"combats" poems
Pour savoir le jour et l'heure
Où tu es plus portée à l'amour
J'ai entrepris la lecture des Secrets de l'Amour, du poète Koka
Et je sais désormais que tu es femme-lotus
Volupté Parfaite comme il n'en existe qu'une sur un million
Tu me provoques, tu me charmes, tu me fascines
Tu me subjugues, tu es ma Muse, ma courtisane de haut rang
Tu possèdes les soixante-quatre arts libéraux
Et les trente-deux modes musicaux de Radha,
Amante de Krishna,
Tu es multiple de huit, ma biche-jument-éléphante
Tu es magique et ensorceleuse
Tu t'appelles Padmini, Ganika
Tu es espiègle , tu es folâtre, ma Nanyika
Avec toi je peux m'unir sans péché
Ma pudique impudique
Car tu sais tout ce qu'on peut faire
Quand les lumières sont éteintes
Et les passions enflammées.
Tu sais apprendre à parler aux perroquets et aux sansonnets
Tu pratiques les combats de coqs, de cailles et de pigeons
Tout comme les combats de la langue
Tu sais faire un carrosse avec des fleurs.
Je ne sais encore si je suis homme-bleu, Homme-lièvre ou homme-cerf
Moi qui me croyais homme-raccoon,
Homme-orphie et homme-mangouste
J'ai baisé l'image de ton ombre portée
Sur l'oreiller rose ce matin
Un baiser de déclaration
Un plaisir sans merci et sans trève
Que ton ombre m'a rendu
En me besognant
De la langue, des mains et des pieds
Et de toutes nos parties honteuses comme honnêtes
Baiser pour baiser,
Caresse pour caresse,
Coup pour coup,
Corps pour corps,
Yoni pour lingam !
Que d'égratignures tu m'as infligées de tes ongles acérés
La patte de paon et le saut du lièvre
Me marquent à jamais
Et je t'ai imprimé sur ta chair la feuille de lotus bleu.
Et de morsures en morsures
J'ai saisi avec mes lèvres tes deux lèvres
Tandis que tu jouais à me saisir la lèvre inférieure.
Si tu rêves comme moi d'impudiques amours
Si tu rêves comme moi d'écrire un nouveau chapitre
Aux huit cents vers du Ratira-Hasya,
Les Secrets de l'Amour, du poète Koka,
Retrouvons nous en congrès, veux-tu,
Avant que l'été ne s'achève
Au congrès de la femme-lynx-lotus et de l'homme-raccoon-mangouste
Si tu rêves d'impudiques amours
Si tu veux que je chante ta semence d'amour
Ton kama solila, mélange de lys et de musc.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 5:58 AM UTC
A warm embrace from city grates
combats the colder breeze
How then should I continue?
A further stroll might treasure hold
But of this, none assures me.
Then why should I continue?
I might have stayed and soothed my pain
My legs had faltered for the thought
Why then should I not stop?
In short, I kept on in my walk,
But often now I think of how
I could be different now
If only I had stopped.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Madrid, princesse des Espagnes,
Il court par tes mille campagnes
Bien des yeux bleus, bien des yeux noirs.
La blanche ville aux sérénades,
Il passe par tes promenades
Bien des petits pieds tous les soirs.
Madrid, quand tes taureaux bondissent,
Bien des mains blanches applaudissent,
Bien des écharpes sont en jeux.
Par tes belles nuits étoilées,
Bien des senoras long voilées
Descendent tes escaliers bleus.
Madrid, Madrid, moi, je me raille
De tes dames à fine taille
Qui chaussent l'escarpin étroit ;
Car j'en sais une par le monde
Que jamais ni brune ni blonde
N'ont valu le bout de son doigt !
J'en sais une, et certes la duègne
Qui la surveille et qui la peigne
N'ouvre sa fenêtre qu'à moi ;
Certes, qui veut qu'on le redresse,
N'a qu'à l'approcher à la messe,
Fût-ce l'archevêque ou le roi.
Car c'est ma princesse andalouse !
Mon amoureuse ! ma jalouse !
