"colonizer" poems - Hello Poetry

you stole my light when i told you to stop and you ignored my red light and kept going like my body was undiscovered land and you were a colonizer. perhaps my asking you to stop turned you on made you hungry. you looked at me with your hungry eyes like i was fresh meat for you to take and have for yourself ignoring my stop signs cries screams because i am nothing more than an object to you made for your manipulation and pleasures.

0

May 29, 2018

May 29, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC

elenasakis

"no."

you stole my light when i told you to stop and you ignored my red light and kept going like my body was undiscovered land and you were a colonizer. perhaps my asking you to stop turned you on made you hungry. you looked at me with your hungry eyes like i was fresh meat for you to take and have for yourself ignoring my stop signs cries screams because i am nothing more than an object to you made for your manipulation and pleasures.

18

I am the highway tunnels drilled in your gums from when your baby teeth plucked themselves out. I am the **** rotting on the bed, whose gelatin you flayed off with your rusted spoon. I am the accused with his bounty price plastered across the billboard sign. I am the dying fetus jutting her head outside the womb. I am these tributaries — these waves that thirst — which, at first glance, don’t connect. In time, they will prove that humanity has claimed territory in them. I am the mouth, drooling forth my mountain water. This larger lake! I shall never see beyond it. I am not the fifth dimension, where the sky hangs its hook. So what? I have its might. I am the colonizer in its territory, and I claim it.

0

Apr 18, 2021

Apr 18, 2021 at 5:18 PM UTC

yamashiro

5D

I am the highway tunnels drilled in your gums from when your baby teeth plucked themselves out. I am the **** rotting on the bed, whose gelatin you flayed off with your rusted spoon. I am the accused with his bounty price plastered across the billboard sign. I am the dying fetus jutting her head outside the womb. I am these tributaries — these waves that thirst — which, at first glance, don’t connect. In time, they will prove that humanity has claimed territory in them. I am the mouth, drooling forth my mountain water. This larger lake! I shall never see beyond it. I am not the fifth dimension, where the sky hangs its hook. So what? I have its might. I am the colonizer in its territory, and I claim it.

20

You… Good for nothing, light weighted Changes direction according to the wind It does not have a mind of its own But I trusted it To shelter and protect me But alas… I live in a windy city, And it tends to be greedy Gathering things that lie in its path, Just like a colonizer blowing across from one country to another. I pin together the sides Of my fly away kameez/ dress With nervous, embarrassed fingers Pressing down, as if to close a window or a swinging door left unlocked on a windy day letting black cats and dusty winds make their way. Incontrollable weightless It rises, it flashes Waving like a red flag in front of a blind bull Eyes on the Prize - You’re such a tease I fumble carelessly My hands desperately try To hold down my dignity Before it flies away, Like a feather from a bird That slowly descends to the floor It is so light and so delicate. It can be easily ripped off and plucked away like a shriveled dead fly away hair I become a nervous wreck, picking at my scalp One by one, wrapping it around my finger, running my fingers through my hair only to find bare skin, lying under dead hair. Vulnerably the naked scalp peeks through thin strands of hair like a sheer curtain that hangs in my room too afraid to draw it, because I will have to put faces to the silhouettes, And I rather know the world as shadows and black outlines At least that way I won’t have to see the eyes that pierce through me, Unzipping my skin.

0

Jan 15, 2013

Jan 15, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC

mariam-paracha

My Favorite Clothes Left Me Exposed

You… Good for nothing, light weighted Changes direction according to the wind It does not have a mind of its own But I trusted it To shelter and protect me But alas… I live in a windy city, And it tends to be greedy Gathering things that lie in its path, Just like a colonizer blowing across from one country to another. I pin together the sides Of my fly away kameez/ dress With nervous, embarrassed fingers Pressing down, as if to close a window or a swinging door left unlocked on a windy day letting black cats and dusty winds make their way. Incontrollable weightless It rises, it flashes Waving like a red flag in front of a blind bull Eyes on the Prize - You’re such a tease I fumble carelessly My hands desperately try To hold down my dignity Before it flies away, Like a feather from a bird That slowly descends to the floor It is so light and so delicate. It can be easily ripped off and plucked away like a shriveled dead fly away hair I become a nervous wreck, picking at my scalp One by one, wrapping it around my finger, running my fingers through my hair only to find bare skin, lying under dead hair. Vulnerably the naked scalp peeks through thin strands of hair like a sheer curtain that hangs in my room too afraid to draw it, because I will have to put faces to the silhouettes, And I rather know the world as shadows and black outlines At least that way I won’t have to see the eyes that pierce through me, Unzipping my skin.

