"crucially" poems
my hands are red and there's a knife between my teeth
holding my jaw in place because
i never learned how to swim.
i'm god, i'm immortal
all-consuming
and you laugh while you eat me alive
there's red on your hands and a knife between my teeth
i watch as you pull them out one by one
swallow them like pills
you taste like barbed wire fences, like eyelashes cutting my tongue
they’re kind of like knives
i leave clawmarks on everyone, there is blood everywhere
everything about you is tangible
and i think i’m the antichrist,im unholy and you’re a bible verse
you taught me how to evolve
there’s a drumbeat in my lungs and it’s all i have
i’m in control, i promise,
this is my game
havent you figured it out yet?havent you solved the puzzle?
sorry, sweetheart, i meant to tell you ages ago but--
they named a constellation after my fingers
after the way they closed around your throat
i will be buried alive and i will enjoy it
six feet deep,
what’s a coffin among friends, and
i never loved you, i guess, and
rip me apart
you’re enough funeral for the both of us
and you ask me with blood on your teeth if you're scaring me yet
who's the monster now,
like this is a game, and
i'm ******* immortal, and
rip me apart
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
I'm a spy
A super hero
Of your enemy
Watching, analyzing, construing
I know your strengths
But more crucially
I know your weaknesses
I have a license to break you heart
To destroy your world
I'm disguised as your
Best friend, your lover, your confidant
You "are stirred, not shaken."
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
Something bigger than I am,
those shoulders over mine
and faster than I can be,
cannibalizing time,
it's not sad,
I'm not sad...
Someway it's worth one's while
seizing bubbles from reverie
and in between no crime,
starving now and then
I'm not dying,
it's not dying
What comes by nature grows,
poignant embrace to abide by.
To sharpen up a stem to a lilac rose
leaves bewildered but crucially alive
it's just my thought...
I'm just in a thought
But first I am
real and here
on my own to venture onward.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
Her sneaky way of stretching your ear
And silently one stepping herself inside your head
Completely unaware of the puzzle she's building like castle walls around your brain
No matter the combination to your safe of hidden secrets
There she is
Surrounding you like a thousand knights to one thief in the dark eerie woods
Prying even more secretively behind the red scene
Twisting the rope of war right out from under your feet
Because your hands are already tied
No matter how determined you are
About keeping your hot hair balloon afloat
She'll squeeze you like a lemon to get your acidic confession
Her blood hound senses will sniff 'em out no matter what
And then lick up the floor to judge your statements
No chance of over looking the oder of guilt gushing outta your pores
Or the bashful heat boiling through your veins
And the shameful twitch starting in your left eye
But of course
Your attempt to stuff those emotions inside the false confidence of your jeans
Is only a clean wiped window for her to look through
She'll ease herself on you at this point
Knowing the mouse in the trap has nowhere to scurry
Her approach will stare deep into your soul
Very painfully silent
After a crucially long moment
The silence shatters with her first question of interrogation
And the weight of your balloon comes crashing down to the crumbly ground
Feeling broken and hopeless in the rubble
Laying limp in the muck like a wet noodle that has escaped the spaghetti plate
Drained of emotions
And exhausted by shock
The final announcement says the war is over
And the opponent has won
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
I feel my words haven't rung true from the start
Because crucially
The reality
is I was never that good to begin with
I only wanted to make some light out of this dark
But the emotion is
A bloatedness
Of my own self-inflated ego and pride
I could never call this as an attempt at art
Nor should others
There are greater wonders
By those who can truly inspire
But still, I try to play my own small part
In this scene
Against philistines
To fail is never a reason to retire
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
on some level
it's about control
and i'm sorry about that
insecurity
always is
You are the other half of me
as i am the other half of You
and so if there's something
about You
or something You do
that i do not understand
then i'm not understanding myself
i'm unsure of myself
i'm the definition of
insecure
the Thing
whatever it is
the particular Thing
that i have failed to understand
about You
about me
is completely
and absolutely
irrelevant
what matters
what's important
is that
I
Don't
Understand
everything else
is just window dressing
i need to understand
in order to feel secure
in order to maintain the comfortable illusion
that i have some control over my life
over myself
that I have some understanding of
who i am
where i am
what i'm doing
what the **** is going on
so when i'm threatened
by my own confusion
i make inquiries
i ask questions
i try to understand
desperately
urgently
crucially
i have to try
i have to
and besides
there's no harm in asking
is there?
