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There is a multiplier deep inside
an identifier that confides in me
and divides,I see
by the actions of gene therapy.

It analyses,criticises,alters and devises new ways of splitting out my days into a hundred thousand newer kind of ways to break my heart.

Adding to the adding of, subtractions minus then because I age
it vents its rage and goes quite mad the copies that it makes are bad,not up to standard,randomly it sequences,imitations of my DNA.
and in these clones of which it does not seem to care,
I am somewhere falsified
in there
more imitations,creating limitations in which I find that I am locked.

These pistols of my life were loaded,cocked before I was born
and cannot be torn from me by hocus pocus or intervention surgery.

There will be,
me and me and me and me forever copied I will be that which I'm not,
another dot
Spot the differences?
I can
as I turn into a copy of a copy of a man.
Roma Carlo Sep 2012
Push a pencil.
Push a paint brush.
Use a stencil.
Blank paper…

“Fill it with what you will my child, but I must warn you;
do not let your lines become too disordered and wild,
for then people might not understand what you mean,
and not know it is a work of art they have seen.

An attempt to extract meaning;
Failure on the critics’ part.
“This man is a fool,
How can you call this art?”

“No talent do you have,
You’re outside the lines.”
The teacher criticises the piece,
Putting limits on minds.

“Why not be more like this man?
His lines straight and flowing;
His creative talent exquisite;
He appeals to my knowing

Cut the paper in half,
Start to paint on the back,
This person possesses,
What the other ones lack.

Understood by himself,
He creates his own vision.
Masterpiece or a shambles?
Now that’s your decision.
Hanna Kelley Aug 2015
Everything you do revolves around the word
                                                                           perfect

Everything you are is
                                    beatiful

You may not think you are gorgeous but you are.
You truly are.
You have one of the loveliest smiles I have ever seen.
You think everybody criticises how you look but they just envy it.
Your figure is perfect, and if you still don't think that then just remember how much weight you lost.
Remember when you decided nobody would ever date you.
That you thought you were hideous.
Just think of your boyfriend, and how happy he makes you.
He loves YOU for YOU.
I envy the relationships you have.
You can talk to people that live in a different state and treat them like they live a few blocks away from you.
You don't worry about the "long distance" thing
The "you-don't-really-know-what-they're-doing" thing
That's all I worry about.
You have a best friend that would go to prison for ****** just to see you happy.
She might as well be your sister :p
Oh
And if this isn't enough to make you think differently about yourself then think about this:
I love you.
I LOVE you.
I love YOU.
I don't love you for the way you look and neither shoukd anybody else.
You don't need make-up
You don't need to improve yourself
You don't need to worry about what people think about you;
But you do anyways.
You don't see that people love you, because you can't even love yourself.
You let people get to you.
I understand that is easy to do, people are mean and vicious.
They will tear you apart without even noticing it.
And you let them.
They have torn you apart and now you can't see past what they've told you.
I love you soooooo much but you lose me off at times.
Please stop looking at yourself like all those lies are true.
:) you are beatiful and that's all you need to know.
I know this is hypocritical but you need to believe this about youself
n leas of dying daisy's
he lies upon the backs
of those he lays
the lies like upturned bricks
thick with spittle
and coming mud
he muddles through each splotchy patch
as if it is his idem
everlasting
last
coiled he reels
reeking in wait
for his  unappealing
stiffened snake
insipid wretch
with rusted wrench
his shrivelled tools
a cake with stench
each loose lewd *****
is one more lent
to the putrid pool
of polliwogs and salamanders
spent drenched in his capsized
boats of ill demise
he criticises truth and lies
again the pain is gnarled around his pen

Vashti Ayla Miria
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
no, what really got to me was that i wasn't allowed to practice my Christianity, even with abandoning all Catholic bureaucracy with a confirmation not had... i could have forgiven the brain haemorrhage, even though i should have been taken to a hospital while it happened and told to not use marijuana ever again to lead up to a 7 year psychosis... now i'm drinking each night to stabilise my wrath... you know the hardest thing to stomach practising Christ's lesson about turning the other cheek? the complete and utter apathy and added ridicule when you take it to the extreme of having a culprit you know live out Cain's life, free, no prison, no exacting of law, free-roaming true forgiveness faked by popes in prison cells forgiving criminals, under the full eye of the law, nothing godly about it... but what makes the criminal worse is this petty nibbling ridicule of Christians... they're the ones insuring themselves, and counting domino after domino of hurt... ******, at 115 kilograms, you better know judo... i'll broomstick that glee off your face like i'd eat a chicken nugget. or as it happened at the Olympics today, world champion Poland v. Iran (e-ran, or i-ran, you get the picture), 18 - 16 in the fifth set... there's a joke running in Poland, all about the Anti-Olympic scuffle... Harold Norse's poem i'm not a man - the beard and the braids... how this suicide bomber comes to Warsaw and gets braids on his beard and plums under his eyes and kills no one; funny, don't you think?

after that ****** book is finally published,
i'll head over to Richmond, or some other affluent
part of London and leave it somewhere someone
might pick it up, i decided on zero graphics,
meaning it be like the Beatles white album
with the words: Πoετικ Oπτoμετρy printed
on a white cover, with my name and signature
to mind - ever so often phonetic encoding become
skeletal, how bewildering that the Chinese
kept the ideogram from the times of Pharaohs -
and yes, i sometimes don't believe in Darwin,
with the way they treated Anaxagoras -
i think of the Forest Gump tribe in meddling
things up - among us it's so hard to involve
a question whether than evolution was as uniform
and coherent as expressed from the starting point
of a chimp revelling in more or less universal
behaviour akin to his physical attainments -
very much missing in man - either the Musketeer quote
or nothing at all... a dog like his owner is resemblance,
a friend carried away from being foe in
resemblance too - but i chose my friends unwisely -
the embittered loathing of life from a genetic point
of view, while i took to it in acceptance,
then of late experiencing a complete and utter
waste of trying to experience empathy totally corrupted -
i doubt we evolved, if evolution only means
the Christian elect, and the Hebraic chosen -
i guess it must feel like a night in Las Vegas trying
to talk for the entire human race...
no wonder atheism is supreme in that venture:
i can look at my **** floating as an ice-berg
in the toilet and speak Shakespeare to it,
but will that attract a crowd of listeners? probably not.
so according to the Chinese, keeping the ideogram
was not such a bad idea if encrypting sounds,
shoo xi chow min xaxa was not such a bad idea,
ideograms prevented more invasions than the great
wall of China... it was fattened up, that encryption,
it wasn't see-through skeletal as what was worked up
using the Hebraic standard... א... αλεφ - it just became
bones on bones*, or mass graves, or multiplicity, or algebraic
chi (χ) - the intersection, hence the engraved multiplying
capacity of more nouns, and more nouns, and nouns,
and more nouns, when the phonetic encoding for
the intersection came, we could hoard more riches
of naming things... in this i believe are animals
evolving... but within a framework of
day-to-day, we're not improving, collectively,
the trial of Socrates for one, the profanities surrounding
Anaxagoras - in the collective talk of things
when evolution arises from singletons it's untrue,
outcast, gone, no ditto never ever again -
evolution is talked about in a pluralistic tongue,
it's this autocratic inclusion of everyone on
the same level... that's fine when there are exceptions
on a purely physical criterium, spectator sports,
but on the mental level, without stadium
psychology of roaring and clapping?
you're in trouble... evolution involves progressive
uniformity and no individual out-performing,
but out-performing each other is demanded
when there's an evolutionary plateau,
meaning that the collective requires a physical
differentiation, a spectator sport, and that's applauded,
it's actually demanded...
but reach an evolutionary plateau where there are many
prior-established economic or political systems
believed to be defunct and unnecessary, and you
get an individual rebellion that criticises such
institutionalised systematisations - you run into trouble,
once trying for a viable individualisation,
no no longer a process of: but a stability as
the prior not-mentioned individual attainment.
when the fear of expressing language language in a complicate
way outweighs the presupposed complication of
the ten mathematical "letters"... that's
when it gets interesting... because then people
cannot conjunction casual inference of talk
with an abstract expression of talk... of v. v.
an abstract inference of thought with a
casual expression of talk - not quiet the square you
were expecting along the synonymous and antonymous
lines, were you? see how writing proposes geometry?
i could have written something different...
something akin to a poetic rhyme; it's harder to find
a rhyme using philosophy, and contradict that
it's necessarily a rhyming quartet not rhymed
as designated Gemini couplets.
Rhiannon Aug 2016
I’ve never been good with feelings,
But then neither have you.
Especially when you’ve got a mother,
Who criticises everything you do.

Tears seem to stream,
Whenever she’s involved,
It seems neither of my parents want me,
And I’ve never felt so unloved.
Mary Gay Kearns Apr 2018
“Play it like music”,  James said.
Slamming himself into an armchair
The boy took another ride with despair,
“He criticises everything”.
I cuddled him with my words
“It was very expressively played
I like it that way”.

All the years he had tried to please
Fitting in with people’s demands
Braving himself.
He admired his stepdad
Accepted and understood
Affection was not easily shown
By those damaged themselves.

His mother found a lover to hold her
The boy laughed thinking life a joke
Respect faded.
At least James he thought clever
A strategists, of sorts.
Peter was so loving to be flimsy
Like the soft cloth on the door.


Love Grandma xxxxx
Great boy,  lovevyou always
I see the sunrise in her eyes
and the sun sets on those
other guys

she
criticises
occasionally,
supports me
constantly
and eventually
in every way
we become one.
WhatIHopeToFeel Aug 2018
I like her

It's her eyes
The brightest I've ever seen
Yet so brown,
It must be a sign of a siren.

It's how fierce she is
Not caring
And yet she blushes like a blooming flower
Whenever we talk indecently.

It's the way she criticises you
Purposely as a joke
And then she will do it herself.

It's her quirks
Always having sugar and chocolate
And yet always having toothpaste and brush.

It's her accent
So clear and foreign
And yet you can't understand her on the phone.

It's when I call her cute
And she tells me to shut up
But she smiles a little.

It's her taste in music
And how she goes mad when we talk about them.

It's how she wouldn't admit she likes me
But I pine because of that look she gives me.

It's how she is
Always just so

****,
Am I in love?

— The End —