49

Formidable in flow and essence, beauty is her power, cascading like her dark hair, an invading army of one, a natural seductress, at ease, under the red banner of amour, held out in front, she advances; all impregnable forts willingly fall. Her amatory machinations are perfectly crafted. She is a strategist, when each of his senses advances, towards her, she retreats, when they frenetically chase her, she stuns with her soft power, the scent of this woman, makes him weak, loose his bearing, even when his senses are overpowered, he poses like the victor of her passionate heart. His every weakness she knows better than him, but each moment covers up to make him reassured. She is a colonizer, glib talk, kind acts, a heart glittering like gold. Oh how well she reigns over his heart! She essays divide and rule, each of his senses has their way of seeking gratification from her. Once he is perfectly under her control, she transforms in to a whirlwind of love, lifts him like a leaf, and send him flying in pursuit, of the high point, consciousness can reach at the present state- that feels like death, in a miniature form.

0

Apr 3, 2013

Apr 3, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC

k-balachandran

Her invasion leads to a reign of pleasure

Formidable in flow and essence, beauty is her power, cascading like her dark hair, an invading army of one, a natural seductress, at ease, under the red banner of amour, held out in front, she advances; all impregnable forts willingly fall. Her amatory machinations are perfectly crafted. She is a strategist, when each of his senses advances, towards her, she retreats, when they frenetically chase her, she stuns with her soft power, the scent of this woman, makes him weak, loose his bearing, even when his senses are overpowered, he poses like the victor of her passionate heart. His every weakness she knows better than him, but each moment covers up to make him reassured. She is a colonizer, glib talk, kind acts, a heart glittering like gold. Oh how well she reigns over his heart! She essays divide and rule, each of his senses has their way of seeking gratification from her. Once he is perfectly under her control, she transforms in to a whirlwind of love, lifts him like a leaf, and send him flying in pursuit, of the high point, consciousness can reach at the present state- that feels like death, in a miniature form.

33

Every poet is a fake eyewitness, peddler of make-believe hearsay, A conveyor of love he never knew in a city he never saw in a way to make you feel the passion as if it were true, He is an air-brusher of reality, Thus a proselytizer of the Absurd: That you can paint pictures with words; That you can travel by verbs; That you can conjure nouns by saying them; That you can lead several lives within your only one. Every poet is a fake taxidermist, seller of second-hand stuffings of souls that were never alive Every poet is a fake imperialist, would be explorer-cum-colonizer of the terra incognita of your mind Every poet is a fake poet

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Aug 31, 2020

Aug 31, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC

normancrane

Every poet is a fake

Every poet is a fake eyewitness, peddler of make-believe hearsay, A conveyor of love he never knew in a city he never saw in a way to make you feel the passion as if it were true, He is an air-brusher of reality, Thus a proselytizer of the Absurd: That you can paint pictures with words; That you can travel by verbs; That you can conjure nouns by saying them; That you can lead several lives within your only one. Every poet is a fake taxidermist, seller of second-hand stuffings of souls that were never alive Every poet is a fake imperialist, would be explorer-cum-colonizer of the terra incognita of your mind Every poet is a fake poet

19

you non- colonizer friend, companion, self-intellectualizing non- colonizing colonizer who loves, cares, hurts [ me ] lays an offering of violence at my feet non- colonizing colonizer this is how you love [ me ]

0

Jan 24, 2019

Jan 24, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC

koredescending

non-colonizer

you non- colonizer friend, companion, self-intellectualizing non- colonizing colonizer who loves, cares, hurts [ me ] lays an offering of violence at my feet non- colonizing colonizer this is how you love [ me ]

19

if i hold my silence now i'll regret it forever if i hold my regrets now i'll stay silent forever. you dated a brown girl only to marry a white girl. tell me how to separate these wounds from my colonial scars. i'm still here, trying to make it in a world that wasn't made for me. you fell in love with a brown girl only to marry a white girl. tell me how to feel like i wasn't your taste test i wasn't your "cultural experience" i know you fell in love with me you learnt my language you memorized my tongue but the night was way too young. will you give your child an "ethnic" name? will your daughter have my name? or was i just one of your growing pains. i'm just like my mother falling for the ****** colonizer. (i'd let you destroy me, anyday)