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
*the alphabet is incorrect when nouns come to use,
why necessitate the ordeal of a, b c... x, y, z -
the first sequence an order of literacy,
the second sequence an order arithmetic -
the correct lineage of letters from henry ii
to richard the i, to king john was written
in the minor carta of (bytes): tetra-, petra-, exa-,
zetta-, and crucially yotta-; everywhere transgressions
of the original standard arrangement of
the first memory placebo you learn at school,
placebo memories out of schooling,
ineffective memorisation swayed by the self,
and soon that lost too; memories that shall please
the doctrines, where once we were coalminers
of our selves looking for that nugget of cold,
by being schooled to restrictions, we found only
many nuggets of coal, and as they say: the cold
grey en masse realism of being suited and booted
with the sole reward: procrastination and procreation.*
indeed quantify in the realm
of ∞ (infinity),
but then express a quality
of 1 (the union disregarding
obstructions of centimetre,
millimetre and nanometre,
or the excess of gigabytes)
avoiding the kantian symbolism
of 0 - negation - of any
number to your liking given
power over the base:
with the squared acidic or otherwise,
mitigating ∞ of the unfathomable,
to search for deo sapiens
is to search for yourself
when others defined you in
the narrated enclosure of **** sapiens
and the 20th century's failures:
it's the pedantry of unlearning
praying to something and simply
thinking about it: secular ****
and you the wriggling anaemic tadpole.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
*don't do it, it's modelled like speed-dating, i've been to one of those horrid Loserville events and it wasn't pretty - please don't get ****** into this vortex where you reveal everything about yourself, what music you like, what films... you're just showing me everything i'm not supposed to know before i even meet you, it creates a complete and utter lack of conversation... all the fun stuff to talk about comes flying out of the window... all the good stuff, all the DVDs and CDs and books in a suitcase... and all that's left in the house is your ***** laundry... and on dates all you end up talking about (crucially) are your ****** problems!*
it just got me thinking about prostate cancer
and how they shove a thumb up your ***
to see if your prostate glad still has a hard-on;
the western illusion of "not enough time",
not enough time to speak about music, films and books?
i guess the new thing is psychology and how
many diagnoses you can think of,
a symptom of a: not taking interest in philosophy beyond
quotations, maxim, toothpicks instead of pine trees.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
Your bow is all elbow,
a flank of forearm that is
supporting and simply cradling
my imagination
where a dozen or so
lifeboats hang off starboard
in case things get too much
I, captained by your sturdy arms,
nip up to the crow’s nest
for a sip of spiced ***
for a bit of warmth and
perhaps more—
a full beard that reminds
me so much of Darwin
I feel certain I am on the Beagle
and hungry to shoot some
lame birds one by one!
Your shoulder
where I can sleep forever—
come sharks and eat my catch
while I whisper poetry,
summon ghosts and
**** off Hemingway,
whose macho act was betrayed
by his pain-filled eyes
and sensitively painted
one-word skies
You, my aching hull
in human form,
rocking gently as the sea
slows our progress
knowing we are
wishing away time too often
the working of the gyro
prevents my seasick blushes
we do not yet know each other
that well but all is fine as I see it,
your arms really are made of
shipworthy wood and
beneath deck, where I will sleep
tonight above Atlantis’s cesspit,
we just bounce off each wave,
getting closer and closer to the moon
but not yet arrived,
has sleep come too soon for me tonight?
I’ll rest and stretch and groan
like weary ****** do
once Surya helps me turn out the light
—Yes, once my ship did start to sink. I called until my throat was gone and ended up swimming a good distance until crucially a boat came by and pulled me out of the sea. I remember thinking: I should feel more grateful to be alive. I went back to where it sank and retrieved a few personal items, then I sat on the beach a wept as if the whole thing had just hit me.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
Winter has arrived in my soul.
Back for another year.
I became still for a whole day.
Wondering what to do.
Wondering what to say.
It creeps slowly into every crack.
My mind it's victim.
Simple things, not so simple anymore.
I open the door to leave.
That winter crisp hits.
Voices of fun,
Voices of warmth engulf
me.
They only create a blanket.
Nothing can get in here,
it's too strong, this feeling.
I walk through crowded streets
As cold as the new winter air
This old familiar feeling back again
I didn't appreciate serotonin until now
Oh what I'd do to have it all back.
This old enemy is destroying me.
