
I thought it could be like a celebration...
All of us gathered around a bedside or a table somewhere with balloons all around us
And for the time we had together we would all be smiling...
Laughing in photogenic blissful ambience.
Fading out of focus because the end is too cold to bear...
I was so confused...
But the feeling never really went anywhere...
It just stayed.
And I didn't...
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
In that dingy room,
There is a smell of dust,
And smoke,
Many unborn notings vie for attention,
In thousands of files mingled with dust,
Decisions creeping for attention,
Decisions await confirmation,
Classifications,
Discussions and Divergences,
May some day,
Converge(to the bewildered few),
To some decision(?),
One has been taken today,
"Put up these files Tomorrow".
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
In a world so full of muddled dichotomies and clumsy classifications,
Of spectrums and ranges and imprecise definitions,
Of moving targets and sliding scales,
What is a woman?
When your definition’s solid, sorted, and sold
Am I an archetype or anomaly in the sordid taxonomy?
Here are my chromosomes:
Two Xs to mark the swirling twirls of DNA
Properly paired to provide a guide for my curves.
Here is my body:
Ripe and rounded and ready for perusal
By those who find art in a classical form.
******* that are not perfect,
*** that waggles as I walk,
A waist that looks even better when I’m angry
(Hands on hips and arms akimbo).
Here is my ***
Excited by the touches that evolution would predict.
I respond when kissed by stubbled lips,
When stroked by calloused hands,
When rocked beneath a man that biology would call
“The fittest.”
Our coupling is a pledge to survive.
Here is my womb:
A wonder of chemistry and medicine,
It has been occupied for defense against bearing fruit.
I have declared my selfishness to doctors,
To family,
To strangers.
I will not house another life
Because my own heart is sufficient.
I will not nurse another’s hunger
Because my appetites are wild.
I will not be a mother,
And you will not change my mind.
Here is my hysteria:
I cry sometimes when books are sad,
Or when commercials are touching,
Or when I’m angry,
Or hungry.
Or confused.
Or happy.
Or whatever.
Here is my meek and mild nature:
In the hand that covers an ornery smile.
In the hesitation before I swear.
In the blush of a lover surprised.
In the warmth that you must lose, not earn.
Whether I am a winning or a wanting woman
I am finished with apologies.
When all is counted/sorted/labeled
My tastes and brightest talents are as tame as I can bear.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
ordinary is miraculous
when *********** reaches
deep everything
a setting on the dial upon the stovetop of
you
jargon consciousness ying yang dang state
not of interest, mystical scientism,
classifications that divide, anti-unite,
unnecessary complicatory
deep everything
when verily every
breath an instantaneous synaptic verity confirmation
that perfection is simply never solitary,
solar flares sensory bursting in points of interest
that can only be never seen,
just believed
the tuning fork of every pore
pitched at the precise vibratory
of another -
deep everything
attain attune
past action unrecalled,
have miracle forged a future
that is present now
a charismatic karma,
deep everything
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:46 AM UTC
Ever since I was a child I would hear the wind whisper my name
Let the music of the heavens utter the tune of my youth
I wanted the cool breeze to swiftly flow over the delicate tiger lily that sleeps in the loam of my mothers garden bed
Let yellow flecks of it's sweet nectar disembark upon my rose flushed cheeks
My bare feet trot through the abundant marshy terrain
Jumping into the untouched sapphire water, watching the ripple in the waves empower the subtle pond
I want to live in green.
Because green is more than just a color, it's a way of life
Green is the leaves that produce us air in which we inhale giving us viability
Green is the sky which reflects onto the sun thus creating eternal being
Green is the tranquility of everyday life bringing us closer as individuals verses grouping us in pointless classifications
Green is not only a color, she is a person
She is the creator of Earths viridescence
Founder of all things beautiful,
Producer of all sounds wholesome
All this time I found out, she has been whispering my name.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
i feel love
how do i know this?
it just feels right
i tell someone,
"you don't know love"
is their reply
how do they know?
have /they/ felt love?
it could be different for other people?
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
Often people say they're your friends out of kindness;
Something almost like duty,
So that you don't have to feel rejection
As long as you don't need it, possibly.
Not only do I wonder if I am a victim,
But I am half guilty of it.
You could say I have a high standard of what friendship means,
Although, once that I say it,
It often takes on that meaning.
I don't aspire to lie so I say it and then afterwards I mean it.
We could like each other,
And get along okay,
But unless you assure me it's safe to say,
Then I won't assume we are friends,
As this word can mean many different things.
If you ask of it as if you expect a yes, as long as it's not a sick joke,
I will then say yes and mean it,
Because some have higher classifications of friends than others,
But sometimes it's used more loosely:
People you talk to,
People you're very fond of,
Or people like family:
We mutually work it out together,
Between us, don't we?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
There are dark places, empty containers housing "rock
bottoms" that I've put lids
over.
Vessels, that live with or without you
cabinets that hold things I forgot I even put inside,
rarely-used possessions that
I've gathered over time -
sometimes by demand, but most
by no ask,
at all.
I forget about what lives in my curio
cabinet
until I'm where the case was
filled
Until I'm where that intangible
entree consumed me
where I was burdened with your
leftovers
A lid that opens up a little when I'm standing at the edge of the driving range -
and the single swing of a stranger,
a stroke,
blows the cupboard open
- a small yellow ball being hit by
a 5-iron releases a
feeling I'd forgotten to index, but I somehow
still placed inside
What else is inside of me?
There are really dark places I
can't find my way back to,
no lock, no key, no entry card or subscription
Just places in my collection, improperly
categorized,
- I can't find what's in there
No signs, no arrows, no naming systems or classifications
It's all too much
I can only see what's in my cabinet of artifacts
when I go back to a
place that held out a token to hand to me
- a bauble, a gimcrack to take
and
to place in the archives, the vault of
forgotten things.
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 11:20 AM UTC