0

Jan 28, 2019

Jan 28, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC

blindsight

white girl from virginia (ii)

if i hold my silence now i'll regret it forever if i hold my regrets now i'll stay silent forever. you dated a brown girl only to marry a white girl. tell me how to separate these wounds from my colonial scars. i'm still here, trying to make it in a world that wasn't made for me. you fell in love with a brown girl only to marry a white girl. tell me how to feel like i wasn't your taste test i wasn't your "cultural experience" i know you fell in love with me you learnt my language you memorized my tongue but the night was way too young. will you give your child an "ethnic" name? will your daughter have my name? or was i just one of your growing pains. i'm just like my mother falling for the ****** colonizer. (i'd let you destroy me, anyday)

31

There is no ceasefire, not in Gaza, not in Lebanon, not in Sudan, but only genocide... aggression... war... blood... slaughter, and pain. The West Bank continues to be under siege... met by tanks, death, threats... Families are met with bullets to their head. The children are met with amputated limbs. Children are left orphan... and forgotten. Communities are met with too many martyrs to grieve... Where is this ceasefire now? There is bombardment in Yemen too, directed by the West like a true imperialist. If one dare to rise up and resist, are met with an iron fist by the international colonizer community, given consent to **** with no impunity... Dare the amputees speak.... Dare the bullet to the head speak... Dare the orphan speak.... Dare the resistance speak of their own pain... There is no ceasefire, but only genocide. Where is this so-called ceasefire now? Nowhere in sight.... Where is the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight..... What happened to the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight….

0

Mar 17, 2025

Mar 17, 2025 at 8:07 AM UTC

aya-4

There is no ceasefire!

There is no ceasefire, not in Gaza, not in Lebanon, not in Sudan, but only genocide... aggression... war... blood... slaughter, and pain. The West Bank continues to be under siege... met by tanks, death, threats... Families are met with bullets to their head. The children are met with amputated limbs. Children are left orphan... and forgotten. Communities are met with too many martyrs to grieve... Where is this ceasefire now? There is bombardment in Yemen too, directed by the West like a true imperialist. If one dare to rise up and resist, are met with an iron fist by the international colonizer community, given consent to **** with no impunity... Dare the amputees speak.... Dare the bullet to the head speak... Dare the orphan speak.... Dare the resistance speak of their own pain... There is no ceasefire, but only genocide. Where is this so-called ceasefire now? Nowhere in sight.... Where is the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight..... What happened to the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight….

26

Invasive Intrusion Colonizer Usurper You who do not belong Before Who cause destruction devastation violent change Now Your presence means An absence of others Yet However you came Wherever you came from You’re here Now You will be here Into the future Is there a way A path forward? Amidst this change Your coming has wrought To make you No longer invasive alien How can we integrate Our invaders Our colonizers Change can build Even as it destroys Whether thru the passage of time Or conscious effort Eventually can the invader become native-made? How can we make the process Less destructive Less devastating Less violent Transform the invader as much as The invader transforms us

0

Mar 28, 2024

Mar 28, 2024 at 12:22 PM UTC

krmistry

Invasive Alien

Invasive Intrusion Colonizer Usurper You who do not belong Before Who cause destruction devastation violent change Now Your presence means An absence of others Yet However you came Wherever you came from You’re here Now You will be here Into the future Is there a way A path forward? Amidst this change Your coming has wrought To make you No longer invasive alien How can we integrate Our invaders Our colonizers Change can build Even as it destroys Whether thru the passage of time Or conscious effort Eventually can the invader become native-made? How can we make the process Less destructive Less devastating Less violent Transform the invader as much as The invader transforms us

43

There’s a man who speaks for me when my throat burns raw from holding too much back. British. Refined. A little too sure of himself - but isn’t that the point? He showed up in the static, when my own voice started splintering under the weight of smiling. Back when masking meant survival, and sounding different was the only kind of safe I knew. He’s not always kind, but he’s always ready. Crisp consonants. Neatly folded sentences. No stammer, no stray emotion. Just enough distance to keep breathing. He isn’t me. But I let him live in the hollow between words, in the pause where fear used to be. Some days, I speak and only realize later - it was him, not me. He doesn’t ask questions. He answers them. I wonder sometimes what he’s protecting. Or hiding. Or holding up like armor against the softness of me. Colonizer? Comfort? Cohabitator? He was born in the croak of survival. And now, even when I’m safe, he stays. I would never send him away. He kept me whole when I didn’t know I was breaking. If I carry him still, it’s because he carried me first.

0

Jul 31, 2025

Jul 31, 2025 at 11:37 AM UTC

FaceItHarl

The Voice I Borrow

There’s a man who speaks for me when my throat burns raw from holding too much back. British. Refined. A little too sure of himself - but isn’t that the point? He showed up in the static, when my own voice started splintering under the weight of smiling. Back when masking meant survival, and sounding different was the only kind of safe I knew. He’s not always kind, but he’s always ready. Crisp consonants. Neatly folded sentences. No stammer, no stray emotion. Just enough distance to keep breathing. He isn’t me. But I let him live in the hollow between words, in the pause where fear used to be. Some days, I speak and only realize later - it was him, not me. He doesn’t ask questions. He answers them. I wonder sometimes what he’s protecting. Or hiding. Or holding up like armor against the softness of me. Colonizer? Comfort? Cohabitator? He was born in the croak of survival. And now, even when I’m safe, he stays. I would never send him away. He kept me whole when I didn’t know I was breaking. If I carry him still, it’s because he carried me first.

51

if our God is the colonizer then our intelligence is confirmed we are here.

0

Oct 25, 2013

Oct 25, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC

blabhabans22

Question to Fermi

if our God is the colonizer then our intelligence is confirmed we are here.

4

We were eating diner a heartfealt family meal a red aura asceued throughout enuced my appeal. He asked what the meal was called. I looked at the *** as my mom's voice trailed off, "Um... meat with sauce" The deep red chile con nopales todava existe con todas estas reglas sociales She softened her tongue for colonizer mouths we were eating our food in her own house Chile colorado that stained her hands turned to twisted song that sung a sour dance. The conversation lasted a few seconds but to me the thought beckoned Its call Chile Colorado for it's deep red hue, like the spilled blood of my ancestors and I wonder; "What would they do?" I draw my tortilla through the salsa pero entre mi corazon algo senti falsa. Why do we lie by our own words Its almost like we are scared to be heard. The sharp english language hurts like a cut but my creamy soft spanish rolls of my tounge. Chile is a Nahuatl word A representation of a blend of my two cultures Mestiso, a swirling blend of my Spanish colonizers and my Native soul stuck between two worlds, a song sung like a Oriol My brown tint skin, like the pews of a church or a sad sung hymn, they do not hide behind a colonized word so why should I hide the names of a food of which with love we feed to you.

0

Apr 25, 2025

Apr 25, 2025 at 2:23 PM UTC

N1tzasw0rld

Chile Colorado

We were eating diner a heartfealt family meal a red aura asceued throughout enuced my appeal. He asked what the meal was called. I looked at the *** as my mom's voice trailed off, "Um... meat with sauce" The deep red chile con nopales todava existe con todas estas reglas sociales She softened her tongue for colonizer mouths we were eating our food in her own house Chile colorado that stained her hands turned to twisted song that sung a sour dance. The conversation lasted a few seconds but to me the thought beckoned Its call Chile Colorado for it's deep red hue, like the spilled blood of my ancestors and I wonder; "What would they do?" I draw my tortilla through the salsa pero entre mi corazon algo senti falsa. Why do we lie by our own words Its almost like we are scared to be heard. The sharp english language hurts like a cut but my creamy soft spanish rolls of my tounge. Chile is a Nahuatl word A representation of a blend of my two cultures Mestiso, a swirling blend of my Spanish colonizers and my Native soul stuck between two worlds, a song sung like a Oriol My brown tint skin, like the pews of a church or a sad sung hymn, they do not hide behind a colonized word so why should I hide the names of a food of which with love we feed to you.

36

This sits between us Like poison between Skin and blood If you could give back What you stole You wouldn't. Offer yourself again As if you are the equivalent To the love lost Colonizer lover, Thief of my soul.

0

Sep 26, 2020

Sep 26, 2020 at 3:28 PM UTC

myrrdin

92

This sits between us Like poison between Skin and blood If you could give back What you stole You wouldn't. Offer yourself again As if you are the equivalent To the love lost Colonizer lover, Thief of my soul.

11