It's corrupting my thoughts.
I sit like a crumb to the earth, a tiny
speckle of air
Oxygen guzzling human
Someone eat me, give me purpose.
Take this left over and give it a point.
Silence on a saturday evening, peculiar for me.
The only life going on is outside my window.
Car radios blasting the latest chart
Getting ready for a night on the town.
The life is usually inside of me.
Not tonight.
This is a different Saturday night.
Tonight the demon returned.
Four months it will stay.
Take it away, far far away.
I feel see-through like a pane of glass
Waiting to be smashed
Check if there's something inside, please.
The glass is still, it doesn't move.
It's delicate, transparent.
The glass is prettier than me. By far.
I am so still.
Staring at the candlelight.
This Saturday feels so wrong.
There's colour all around me
yet I'm so black and white
I want all the colours of the world to
jump inside me and hold me tight.
I want them to stay and never
let go.
I want to feel everything possible,
in the most beautiful of ways.
Smash the glass, enter my soul
Let it rise from the pits of despair
From this sea of melancholy
Let it erase my troubles and dark wonders
And let it burn bright
And most crucially
Let these flames burn forever,
Forever to ignite
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 2:56 PM UTC
i wouldnt be able to escape you
youve wrapped yourself around all of my atoms, everything that i am
youve consumed my organs and floated within my veins for far too long now
youve stitched your name on the inside of my eyelids
so everytime i sleep i dream of you
and everytime i blink i see you
when im dead, we will rest together peacefully in the silence of my grave
every time i see deep brown eyes theyd swallow up my memories and project them on a screen like a sad old black and white movie at a drive in theater
ive studied the syntax of your sentences and id teach myself to talk like you, so everytime i had a conversation youd still be a part of it
our time together was brief yet long enough to capture the magic
like a shooting star except you were my entire night sky
your heart the moon and your thoughts danced amongst the stars
and the kisses my mother gives me each time we say goodbye will never compare to the way your lips met mine so crucially like i was the antidote to the worst kind of poison
if we broke up there would be no antidote.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Where are you?
I am in the midst. Of nowhere and of mislaid sanity. I am frightened of who I am becoming into, plunged in Iliad.
Where the sequence of misfits and my torments combined, I am crucially breaking my existence. Broken, who am I pursuing? sparkling eyes, igniting palms they were showing tricks on me.
They were here watching me. They outgrow wings like a slipped angel descended from grace. Their eyes glittering into mine. Slowing ticking blasts, so I'd still have time to endure every bleeding and the state of my miserable hovel.
Where are you?
I am in the midst. Of being lost and being formed. I am in the pilgrim of my dreams — a wayfarer in the desert.
“Where the shore clashes and the stallion whimper at the sprinkle's coolness, I will get you there.”
I am a sightseer on the spot — where the faint could not be obtained as I stray and travel, I knew this is who I am developing into.
To discover you in the forsaken as a wayfarer in strange seasons. A tourist ahead of time, a butterfly in the coming age.
A warrior in the cage, a threat to them the shadows in the deceased.
“Where the shore clashes and the stallion whimper at the sprinkle's coolness, I will find you there.”
To meet you is to be lost.
To be created is to be miserable.
Being whole is to be broken.
And there, I found you.
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 6:25 AM UTC
So easy to suffer the singe
You got too close to the fire
Now you lost your lashes and brows
But more crucially
You lost your honor
Your very humanity
When you threw yourself
Upon my hearth
And took what was not yours
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
The choral fraternity
breathed coordinately,
perfectly quietly,
and (crucially) sequentially,
so that the consequent silences
went largely unnoticed,
fortunately.
Dec 16, 2023
Dec 16, 2023 at 4:28 PM UTC
From our ancestors to what we are now.
We are Filipinos, racism we won't allow,
People have changed but not our culture.
For our culture, we respect and treasure.
Lapu-Lapu is still in our books.
Made history with an arrow he took.
Tried to stop Spain and killed Magellan,
Made a shrine in Cebu, in Mactan.
Many things in the Philippines.
Like a church older than our parents.
An eagle that's crucially endangered,
Or the Rafflesias in Mindanao.
They are the diamonds we treasure.
Those things can give us pleasure.
From seeing other people happy,
We will be full of glee.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 9:36 AM UTC
I hold a heart in my hands--
mine or yours, it hardly matters.
It's a cup of sweet pain--
sweet because it contains
a new world in each
potential swirling drop.
Sweet because we
can taste each world.
And the pain is just
a sharpening, in this moment,
of memories-- of our longing
for this new world-- for birth--
to take what is now real, but hidden,
and let it ripple and be unveiled--
this world hidden in our hearts,
too big, it aches because
it is ready, pressing against
its hidden containment--
we may not hold it in too long--
Life carries on with its own force,
seen or unseen, the new world emerges
in love from the old, warm and slowly scarred--
one new and ripe with life and will,
the other worn and wise, ready
to go quiet--where it will vanish,
covered and concealed, dissolved
then secretly congealed, gathering a secret pulse
and vibrant eye, to once again--for the first time
in all of time--emerge and be revealed--
Our hearts seem like vessels
but they are constantly transforming from old to new,
from hidden to emergent to present. We have
no one heart,
yours or mine, it hardly matters,
but a constant, murmuring emergence,
an ever exploring meaning.
Here in our heart
a spring rises from its endless roots
and meets the air of our awareness--
rippling, shining, silently singing.
Let our hands and eyes be midwives, then,
when needed.
We can ease these transformations
with a little understanding.
Let our eyes and hands
love the hidden heart
and guide its travels
for we are hearts and more,
wide minds, capable, some times,
of comprehending--peacefully--
the sometimes searing
duality
and finding in its balance
a way to, briefly,
crucially,
meet its blade
with peace--
to use the energy of dissolving
and the energy of emerging
simultaneously
to transform
one more
moment.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
This is partly because of a communications network called NEON (New Economy Organisers Network).
Neither affiliated to Labour nor Momentum,
this organisation has been working hard behind the scenes to train left-wing experts, community organisers and activists
in direct action peoples power
Corbyn’s anti-Semitism crisis and the proliferation of the extreme left factions proves one thing:
The old Stalinist gang is back in charge of Labour
Those people, whose lives were fundamentally shaped by a Labour government determined to keep them out of the UK because of the colour of their skin, might be surprised to hear the claims in recent weeks, from different quarters, that Labour always has been or was an anti-racist party.
This is a label people in Labour have long claimed. And to prove it, there are particular facts they point to. The introduction of the UK’s various Race Relations Acts all happened under Labour governments. The Stephen Lawrence inquiry was established in the early years of the Blair government – crucially, though, after years of campaigning by Lawrence’s family. And even though it was often met with a frosty reception, there is a rich tradition of anti-racist and anti-colonial organising within Labour;
A little over 10 years ago, New Labour politicians were describing children whose parents were seeking asylum as “swamping” UK schools, running a campaign that declared Labour as on “your side” and the Lib Dems as “on the side of failed asylum seekers”, treating people of colour as not belonging to the nation, defending colonialism and overseeing policies that made asylum seekers destitute. And then there was the post-New Labour “controls on immigration” mug under Ed Miliband.
If we allow people to misrepresent the past by erasing the racist politics that have caused pain, economic degradation and treated people as “other” because of their skin colour, religion, immigration status or “culture”, then we won’t see racism – including anti-immigration racism – as structurally embedded and systemic. These fraught histories are ones the left, within and outside the Labour party, can learn from. Declaring yourself something doesn’t mean you are that; it takes work.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
When you put pigs in charge of Democracy
you get pigswill and muck!!
playing ***** chess
and eating bacon butties
unaware of the irony
enough said!!.....
Within the dialogues of Plato, the founding father of Greek Philosophy – Socrates – is portrayed as hugely pessimistic about the whole business of democracy. In his Book Six of The Republic, Plato describes Socrates falling into conversation with a character called Adeimantus and trying to get him to see the flaws of democracy by comparing a society to a ship. If you were heading out on a journey by sea, asks Socrates, who would you ideally want deciding who was in charge of the vessel? Just anyone or people educated in the rules and demands of seafaring? The latter of course, says Adeimantus, so why then, responds Socrates, do we keep thinking that any old person should be fit to judge who should be a ruler of a country?
Socrates’s point is that voting in an election is a skill, not a random intuition. And like any skill, it needs to be taught systematically to people. Letting the citizenry vote without an education is as irresponsible as putting them in charge of a trireme sailing to Samos in a storm. Socrates was to have first hand, catastrophic experience of the foolishness of voters.
In 399 BC, the philosopher was put on trial on ******* up charges of corrupting the youth of Athens. A jury of 500 Athenians was invited to weigh up the case and decided by a narrow margin that the philosopher was guilty. He was put to death by hemlock in a process which is, for thinking people, every bit as tragic as Jesus’s condemnation has been for Christians.
Crucially, Socrates was not elitist in the normal sense. He didn’t believe that a narrow few should only ever vote. He did, however, insist that only those who had thought about issues rationally and deeply should be let near a vote. We have forgotten this distinction between an intellectual democracy and a democracy by birthright. We have given the vote to all without connecting it to that of wisdom. And Socrates knew exactly where that would lead: to a system the Greeks feared above all, demagoguery.
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 9:30 PM UTC
the heart wants what it wants
no statement could be more crucially true
i hate the statements because it gives my head 0 control
like i am ******* floating and i don't even get a freaking chance to look at the ground
how will i know if my feet touch
they won't
they never will
someone just tell me
please just tell me
i am trapped
why are the skies so sad and the seas in my soul so angry
what can i do to make my self smile again
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
All these people spilling,
letting themselves slosh over the sides,
tossing back courage,
tongues slipping secrets with a flourish,
nonchalant, letting things fly.
My lid, usually ******* on tight,
loosens slightly,
but not enough,
not like the rest.
I play things close to the chest.
Y'all don't need to know about me.
y'all don't need to hear my things.
I've got dead friends,
I've got self-inflicted scars,
I've got self-hatred, loathing, lies, wounds,
but I share them crucially.
Don't try and rouse it from me,
if I share,
I care,
otherwise,
beware.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
How long has it been ..........
Can you even remember when......
You had joy and
So much fun....
That when you woke the next day.....
There was no way...wash away.
The goofy permasmile ......
Stop and listen
Remember to never forget
The one
essential component
The crucially
Vital element.
After you vamp off everything
Else
The string that make the twine
That makes the ties that bind
At the
epi-center
The common factor that I find pleasing.
And that is you ..
Your self
Yourself and more importantly
Your innerchild
The faintest nuance of you
Floats me into
A lazy sunny day swimming care free in the residual joy you bring .
Your the reason
I hear the birds sing the reason I love ice cream.
You are my blackberry almost as much as "the one you
Will always leave that some one for....."
I whole heartily
Know all of you
You simply are the cause and effect of every
Aspect of the most bestest happiness that could be dreamed.
A million poet
In their prime
In their perfect
Place to write.
Given every vocabulary and dialect
Future past and present
A million years
Then repeat a million times .
Epochs splechlops,
My dear sweet
Love ......love doesn't even hold a candle
To one second
Of one simple essence of you.
To me you are
GRAVITY.
We the world's and I revolve around you.
Without you
There is nothing.
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 5:19 PM UTC
Jaw worked, a painful mix of emotions was felt as she stared loathingly into the soft eyes of the girl she held sacred.
Expression matched, two palms meet at the crystal divide that separated their worlds, foreheads suddenly joined.
A quiet moment of raw connection facilitates wordless understanding that flows back and forth like fluid. There are no questions here, no explanations, only validation.
She feels weightless here.
Eyes searching eyes, she catches a glimpse of what she knew would be found eventually.
The strength, the determination, the hold.
Weakened, but nevertheless blatantly present.
She knows why she came here today.
Face ******* in betrayal, she gives a shout of anger whilst ripping herself from the other, the distance apart becomes crucially important.
Gently, she holds herself from across the room, fiery frustration reduced to a resolve of tears now.
She has her answer.
Blinded by pain, she summons the rage to throw one last disgusted glare towards the girl crumpled on the floor mere feet from her, appearance identical.
She sneers. She couldn't deny it.
She hated her for loving him still.
She loved her for loving him still.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
sitting steadily beneath the land,
lies a plain rock like socks or sand,
forming and morphing so beautifully,
holding a treasure so crucially
for only if they knew how much you were worth,
how quickly you'd be unearthed.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC
We fight to stay afloat
Standing in a boat called life
Only able to leave behind a note
Scarred from the cuts of a knife
Once they said to me:
Life will only become harder
Beyond comfort is a never ending sea
Swayed back and forth; pushed out farther
Drowning and then saved
A repetitive vicious cycle
Wanted then no longer craved
But surviving this life is crucially vital
We all try to go with the flow
Pressured but never forced
Just trained to believe we know
Our minds taken never endorsed.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC