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Dawn Bunker Aug 2018
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

                  ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Howard Dully's book was published in 2007, and it went on to become a New York Times bestseller. Howard coauthored the book with Charles Fleming, and it is titled My Lobotomy.
Daniel Regan Feb 2012
Cant seem to close my eyes with the world on the other side. Banging on my eyelids like when hammer and nail collide. Keeping reality ever present in my marathon of a mind. Even when im dreaming i cant seem to press unwind. So i press another button, as my life continues to play. Wishing that the days i wasted could simply be replayed. Running while my life is in a state of full unrest, body condeming me to sleep under house arrest. Sleep finding adversity in the priorities i have set. Making deals with the sandman to pay off my sleeping debt. But every debt made with him is one i cant seem to pay. So ill break even with the reaper on my dying day. And ill push away the sleep, and ill push away the night. Tricking myself with coffee and work; my sleeping schedule ill rewrite. Ill catch those Z's again, by the comming of first light. When priority  meets procrastination, and sleeping becomes a right. So necessary to life as to every breath we take, keeping the sandman at bay for momentary sake. But sleep becomes anxiety as hour by hour they pass. Woken up abruptly by the sound of the next class. So you shuffle along your path, with one goal in sight. Keeping up your strength so you can stay in the fight. One where the rounds dont expire, and the bell never sounds. Only thing keeping you up, is that which knocks you to the ground. So you admit defeat for now and you suffer all the blows. Patching up all your wounds and reaping what you sew. Hoping that tomorrow you can finally take a rest. And find some sleep and peace of mind in your life of pure unrest. So finish up your work and try to close your eyes. Because in those few moments of silence, you can kiss your worries goobye.
Sara Jones Jul 2015
Once
You spoke of our souls living out their days in the garden of Eden.
Yet you were the one who bit into the forbidden fruit
Condeming me as you have been,
Being tempted by the devil you have killed me
Taking that discarded bone that was my life and driving it though my pale and aguished heart.

Have I confused you with my bible references?
Let me clear it up for you

You were my everything and yet you harmed me
I forgave you because I loved you and therefore made excuses for you
But once my excuses started falling upon the deaf and dead
I felt it right to leave your chambers for more than just one night

I heard the words of a spoken word poet and fell in love
And the more I wrote like she, the more I realized what you did to me

I realized that your words were cold and your fists were hard
The grabbing of my side was a mear warning I did not listen to.
Unintentionally, I was right in saying you would be the death of me,
But I certainly said it in the wrong context.

You were my abuser.
You gave me chocolates and flowers and teddy bears to keep me happy and smiling
To keep me unaware of your manipulation and beatings of words to my skull

You may not have hit me,
But You might as well have
Because emotional and verbal violence, is abuse as well

Now let's contemplate.
Almost two years I put up with you but it was maybe a year that you had acted strangely.

Yet I stayed
Because of you put a frog into boiling water it will jump out
Yet if you put a frog in warm water and slowly turn up the heat,
It will stay until it dies.

That was our. And every other abusive relationship darling.
You were kind and caring and loved me much
I trusted you and that was my end
For I'm sure if I stayed like I wanted to,
Id be the frog in boiling water

But I'm not,
I'm a survivor
I'm a free woman
I'll always remember you, trust me I will
I'll remember a monster and then my friend
Because your last words to me left lasting impressions
"You were wrong to leave me"
No, darling
I was wrong in not leaving sooner.
Vicson Speirs Dec 2014
People are but...

There are people who are admiring your personality
but haunting your flaws
There are people who speak the good of you
But speak bad things at your back
There are people who smile at you
But curse you whenever you're not around
There are people who love you
But whispering against you

But in this life, there is always someone who will admire you
Without condeming your flaws
They speak good things to you
Without hitting at your back
They smile at you genuinely
Without cursing you around
They will love you purely
Without whispering against you



March 20, 2014
Benjamin Wilks Jan 2013
The past can hurt, but I can either accept it or neglect it, and come up with a situation thats never going to be selected by reality,
She hurt me all over, scarred my anatomy,
From the left side of my chest to my abdominal cavity
To save myself all of the agony,
My dreams are where I lay now, with all the cartoons, thats where I stay now
Fruits on a stick being carried by a baboon, and I hope he's teaching this geminaic bafoon
that theres two sides to the moon,
Feel like simba stepping in his fathers paw print, as a vulture waits on my final seconds of coughing, but where are my friends? Timon and pumba to the rescue ;what it might seem, but it all actuality its just a pipe dream,
I have to fend for myself, and when life gets hard I have to pretend for myself,
I dont believe in suicide or bitter ending myself, Im not condeming myself,
Emily Jones Oct 2015
You tell me I need Jesus
That my tattooed and metal appearance is offensive
But Ma'am I'm not the one condeming strangers
Not the one proselytizing hate
For belligerence has never swayed the secure
Does my existence make you question your own?
Is it my idol tattoos that threaten you religious security?
If anything when I smile, tell you to have a nice day and go about my business
I become the better person
Was it not your God that preached love and tolerance?
Where is that now?
Do you only preach what serves you?
And people wonder why I have problems with faith.
Its not your God that is the problem its his people.
I walk these halls and bitter cold rooms
With nothing but the thought of you
And sometimes I begin to wonder
If you did the things, I ponder.
Did you hurt a person badly?
Did you hurt a person, sadly-
I cannot stop these from coming-
Soon begin to fear the following.
Will we last a lifetime like we said?
As we lie down far away in bed.
Nothing goes down, nothing went wrong,
You stay polite as I think of this song.
How did I choose you?
My thoughts begin to shrink;
Nothing in my mind will go in sink-
And now I'm scared, a rhythm plays,
A song I know too well and still I stay.
I love the way to talk to me,
The words you say the way you speak,
And still I wonder why I think of it,
You say it's okay, and we both just sit.
We're quieter than what we were before,
Because I think of deception and of her.
The lies you say she told to them,
The lies you say, they still condemn-
And now I start to cry and hold a tear,
A tear that falls along beside my fear;
Of you I try to trust your word, your voice,
But the more I look, the better choice:
Is this all an act, a ***** game?
Upon a heart of darkness littered pain?
Am I in love, am I in Hell? I feel insane,
A story tell, about a long and ruined road,
A road I walk with me alone.
I say I love you, I say I do,
Questioning my reality too-
Holding your name way up high,
Should I really? Or should I,
Just say the truth and end the lies?
Before we die, before we die...
I want you gone, I need you still,
Just say my thoughts, I have the pills-
I love you, love you more than life!
For this is true I take my knife,
Hold it to my throat and sigh,
I love you, and to this goodnight.
I need you dead, I need you dead,
I see you in the mirror little tear I shed,
Am I dead? God am I dead?!
Is this hell, my Hell just as they said?!
This consant feeling of lifelessness,
I want it gone, need it to end!
I need me to be okay but the more I talk there is just more pain!
Condeming myself, holding myself accountable,
For things I didn't do I am not responsible!
And the feeling of guilt corresses my cheek,
I did nothing hear the words I speak!
It's all my fault I say to me,
I blame myself for I decieve,
Myself and only me, I know my pain it will not leave!
A poem speaks the rath of me,
The rath of me, myself and greed,
It is something I do not behold,
I show my kindness to the world!
And still I talk so mean about myself,
The thoughts I speak hang of my shelf.
They ask why I speak badly of me,
Do they not know what I see?
I am crazy I am sick,
Twisted in the mind I knit,
A woven scarf that I hang by,
A piece of thread to watch the light die.
A needle in my heart and lungs,
Pins and scissors scar the memories of fun!
Oh I am not normal I scream aloud
When no one else is near, around.
I narrate life in third person too.
And still these thoughts were ceased by you.
Luis Valencia Jun 2018
Man was created
Humanity was lost
We were given false promises of a new world
We fell in love with the idea
We started to give pieces of ourselves away to meet the criteria to enter
a place that only accepts the clean
But those who are “clean“ speak filth
There are those who shame us for who we are
There are things that they say that hurt

When you listen to them spread lies you hear hate Steam out of their pale lips
You Feel it wash over you and then you feel *****

They say we are condemned to a final punishment
Yeah we rise above the ashes but it still hurts

They don’t understand the concept of love
They think of it as a thing between a man and a woman
They don’t understand that it’s much more
Love is being able to connect with someone
Love is being free without hurt or pain

Everlasting life is a nice concept but why is it not obtainable for a whole community who has no choice in their sexuality

I might Offend some of you with my words
I might get nasty comments for this
But
I believe in love not a concept of something that hates us
Not a book that was written by man dictating whats right and whats wrong
I believe in love

And if there is a higher being
Looking and listening
I know that they would believe in love too
I can feel them sometimes
In my heart and in my soul and they are  not condeming me down to hell
They are Holding me and my love in their arms
They are lifting us up to the sky
Calling us their children because we are infact theirs
They made us this way and they made us with love
Love was made by the higher being hate was spread by humanity a poem about love and the Lgbtq+ community - Luis Valencia

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