"contaminating" poems
you've been on my mind a lot recently
polluting my thoughts
contaminating my very being
with idle inklings
and constrained affections
making everyday tasks
near impossible
I'm going insane,
but I love it.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
So often I feel as though I am seen as summer rain,
someone who does nothing but
nourishes thirsty flowers in dry soil,
precious and beautiful and unable to do any wrong
when in reality, there are unseen, hidden parts of me
and secrets I’ve only been brave enough
to whisper to a few, bits of my past
that are journal pages ripped up
and swept underneath my bed
And you are my deepest secret
I took advantage of how you felt for me
and I made you feel like you
were dirt, contaminating me because
I was innocent and perfect and could do no wrong,
but that was a lie I tried to make you believe,
because I had convinced myself
it was true, for so long
I hate that I hurt you
And I hate that I will never
be able to take that back
I cannot stand the thought of you
walking around today, or years from now
thinking of me as a mistake, a waste of time,
a thunderstorm who did nothing but uproot
such special feelings only to
destroy you in your vulnerability
But I pray you don’t think of me at all,
and that you’ve forgotten me
because I cannot stand to think
you’re out there, somewhere
remembering me as someone
who broke you.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Army men
City girls
Turned nurse
Hands held over
Slowly-contaminating
Breaths
Mason jar IVs
Cleansing white
Handkerchiefs
Masks
Yellow on white
Death in the air
Blood in my mouth
Hair
Lungs-everywhere
No new people
In months.
We know what it is.
We have Typhus
And it's not going away
Until it has ****** the breath from all of us
Until we are all dead
6 feet under
The ground
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
Inferno,
Destructive, Infectious,
Contaminating, Traumatizing,Eradicating,
The ending of humanity,
Conflagration.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.
I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
from.
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.
I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Breathe in the freshness
of the arduously picked commodity,
That you hold between your lacquered fingers.
Don’t let synthetic ingredients
dissolve your thoughts
and obscure your vision.
The liquid remedy we sip is drenched,
With pain and protracted nurturing
Carefully fostered
through inclement weather
drink in the story that comes with it
That fuels caffeinated conversations.
Refined and defined leaving us blind
to the painted secrets of lives that were once lead
different lives intersect,
different thoughts and opinions interject.
Leaving lipstick kisses on the porcelain skin
Sipping away worries and pain.
Inhaling the smell of impelling advice,
fragments of sugar coated anecdotes melt,
integrating within, interfering
with the raw, strong, sharp taste
that can pierce through.
the rare intense, earthy aftertaste
is tainted with artificial garnishing,
suffocating the fresh natural essence
neatly contained in the teacup
ready to serve and ready to present
taking shape of the porcelain guise
Don’t sprinkle it with processed collaborations
of sugared doubt,
Contaminating your imagination
Manipulated by dainty voices
Resonating in your head
Like the delicate teacup
You anchor with your soft hands
Weighed down by the overly sweetened tea.
No longer holding significance
of the vast fresh fields it sprouted from
Forgotten and drowned
in the voices of someone else’s drum beat.
cloudy vision reflected in the saturated tonic
you sip elegantly, pasting a smile
suppressing your own desires,
under someone else's acceptance.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas
If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake
Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.
Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.
Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!
The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton
Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!
******** was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything ********
because it is inappropriate and insulting
This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like
*******
gimp
deformed
disfigured
Freak
insane
lame
******
*****
spaz
stupid
whacko
Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.
Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.
Get some new **** paint
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
You open your mouth
And sputter your poison
Dissolving into others' ears
Climbing it's way up
Up into their brains
Just like a tumor
I hear the rumors
That resurface too often
And explain the truth
Denial, they tell me,
Just proves it's true
What do they know?