Ma belle veuve au long réseau !
C'est un vrai démon ! c'est un ange !
Elle est jaune, comme une orange,
Elle est vive comme un oiseau !
Oh ! quand sur ma bouche idolâtre
Elle se pâme, la folâtre,
Il faut voir, dans nos grands combats,
Ce corps si souple et si fragile,
Ainsi qu'une couleuvre agile,
Fuir et glisser entre mes bras !
Or si d'aventure on s'enquête
Qui m'a valu telle conquête,
C'est l'allure de mon cheval,
Un compliment sur sa mantille,
Puis des bonbons à la vanille
Par un beau soir de carnaval.
2.2k
The wind blows
The stars glow
The river flows
As I walk slow
*
The moon is dim
I know I miss him
*
Rolling down tears
Missing him for years
I wish he hears
And combats my fears
*
The moon will soon shine
I know he is mine
*
Night creatures sing
Fireflies fly in ring
With bright colored wings
Along with their king
*
The moon is clear and bright
I know my heart beats right
*
Love is not an expectation
It's the heart's reaction
A decision, a feeling of hesitation
But true is this beautiful relation
©sim
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
parallels.
two lines on a plain, ordinary sheet,
never going to meet.
angles.
two lines, set to a point.
met and split.
perpindicular,
oddity of sort.
not a parallel,
4 different angles,
often at 90 degrees...
life is a game of math...
two people who had never known one another cross,
at an intersection point, to go any direction,
finding a cooridnate,
a set time,
to have a date?
all alike, all acute
off in left field, and out of the scatter plot range
obtuse...
but if it fits just right,
and if "x" did mark a spot,
a right angle, a perfect fit.
but on paper,
seemingly easy.
but life-- 3 dimensional
ah, the love of geometry.
cube.
all right angles,
perfectly square.
sphere....
roll and rumble,
3.14 and other methods to find...
the value of pi.
so, a sphere on a cone...
i have been shown a sine
to give the little kids ice cream
and have the math,
which so basic, can be indirect--
the combat, wondering if the angles and the times are set,
im here, real-- forget the imaginary.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
Vision sometimes becomes blurry
when darkness moves at the speed of your sight
and the shadows encroach on the peripheral of your vision
and looking for inspiration becomes like being in a tunnel/
At times like these a second pair of eyes relieves the pressure
another dimension to add to my line of sight
At times like these another pair of eyes combats the haze
and the horizon of your perception leads me to brighter streets and metropolis waves/
Like neon lights
in the mall after dark
like wedding rings and violin strings
like a silhouette of light etched upon the night
A muse references the future through the now
A muse makes even the abstract man aware of daylight and sunshine
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
Self-promotion arena supplying for
social gatherings and family space,
at times useful mirror and judge onto the lives
of the untrue, the corrupted, the vicious,
at most theatre for public sacrifice by the rule of the thumb
with mercy at the hands of the pleb.
Samnites, secutores and retiarii fighting to the death,
noxii and damnati hacked in the man-made
monument built for entertainment,
barbarian combats in the name of munus,
lethal games on the tilt of a double-edged sword
serving political agendas and commercial must,
their successes encouraging others.
Youths sold, batches addicted
to the screen of civilization
erected to conceal and divert the eye,
to the glittering murderous show
permeating the four cardinal directions while
confusing children's moral compass,
morphed into unactive witnesses,
blood-thirsty enablers, wishful executioners,
as loved ones helplessly watch
the self-destructions, the stabbing cuts,
and hear the roars of beasts feeding,
the shouts of be-headings acclaimed.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC
Under flu attack
Nasal congestion combats
My tissue's defence
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Unfinished
Emptiness a question enrobed in nothingness stillness cries across the void in its intolerable
State you stand the will wilts the eyes portray defeat and sorrow a searching longing is plainly evident
This powerful demanding current must be appeased chaos screams the idle continues his dreams
Faltering movements are all that is known a stationary seizure pervades the deadliest image an old
Amusement park dead and deserted a mocking sign proclaims thrills inside the torment rushes like
A stampeded herd it threatens sure death your own plaintive dead voice is heard in this arena of
Dispirited dashed hopes a mauling traumatized and once energetic hope filled spirit that trouble
Assailed Then fell back and then with the genius touch as you reeled it simply fell away your steps to
Recover Also ceased with the careless and deadliest words of all what is the point this has become your
Standard if titled in great black letters it would read lackluster lying in the dirt whipped defeated
Disgusted exiled in oblivions nowhere hope has had the first letter changed to D yes Dope in capital
Letters little do you Realize this is the very act of reconstruction the best military force in the world
Engages in this kind of training someone who has potential is the tried and true diamond in the rough a
Superior force is needed take the outward restraints off by reducing the individual to his base when you
Have destroyed the unfavorable elements then begin the renewing process that is clean and absent of
Impurities build with tried and true methods that produce heroes from fired kilns the blaze flared and a
New form emerges pure as refined brass but the man or woman is steeled into purity and honor and is
Made ready to pass into combats immortal glory whether it be military, business, or sacred duty of the
Church know this before just a nameless conflicted person little thought of will do exploits he will put
New building Blocks in societies ever increasing wall and maybe ultimately he will fulfill the words of
Jefferson and by blood sacrifice his patriotism will cause the tree of liberty to flourish because the call to
Fight for peace is never finished
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
Who are they that they get moments with you,
And I get weeks apart.
What prior commitment do you have with them?
And what about our commitment,
Don't respond, I know the answer.
A fortress of silence combats all conflict
I know you don't want to be with me.
Or rather, I know you want to be without me.
Maybe you want to be with me like one wants to be with a chair,
But if you want me gone then leave.
Don't leave me waiting for you.
I'm sorry, as you say
I'm not meeting you halfway
But I'm just doing everything I've ever been taught.
Everything I've ever learned from you.
Just hide it away,
Because maybe tomorrow it'll be gone
And I keep hoping, waiting.
Thinking that next year
You'll be right here,
And I won't be so angry that every moment is wasted
That every moment is precious.
Because moments will be plural,
And so what if it falls apart then
Because maybe we can't stand each other.
But right now I'm investing.
Surviving while all my love is banked,
Locked in a vault a few chairs away,
That won't even look at me
To see what I've learned.
Distance makes the heart grow weak
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
I just want to let her sleep.
Let her rest
so she can reemerge a warrior against
the gilded masochism
and misogyny
of the office.
so her perfect vessel combats the encroaching infection
and she can breathe deep and strong
and snort in the lifeblood
of the dawn.
so she can see despite our return to dust
there is yet so much
and she must live in ecstasy
of the moment.
so she can reap the reward of a long deserved slumber
and lose the swollen circles and pains of defeat
and shake the anxieties
of her heart.
Let her rest
so she can come alive.
Let her rest
so she can come back.
Just,
let her sleep.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Beauty does dematerialize
like the effect of a childhood kiss;
your images anesthetize
thoughts that lead to this.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
interlocking Complex(cities)
a fortunate mixed complexion
comprising of liberating schemes.
the unnatural routine
followed by beings with hindered genes
i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene.
i look up to them, twice
binocular vision
remix the visuals with binaural beats
to keep me levitating
before breaking into a fragmented
piece.
they’ve preached their nuisance to me
i’ve definitely caught an anomaly
i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble
i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be
insidious
i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl
to obliterate the ever growing regime.
molecular regain
they speak up to my senses
to attain the consent of the
eternal and beyond
with an upright movement
momentum i gain
from forthcoming sonder
while wandering down to the streets
you’re listening to city dreams
lean back, chime in
with psychedelic scenes
peripheral context
sidetracked to prevent hindrance
from the beings that are of obscene nature
i’ve seen a lot of those
nurturing themselves
by ******* onto the future
still stuck up on the yet coming past
trying to get grips on the titular concept
there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing
rugged strength no guffawing
headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope
always falling but never out of hope
the stream that quenches the guilt of those
showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf
exterior combats
come back to the present
im here to steal the philosopher’s stone
getting ****** just to soar
above the stratosphere
i went straight out of the blue sphere
where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust
****** back to my grounds
the velocity burned my rust
thats a leap higher than the nukes
you trust
get to my location
ask the Everest where im at
it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back
but there’s a truth thats yet to be told
i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold
nobody showed up
neither the young nor the old
except avowed fakes that claim to be woke
Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 1:19 AM UTC
It's six a.m., and I'm awake before the sun. I shouldn't be surprised. Couple things about New England...early darkness, late sunrise, and all the leaves turn the loneliest shades on the rainbow, and something about sort of just makes your bones feel cold. You see your breath hang and contort in the air while you sit in the motionless tomb you've grown affectionally refer to as home. That loneliness I mentioned earlier sets up a permanent residence, as well. It locks on to you, like some sort of symbiont. You'll feel lonely even in entire rooms full of people who also feel lonely in entire rooms full of people who also feel lonely. The sadness is intoxicating. The only thing colder than the outside temperature becomes the temperature of your heart. It's six a.m., and I'm awake before the sun. I have this intense combination of utter apathy, white hot rage, and despondency. At least the rage keeps me warm at night. It's the only thing that combats the incompacitating loneliness. Even your own reflection begins to lie and play tricks on you. The thing about New England, about these small hilltowns in Western Massachusetts, is that they're full of a few different types of people. People who stay and wanna stay, people who are going to leave and never come back, people who are going to leave but never do, and the people who leave and do come back. Out of those four people, I promise you, none of them want to be here. They would like to be anywhere but here, even the one's who wanna stay. It's not beautiful to us, anymore, these falltime changes, the winter wonderland that follows it. The debilitating conditions become hazardous to the essence of the lives we pretend we have. Don't be fooled; no one wants to be here, just some are on deeper levels than others about it.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
Emotion wells up
like a blade piercing flesh
She has way to much emotion
and drunken in her thoughts she can't mesh
all her thoughts together
they all plummet apart
like her heart
falling to pieces as she picks them up
but they fall away again
she combats to hold them in her fragile hands
she's feeble and he knows that
she is anxious with doubt
to keep on with her life?
to mesh her life with his?
the journey is unyielding
but erratic upon arrival
which way to turn?
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
Hier, la nuit d'été, qui nous prêtait ses voiles,
Etait digne de toi, tant elle avait d'étoiles !
Tant son calme était frais ! tant son souffle était doux !
Tant elle éteignait bien ses rumeurs apaisées !
Tant elle répandait d'amoureuses rosées
Sur les fleurs et sur nous !
Moi, j'étais devant toi, plein de joie et de flamme,
Car tu me regardais avec toute ton âme !
J'admirais la beauté dont ton front se revêt.
Et sans même qu'un mot révélât ta pensée,
La tendre rêverie en ton cœur commencée
Dans mon cœur s'achevait !
Et je bénissais Dieu, dont la grâce infinie
Sur la nuit et sur toi jeta tant d'harmonie,
Qui, pour me rendre calme et pour me rendre heureux,
Vous fit, la nuit et toi, si belles et si pures,
Si pleines de rayons, de parfums, de murmures,
Si douces toutes deux !
Oh oui, bénissons Dieu dans notre foi profonde !
C'est lui qui fit ton âme et qui créa le monde !
Lui qui charme mon cœur ! lui qui ravit mes yeux !
C'est lui que je retrouve au fond de tout mystère !
C'est lui qui fait briller ton regard sur la terre
Comme l'étoile aux cieux !
C'est Dieu qui mit l'amour au bout de toute chose,
L'amour en qui tout vit, l'amour sur qui tout pose !
C'est Dieu qui fait la nuit plus belle que le jour.
C'est Dieu qui sur ton corps, ma jeune souveraine,
A versé la beauté, comme une coupe pleine,
Et dans mon cœur l'amour !
Laisse-toi donc aimer ! - Oh ! l'amour, c'est la vie.
C'est tout ce qu'on regrette et tout ce qu'on envie
Quand on voit sa jeunesse au couchant décliner.
Sans lui rien n'est complet, sans lui rien ne rayonne.
La beauté c'est le front, l'amour c'est la couronne :
Laisse-toi couronner !
Ce qui remplit une âme, hélas ! tu peux m'en croire,
Ce n'est pas un peu d'or, ni même un peu de gloire,
Poussière que l'orgueil rapporte des combats,
Ni l'ambition folle, occupée aux chimères,
Qui ronge tristement les écorces amères
Des choses d'ici-bas ;
Non, il lui faut, vois-tu, l'hymen de deux pensées,
Les soupirs étouffés, les mains longtemps pressées,
Le baiser, parfum pur, enivrante liqueur,
Et tout ce qu'un regard dans un regard peut lire,
Et toutes les chansons de cette douce lyre
Qu'on appelle le cœur !
Il n'est rien sous le ciel qui n'ait sa loi secrète,
Son lieu cher et choisi, son abri, sa retraite,
Où mille instincts profonds nous fixent nuit et jour ;
Le pêcheur a la barque où l'espoir l'accompagne,
Les cygnes ont le lac, les aigles la montagne,
Les âmes ont l'amour !
Le 21 mai 1833.
787
Oh! young man
You are the chosen one who adore your land,
Holds sword called gallant in your hand...
Your spirit serves for glorious terrain,
You will not anxious for awful pain...
You have no chance to gaze for your gorgeous maiden,
Yes! you will not have sorrow for that happen...
You will delight for being the faith of boy,
Since you ignore for your tenuous joys...
Although you sacrifice your blood,sweat and happiness,
You will never reckon that it's sadness...
You have only dignity for your loyalty,
So, you will not betray comrade and majesty...
What a honorable nobility worrier!
We all recognize your proud of worrier,
You gives your entire life with lack of horror..
You seems to myth for ultimate sacrificing,
Although you have no ideas to care mother' hopping...
Only, you minded to triumph combats,
all these are you irreplaceable fact...
what a gallant young man golden worrier!
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Fable IV, Livre III.
Un dogue se battait avec un chien danois,
Pour moins qu'un os, pour rien ; dans le temps où nous sommes,
Il faut presque aussi peu, je crois,
Pour diviser les chiens que pour brouiller les hommes.
L'un et l'autre était aux abois ;
Écorché par mainte morsure,
Entamé par mainte blessure,
L'un et l'autre eût cent fois fait trêve à son courroux,
Si l'impitoyable canaille,
Que la querelle amuse, et qui jugeait des coups,
N'eût cent fois, en sifflant, rengagé la bataille.
Le combat des Titans dura, dit-on, trois jours :
Celui-ci fut moins long, sans être des plus courts.
J'ignore auquel des deux demeura l'avantage,
Mais je sais qu'en héros chacun d'eux s'est battu ;
Et pourtant des oisifs le sot aréopage
S'est moqué du vainqueur autant que du vaincu.
Gens d'esprit, quelquefois si bêtes,
**** de prolonger vos débats,
Songez que vos jours de combats,
Pour les sots, sont des jours de fêtes.
650
i sing for all mama but
give it up for single momma
i applaud to her names which is
uttered in murmur
in a society inebriated with ignorance
her name is whispered
in stammers
behind stunners you are looked down
on
you are regarded with scorn and
disdain
with abuse and insults your names
they stain
'single?'
politically incorrect
you are a plural;parents
you play the role of a mother and a
father
yet the society try to push you further
forget you've been there during joy
and strife
calming down all the storms in life
you are that rifle that combats rivals
your bullets saves during upheavals
life with you is always a win owing all
to you
a blue letter a baloon to blew later
BINGO
raising kids in absence of a man who
sired them
then grew tired and treated you like
a hired maid
left you with no aids
sorry he only donated AIDs positive
you deserve more than negative
a woman who has been in the receiving
end
of blows is entitled to a bow
it hurt more than a thorn to see a
woman heart
torn,her soul burdened by tons of
grief
it really ****** to see her shredded
into pieces
then treated like faeces in the faces
of chauvinist
till when shall they impel single moms
to hide behind sunglasses
as their son glances?
you deserve more than back biting
hypocrisy blinds them from seeing
your hard fighting
this society is hand biting
you are strong beings mentor you've
been
in physical and mental
though some view you like a zero
hell no
to me you are a hero
who can heal all
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
*Pretending,
That you would never come
I can't think of air
I left the place
I left for peace
I ran
I ran through the dark roads,
the light wind
whistling past me
I ran with fire in toes
to do great things
or
to escape you
I didn't sleep
I just ran
As fast as I could
As far as I could
I turned into side streets
Skies, hills , trees
through all scenics
Traffic hung around me
but never bounded me.
I ran
People passed
I didn't cease
or
they never stopped.
But I did
When I saw
failure, elation
scanty souls
Combats for life
for felicity, feeling blues
I saw sorrows, sufferings
Ample anguishness in those
the sights didn't daunted
my mettle to move on
Feets were restrained to ail
to see echt agony
I came back
Acquiring a lot
and found you
at the same spot
waiting for my
arms to provide warmth
I can now feel air..*
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
De jeunes écoliers avaient pris dans un trou
Un hibou,
Et l'avaient élevé dans la cour du collège.
Un vieux chat, un jeune oison,
Nourris par le portier, étaient en liaison
Avec l'oiseau ; tous trois avaient le privilège
D'aller et de venir par toute la maison.
À force d'être dans la classe,
Ils avaient orné leur esprit,
Savaient par cœur Denys d'Halicarnasse
Et tout ce qu'Hérodote et Tite-Live ont dit.
Un soir, en disputant (des docteurs c'est l'usage),
Ils comparaient entre eux les peuples anciens.
Ma foi, disait le chat, c'est aux égyptiens
Que je donne le prix : c'était un peuple sage,
Un peuple ami des lois, instruit, discret, pieux,
Rempli de respect pour ses dieux ;
Cela seul, à mon gré, lui donne l'avantage.
J'aime mieux les athéniens,
Répondait le hibou : que d'esprit ! Que de grâce !
Et dans les combats quelle audace !
Que d'aimables héros parmi leurs citoyens !
A-t-on jamais plus fait avec moins de moyens ?
Des nations c'est la première.
Parbleu ! Dit l'oison en colère,
Messieurs, je vous trouve plaisants :
Et les romains, que vous en semble ?
Est-il un peuple qui rassemble
Plus de grandeur, de gloire, et de faits éclatants ?
Dans les arts, comme dans la guerre,
Ils ont surpassé vos amis.
Pour moi, ce sont mes favoris ;
Tout doit céder le pas aux vainqueurs de la terre.
Chacun des trois pédants s'obstine en son avis,
Quand un rat, qui de **** entendait la dispute,
Rat savant, qui mangeait des thèmes dans sa hutte,
Leur cria : je vois bien d'où viennent vos débats :
L'Égypte vénérait les chats,
Athènes les hiboux, et Rome, au capitole,
Aux dépens de l'état nourrissait des oisons :
Ainsi notre intérêt est toujours la boussole
Que suivent nos opinions.
622
Vous souvient-il de cette jeune amie,
Au regard tendre, au maintien sage et doux ?
À peine, hélas ! au printemps de sa vie,
Son cœur sentit qu'il était fait pour vous.
Point de serment, point de vaine promesse :
Si jeune encore, on ne les connaît pas ;
Son âme pure aimait avec ivresse,
Et se livrait sans honte et sans combats.
Elle a perdu son idole chérie ;
Bonheur si doux a duré moins qu'un jour !
Elle n'est plus au printemps de sa vie :
Elle est encore à son premier amour.
590
Sometimes I feel like I’m in a vat of molasses,
Stuck,
Unable to move,
But on the outside I’m still moving,
Smiling,
Laughing,
Hiding,
Lying,
And sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the shadows,
Tied down,
Kept in an unending circle of thoughts,
Forced to relive my darkest moments,
Hearing the words said to me by others,
‘Freak,’
‘Ugly,’
‘Idiot, ‘
‘Stupid,’
‘Shut up!’
‘No one cares!’
‘Why should I listen to you?’
******
****** *****
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Was I talking to you?’
‘Go away!’
‘We don’t want you here!’
‘Go somewhere else!’
And after a while new ones are added, ones said by my own brain to me,
I’m a freak,
I’m a good for nothing,
I’m a loser,
I’m never going to amount to anything,
I’m Hideous,
If I’m not carful they’ll know I’m weird and tell me to leave,
Who cares what I have to say?
I’m worthless,
My writing’s s**t,
I’m fat,
I’m weak,
I should have run farther,
Look at me, can’t even do a pull up,
And sometimes I feel so wrapped up in those thoughts that I can’t even breathe,
Can’t pull myself out,
Can’t look up,
Can’t get out of the shadows,
Can’t see the light,
I feel so lonely,
Too caught up in the looks others give me to see the smiles of my friends,
Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in the dark,
Sometimes I feel like the shadows will consume me,
Sometimes I need someone to pass me a torch to beat off the shadows and ward off the darkness,
Sometimes I need someone to pull me out of the vat of molasses,
Sometimes I need someone to see past the smiles,
Sometimes I need someone to see the girl tied down in the shadows,
Sometimes I need someone to untie me,
Sometimes I need someone to break the circle of thoughts,
Sometimes I need someone to wave away my darkest moments,
Sometimes I need someone to combat what others and myself say,
To say that I’m worth it,
I’ll succeed,
I’m beautiful,
That they will never leave,
I belong here,
Don’t go,
Stay,
We’ll never make you leave,
What do you think?
You’re worth something,
Your writing’s great,
You’re strong,
Other times when I’m in the light,
I see those who are in the shadows,
And then I’m the one who beats off the shadows,
I’m the one who passes the torch,
I’m the one who wards off the darkness,
I’m the one who pulls them out of the vat of molasses,
I’m the one who sees past the smiles,
I’m the one who unties them,
I’m the one who breaks the circle of thoughts,
I’m the one who combats the words,
I’m the one who offers companionship,
I’m the one who gives the encouraging words,
I’m the one who helps,
I’m the one who saves a life.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Vous dangereuse ? mais sans doute !
Très dangereuse, c'est certain ;
Comme la peur que l'on écoute,
Comme le bois près de la route
Vers les six heures du matin ;
Comme l'éloquence imagée,
Comme un titre sur parchemin,
Comme le vin et la dragée,
Ou comme l'arme trop chargée
Qui vous éclate dans la main ;
Car toute femme est dangereuse,
Très dangereuse et c'est charmant,
Comme la mer... que le vent creuse ;
Comme la fillette de Greuze,
Qui ne s'en doute aucunement ;
Comme la petite Ingénue
Quand la cruche... va se casser,
Comme une veuve toute nue,
Comme une femme dans la rue,
Une femme qu'on voit passer.
Oui, toute femme est dangereuse,
Soit qu'elle allaite ses enfants
Avec sa mamelle amoureuse,
Soit qu'elle ait la cruche de Greuze
À ses petits doigts triomphants ;
Qu'elle soit grave ou qu'elle joue,
Plus à craindre encor que le feu,
Que l'aviron ou que la roue,
Que le commandement : En joue !
Que le cri : Commencez le feu !
Dangereuse comme la plume,
La plume au vent, et l'eau qui dort,
Et l'obus... un obus qui fume ;
Comme la guerre qu'elle allume,
Elle peut amener la mort.
Si vous êtes la plus aimée,
Ne seriez-vous point ici-bas
Plus dangereuse... qu'une armée
Victorieuse et parfumée
Des lauriers de trois cents combats ?
Vous êtes la plus redoutable,
Moi, c'est pour cela que je veux...
C'est pour ta grâce... épouvantable
Qui ferait à la Sainte Table
Tous les saints se prendre aux cheveux.
Oui, vous êtes la plus à craindre,
Car votre lit est le plus doux,
C'est pour ça que j'aime à T'étreindre,
Toi qu'un Homère pourrait peindre
Avec du sang jusqu'aux genoux !
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