My mind is mine
My thoughts are mine
And I like to
Keep them that way
But you reach in
And grab the truth
Then spin it with
Your snake tongue into
Your weaponous poisonous acid
Contaminating other peoples minds
You're supposed to be
A friend of mine
Until you join in
Why won't you stand
Stand up for me
Set it all straight
Because I can't deny
Or it's considered true
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
You made me do it, your hand,
it covered mine, bound it in iron,
directed it, carved the words,
not literally or directly
but through the ********* mind games
and the way you looked at me
the way you pretended not to give a ****
when I know you loved me
(love me).
You stared me down
and screamed the words
without even moving your lips
I might have missed it
if I had looked away, I wish I had.
Mind games, ********* mind games.
You put the words into my head
you engraved them there,
dragged my hand across the page
and the awful ugly hateful
self destructive words spilled out all over, contaminating it.
Accusatory, true.
False, true.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
The air conditioner hiccups,
as the second half of
Cole Berlin crosses himself--
a face deeply creased by consequence,
looks to the west,
a surrendering sun fractured--
broken by hundreds of stories--
tons of concrete--
mountains of glass,
and the gentlest gloom.
Mr. Berlin's body devours itself--
as the critics and even the diehard fans
run out of time to play "remember when".
The reality enters,
at first no more than an annoying stomach pang,
then growing,
feasting,
shouting,
until each cell knows--
no time for the comeback.
Whatever beams of sun were once banded,
now dismiss themselves,
as night subs in--
Mr. Berlin, closes the curtains of his mind,
falls to the floor,
"Sorry folks, no encore this time".
A week he lay festering,
no more a replica--
only a ruin.
A fly in a web,
rotating on a world without end,
the record, it spits, skips, smolders in ditch,
contaminating the soil,
the virus gently purrs perfection,
no hiccup, no hallucination--
only swag up for collection.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC
(I'm ready for war ***** I'm ready for whatever..)*3
I'm ready for war nigga*2..Uhh
(Yeah I'm ready for war ***** Yeah I'm ready for whatever)3..(I'm ready for whatever2)
(I'm ready for war nigga, I'm ready for whatever)*3
(Im ready for war nigga*4)..Aye
It's whatever...Uhh
I'm going to war against America, **** em, forget them , They don't care about us ****** they just want us dead, confused & nothing.(Yeah*2)..They just want us to **** ourselves, real **** The CIA got all of my ****** so mislead Yeah..Aye they brainwashing the kids, Aye what's been happening in this world is alot of evilness up in people contaminating their spirits, since before Christ was even here man, Yeah real spit,..I'm spilling the beans,.. Yeah I will take my chances, (dying2)..for (being somebody2)..I wanted to be , instead of thinking the same,..Im programing myself mane,I'm so ready for war ***** Yeah I'm so ready for whatever Uhh..MK ULTRA still exist, & we the people need to do something about (this*2)..is more than just an conspiracy theory,.. It's the truth my nigga,..The biggest conspiracy is that we are free dude,nigga
No fake it, till I make it type of fucc **** going on in OFTR
This is (Only For The Real..*2)..business
(ONLY FOR THE REAL*2) ENTERTAINMENT
Yeah mane ***** Yeah..Aye man, I'm fighting for what is mines..I'm standing up for the truth Shawty..(I'm ready for war*3) nigga..OFTR ENT, we ready for whatever.. ***** we the leaders, ***** we the elitist, ***** we the achievers & ***** we achieving man..
/(Yeah nigga*3)
I'm ready for war *****
(Yeah nigga*3)
I'm ready for whatever man..Uhh/*2
Only For The Real Entertainment
Young Ston
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Centuries have passed
My bloodline ready to find the next entity
That lurks in the night
From parent to child
A gift is revealed to help battle the challenges
That sneak through the lights of the stars
Only one
To my knowledge
Has made it to main waters of history
To be immortalized by the surf
As a slime contaminating its clarity
But like the poison of a spider on human flesh
Death only builds, instead of the blind view of a cleansing
That was centuries ago
Now there is me
Seeker of the night
The world slowly gathering at my heels
Centuries have passed
My time had been sweetened
Like the nectar of wine
Everybody is drawn to its taste
Once they brave the looks of its bottle
Centuries have passed
Waiting for that bottle to be opened
Buried in the sands of time
Revealed by an explosion
Unveiling an ancient vault
Centuries have passed
Yet everything inside seemed so...
Familiar
Everything inside recognized me
as well as everyone
Faces renewed, faces new, and faces old
Some most surprising
From my angel of Earth
to my Starlight Healer
Centuries have passed
Waiting for these moments
Moments that saved me from the heaviest drops from the sky
Moments that saved me from the devil's insanity
Moments I rise in my own fight
Creating a new race
Centuries have passed
Waiting for just one thread
To lace into a steel rope
To carry its spirits to a better light
Am I ready for such a move?
I AM
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 9:25 PM UTC
“Who are you?”
my sleepy mind mocks me
It tears holes and ties knots
It drips and oozes and makes toxic puddles
contaminating confidence, daily
Instagram is a persona maintained for an audience that seldom claps
100 whistles for
smart captions, pretty faces, good lighting
over-exposed and contrasted, highly saturated filters-
and roses for cleavage
my distorted caricature
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
American
Whiteness
the greatest mental illness of all time
even before they were diagnosed
the world has become safer
because the world finally
has funded a wall around America
a padded room institution
where the dissociative disorder
can destroy itself
and not everyone else in the process
the casual crisis
is an emergency
whiteness the coup d’état
is wreaking havoc
on the human soul
domesticated whiteness
riskiest to do business with
spilling blood all around the world
quarantine the biohazard
whiteness on its journey of impunity
when my family was most vulnerable
to the morbid lust
of the mental illness of whiteness
we gently genocidally refer to as social construction
which is really the deconstruction
of the black human
and the origins of humanity
American
American built by the pieces of my family
glued and mortared by the blood and sweat
spilled from them
the most dangerous deconstruction site
in the world
biological warfare
spewing
leaking
uncontrollably
contaminating humanity
polluting its evolution
at war with symbiosis
for the purity of fascism sake
a coup d’état called American whiteness
which is also been a long
untreated dissociative disorder
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
You throw it around like its feather light.
I can't count the times you used it on me-
1
2
3
4
5
….
oops I ran out of fingers,
and yet its still a joke to you.
Even after they DIED because of what you do.
Maybe its not just you,
but one
person leads to another
one
person makes a difference.
You do not have permission to use it like the RUG you wipe your feet on every time you walk in the door.
All of the dirt left to be BURDENED by its material.
Plot twist they are the rug-
every muddy shoe contaminating their fibers, being ingrained in their deepest threads.
Eventually it will be thrown out because it is no longer useful.
No longer purposeful.
You cannot just throw it around and expect no repercussions.
Plot twist-
Your mouth is a gun and it just fired bullets-
The bullets are the words you spit without thought, soaked in poison.
You are a toxic being,
and-
OOPS!
-theres goes another casualty.
Not your problem right?
You will always be the gun left loaded and off safety.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Such small things
Weigh us down in resentment
Complicated, colliding, soon enough
Ensnared
Feeling gravity's pull
Suspended and trapped in a web
Spun with failed expectations
Stuffed to suffocation, the weight of nothing
Almost solid
You could smash it with a hammer
Insignificant things
Tossed away like trash to the side of the road
Littering, contaminating, spoiling
What once claimed a special place
Hearts
A place for spiders
I can almost feel the heat of poison
With each drop from steel through skin
With each moment begging more and more
For attention
Melting away unfulfilled
Each moment
Begging
I'm powerless but to close my eyes and deny their petitions
What's a moment worth anyway?
What's it good for in the end?
Something to search for, something to lose
Moments are meant to be forgotten
Pity the fool who doesn't understand this
Death comes as a hard lesson to that man
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Mining
**************
Unsafe, Hazardous
Polluting, Contaminating, Fouling
Waste, Blight, Damage, Liability
Spoiling, Dirtying, Poisoning
Tainted, Unclean
*****************
Desecration
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
She stood for so many silent minutes staring out that frosted window, replaying each season again in her mind.
Tapestries of memory swiftly unraveled by such frigid winds.
Ice claws at those swollen eyes with fury but no feeling remains
So much time has passed since those golden days of spring, when they danced in the firefly's flames
They trusted the rain....made love in a home of dew and droplets wearing no more than laughter
Soon life went though that rain became storms that swept away those cherished joys
House became home while secretly lacking the heart within its' foundation
Hopes hung out to dry in the warmth of the sun returned scorched, little more than ash to hold
Dreams belong in the darkness so together they packed them away for safe keeping.
__________________________________________________________________________________
No longer can she stand alone in the bitterness of winter, such gloom contaminating every facet of existence
Stolen away the joy and hope that once existed, no more than raw flesh and bone remain
Fast falling from that cliff into the rocks below a sense returns that her spirit's free...
Tidal waves of time had carried those boats to different shores where they returned to she and he
Forbidden mentions of us or we...affections now buried somewhere in some sand...
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 5:43 AM UTC
I could feel the earth moving,
my life playing the music, reverse.
On me, the hot sun was showering it's fury,
cast on me was some dreadful curse.
The light had darkened and the dark did light.
The ***** evil attacked me with all it's might.
The harsh wind slapped me every time it passed.
The black cat had definitely, my path crossed.
Every corner had an abyss waiting for my fall,
if missed, I was to be burned with a fire ball.
Tartarus had opened it's gates for me,
My much feared beast had been unleashed.
Tick tock, tick tock, the clock did chime,
darkness within me started to grow and shine.
Consumed in it everything that was pure,
the curse had begun, now it's pain I endure.
The angel within me was flying away
to Tartarus, to be cruelly slayed.
Now I had entered the land of Tartarus
to live the blessing of the curse.
As it's queen, I walked on a carpet of skulls
drank the holy drink from the fountain of blood.
Wore a dress of the sinned man's flesh,
and was crowned with teeth and bones coalesced.
Surrounded by voices and shrieks of the ghouls,
only darkness inside me remained, contaminating my soul.
On the earthy land,I slaughtered the king of hell,
and the curse of becoming the queen, on my head fell.
I now walk with darkness on my shoulders
sins turning my heart colder and colder.
Will I ever live again or die everyday henceforth?
Eternally withering away with a heart filled with remorse.
©2014 Purvi Gadia
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Dear, Mr Adam Lenzra
I had a dream,
that death was having conversations with little children
Playing in revolving doors,
So that Russian roulette would be in sandy boxes with more then one bullet in the door
They say, Heaven needs more Angels
All Because of Revolving Calamities from Hurricane Sandy
all the way to Sandy Hook Elementary
They say when
Sand and ocean intertwine
tectonic plates shifts
So to Every action there is a reaction
Mother earth reacting 2 our actions
Contaminating her with our actions
Sun give life, but man bring death
systematically incorrect
Money lusting, wall street mob
With corrupt with ideology in their system
Building dreams on fantasy
But, In Reality nuclear bombs, atomic bomb
White house effect, failure 2 elect
carbon dioxide becoming the new oxygen
modern day trickery we're consuming
Government feeding
Click, click, click!
Take a picture
Maybe you can document this
the government is lacking exposure
Click!
License to load up and click
Click!
Lusting for their finger to click
Click!
Gun laws are being extinct
Click!
You too, can have your own two/two on you hip
Click!
All you have to do is sell your soul
And follow their click!
Let me hook your attention for a bit
death was having conversations with our little children
Way before Sandy Hook got hit
Modern day trickery
we're not blinded from the truth
We just ignore the truth
Kids killing kids everyday in our neighborhood
We just ignore the truth
We joke around
calling this the black KKK's
But in reality
revolving those doors on government floors
Will cause chaos on ever Media floors
Lets change the Channel for a bit
Click !
So they censor the News, not showing you the truth
But they won't censor the music that is killing our youths
Click!
The projects is a project, and they have feelings too
Those Parents in the project are grieving
For those children that are lost by gun violence too
Let me hook your attention once more
If the State didn't separate it self from the Church
The attendance would always be a hundred percent
Teachers wouldn't have a problem checking their attendance
Christ would always be present and never absent
So when people say, " Heaven needs more Angels"
I simply say, "humanity we need to put Christ back where He belong"
On His pedestal!
All the way from nursery, to elementary, all the way to universities
But I tell you, I pray
For those Sandy Hook Elementary children
And those project children
That are dead and gone, because of gun violence
I hook your memories into my *****
like Christ does His Church
And feed on your memory for a life time
So that death wouldn't have conversations
With my generation to come...
Your memories will live on, as we remember falling dreams..
R.I.P
To falling Dreams
By: Leon Dylan Labastide
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
Here i Lie:
Disconsolate
Discouraged
Worn down to nothing like the teeth of the Pharaohs-
the resilient, tiny grains of sand contaminating their food, interminable grinding of bone
like defeat, rejection, failure endlessly chipping away at and disintegrating the substance of my soul.
Is there hope?
There always is,
but its once-bright warm caress of light
has faded to almost nothing,
the last minuscule bit of candle wick
now fizzles out, its dying breath a trail of swirling black smoke,
oily,
fragrant,
Gone.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"bright"
"vibrant"
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
this
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
I see a white speck on the horizon, like lint falling, a ship moves to a distant place.
“Africa,” Rosa says, “Where there is a dense jungle and then long bare stretches of savannah grass.”
Ellen speaks, “This day is grey and so are we. Rain falls on this beach with rough sand. We come here to say goodbye.”
“I feel all the faucets of my life have flowed into this body, purifying and contaminating,” says Anna, “The grey sky and the grey sea are one and I do not know whether the sun rises or sets.”
“It rises. The day of our lives is new and fruitful. We are but 19. I think of colorful clothes I will wear, traveling, dancing with men,” says Rosa.
“It sets. This body is inky with pain which tugs the sea in like the night tide. Soon it will drain into the Earth, leaving the seafloor bare with sticky starfish and unopened clams,” says Ellen.
Anna speaks, “I wish I could pause this day and keep it forever suspended above me, like a dancing dream mobile. Or I will keep it in my pocket and we will all forget the consciousness of time. Rise and let’s leave this symbolic scene.”
No we will go on.
“Glory does not find me here,” says Rosa, “But I am made for it. I will work in tall important buildings. Men will know my name. One day, we will walk along the Seine.”
Ellen asks, “Where does my body reside? I will try to conquer it. I use it and I feel it’s power. Power is intoxicating for a woman, so much more so than a man, for there is little power born into us-- we must find it in the world. Men do not conquer me as they believe they do when they touch me. I will be the emperor of myself. I am wielding something virile and bold, I have yet to learn it’s true power. I will use it, I will use it.”
“My body resides under my hands,” says Anna, “It is solid and I believe in it. I feel it’s potential. I will keep it from those who do not realize my claim, and who will try to take it for themselves. I fear contamination in the loss of purity. I see banks of snow, I see a dandelion before I blow.”
Rosa says, “This day is not clear. I demand for the clouds to part. I will sit on the banks of purgatory until my fated day. The sea does not break at my defiance. I am in misery.”
Ellen says, “This day is not clear. I leave this sand spot under the sky. We are too close to it and it is hot at the touch. I await the natural clearing. I say goodbye, I will spend these days inland.”
Anna says, “This day is not clear. I never wanted time to be. I have no solution for it.”
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC