"defected" poems
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
But that's not true!
Look at Trostky and Lenin,
Michael Myers and Lennon,
The other Lennon.
It's hard to differentiate in name and legacy,
Because both Lennon's were revolutionaries,
Marching around like the freshman from heaven.
But neither believed they were the result of divine intervention in the affairs of man,
Because this convention would threaten their worldview and beckon away their sanity...
In the same way that the Pope or ****** let their divine vanity commit greater blasphemy and bring them future agony.
Now neither Lennon nor Lenin came anywhere close to being men from Galilee,
In fact they were more the men of the galaxy,
Or at least, John was, with his peach fuzz beard and his belief that love is greater than fear.
The other Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, to starve the proletariat and start his revolution on an already hypocritical trend that would continue quite the same until the very end.
And it proves something, does it not?
Violence sends a message to no one but the instigator,
Changing them to justify, and claim is wasn't misbehavior;
But that's a lie, no idea of mine is worth the death of a human mind,
And to pretend otherwise makes one delude themselves that they aren't an instigator, but an illustrator,
Painting in the blood as if ****** makes an innovator.
And for ****** there is no vindicator,
Violence is an image breaker,
Indulged in by poor imitators who think they're right, and the world is wrong.
Unaware this makes them weak, not strong.
Now John Lennon was the true revolutionary;
Although he succumbed to violence, he veered away from it, even when it was necessary.
He fought the war, and yes, the war did win,
But at least he didn't cover his scars with artificial skin,
Or deny his implicit wrongs as a result of all original sin.
John Lennon used the word 'nigger' to the opposite effect.
He used the word to trigger something bigger and correct,
The wrong that seemed so propagated by the last colonial tide,
Of which the other Lenin defected and took colonialism's side.
John Lennon was Utopian and told us of a better world;
He interjected definition, and caused old thoughts to curl away in fright,
And bite the dust despite their might and past dominion of industrialism,
It was a schism, and it still plagues us to this day.
John Lennon understood we over-complicate way
To
Often.
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
"Some body" is something,
And some body can change the world.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
My sympathy depleted
My friendships deleted
I have been defeated
By truths that hit so hard
I was decleated
By intense hatred deep-seeded
My history was repeated
I guess a three-armed mutant
Has no need for a right hand man
Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off
When he needs them the most
But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while
Since he had lost feeling in them
He had to do a biopsy on his life
After the inaccurate results of the smear test
He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria
But that didn't heal the nerve damage
He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory
So he took steroids
Transforming the ***** into an ogre
With no semblance of humanity
...Except for the people he devours
Their patience is delicious
He eats that first
Their pity is a delicacy
A rare treat
Their disgust tastes sour
But it's a feast
His cannibalism may seem callous
But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide
And get pregnant
Their kids come out defected
With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants
And lepers and ogres look exactly the same
To those of another species
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Until this thick burden
Eats all of you dry.
I remain the living
torn shrapnel of paint.
I've seen where we should be.
And I'm not alone.
Here in this garden
Truth will be shown.
Before all the roaches.
Before all the lies.
Before all the temples.
Call blood from the sky.
I am no section.
I am not whole.
Where is your face?
This shadows a forge.
Yet I have defected.
And call out your threat.
In brown eyed seduction.
You'll fear what you get.
Yes I should have killed you.
When I had the chance.
You fear confrontation.
You fear our last dance.
In no reply message.
I will hunt you down.
No matter how precious.
I'll force under ground
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
Regrettably recording these words,
I’m not a poet or else this would probably flow,
Though I could care less if you don’t want to hear what I have to say
Because I’m comforted by a chance to reason the existence of a soul,
So I could care less if you don’t need to be told that, I’m human and oh so vulnerable
What more can I ask for?
Able to feel the consequence of lusting for something more,
I’m lucky enough to have escaped the 21st century womb,
And avoid the convenience of a couple cuddling with a contraceptive
Understanding that I might just get one chance to say,
I’ve wanted to make the most of my time
Since I’m physically deprived,
What more can we ask for?
Not sure what will happen when these lids seal eyes that were once bloodshot,
I’m so scared of what lies after a life,
My molecularly defected design,
So I must reconcile with the fact that,
My chance to survive without a heart and mind,
Depends on how I use this time,
As we look for the divine our intelligence derived,
Glad to possibly experience the consequence of stepping out of line,
So I could care less if you think I’m a detriment to society
Since I desire to exist beyond the confines of what can be physically defined,
Happy to discover that the divine was not stamped on the penny or the dime
I’m now comforted by the consequences of being materialistically maimed,
Because I didn't find spirituality through Sunday sips of wine
Almost six feet down and comforted by our unknowns,
Maybe you’ll remember me if you made sense of this,
Because I’ve been counting the days before I’ll realize,
If I made the most of my existence
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
The Mujahideen fight for their way of life
They simply want to practice their religion
Follow their religion
And live in peace
The Soviets have no right to invade
And tell them how to live
Rocket propelled grenades
Were effectivey used at the Kandahar pass
Soviet tanks were sitting ducks
They met their end
Guerilla fighters
Walk and fight in the mountains
They mastered the ambush
The Battle of Arghandab
The Soviets attacked
An entrenched Mujahideen
The Afghan government forces often defected to the resistance
Some Soviet aircraft
Were shot down by Stinger missles
Provided by the U.S.
The Russian people were lied to
About what their military was doing there
They were told they were nation building
The war caused around one million civilian deaths
And the emigration of 5 to 10 million Afghans
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
When fragments fly from your mothers favorite glass
It's time to give in
All your pride waves out fresh like water after a listerine rinse
The blinds stay closed because the windows glare
not just because the people behind them do as well
Condensation rises on your glossy eyes and youre as high as where the snow falls from
An insomniac mirthful mercenary defected from an army of awake dreamers
Draw string bags of angel dust rest on the loops of your belt
But here I am trapped under yours
A Jiminy Cricket with a pillow over my loose lips
It's toxic when we make our hearts skip
Pumping your veins with strange men in nice jackets
I can't just close the blinds to hide the glare.
I'm caught in this piercing snare
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Pathetic poetry
Dissection apathy
Lull without breath
Passive aggressive
Self-defected, self-replicated
Pull out the year’s save
There’s ******* nothing
There’s ******* nothing
Intoxicate headless
Suffer indefinite
I’m going nowhere
I just don’t give a **** anymore
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Mental health is not a choice
It becomes a defect
It's visible
Yet everyone remains
Convinced of this new fashion statement
Was my elect
And unstableness
Is my preference
Except here I am
Screaming on the inside
For normal functions
And a stable mindset
I am at constant endurance
For the hurricanes roaring in my head
Crashing into my thoughts
Telling me what is rotting
Destroying my homes,
Drowning my sanity
Even as I rebuild
I find myself
Falling into the gust of
Cycles that ruin me
Leaving me in defeat
In my decomposing, suffocated brain
Handling paranoia speaking into your ear
Constant talking
You never see
But only feel
Above your shoulder
Then the depression of suicide
Filled with emptiness and questioning
With nothing being real
And you left being numb
Only what follows that
Is the high of a life
Putting you ontop of it
Dangling your feet
But threats of dropping
Start pumping in your blood
Shaking,
Scared of it all
And uncontrollable worries
Make your sorry
You even went high
Gloom in the chase,
Death makes you quiet
Shelter and safe
You escape
Until you are bored and furious
Lashing out with whips
Against your loves
Screaming mindlessly
Wrecking your things
And hurting endlessly
Understand how
Your constant neglect
For the ill minded
And ignorance for the defected
Telling us to **** it up
And how it's our select
Is slowly slaughtering our self worth
In reality
You are the murderer
Telling us
We are the romantically damaged
Except you omit
the hideous pumping chemicals
They feed us
To satisfy
Your false perception
Of who is sane
And who is to blame
Making us even more crazed
Day in my life
You wouldn't last a second
Try to understand
This cycle never ceases
But will only increase
With your toxins
And my decay
There is no cure
And I am left
Being adhered to this madness
And curving my life
With complicated composure
Of trying to survive
Vicious thoughts
And even more
Blood thirsty people
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
I search this ocean of emotional wrath,
Rage building up from below the core,
I study the textbook acts of feeling hopeless,
In a world of halfwitted fools,
Whom I claim superiority over.
Behold! This artifact of false pride,
I discovered it as I meandered the ocean on my love boat,
Fighting constant rouge waves of selfishness,
It calmly floated through the white foams.
I defected on the **** deck,
Holding no desire for consideration of my mates,
Mates who could care less for me,
And my prejudice towards sailing on this body of water,
They then made me walk the plank.
My heart rate reaches a point of vulnerability,
As I struggle to hold my breath below the surf,
I lasted unusually longer than a month's worth of travel,
Floating on nothing but my buoyancy,
I reached shore,
Suffocating with no use of my hands and feet.
Ironically,
A lady fisherman retrieved me from the waves,
Reciting a prayer, then proceeding CPR,
I regain consciousness, gasping for air,
Forgetting what was to become of me,
I grab her by the torso of her slicker,
And kiss her passionately,
With no ***** given.
She did of course kiss me back,
Confused but delighted,
Once she realized what was occurring,
She pulled away smiling,
I gave her a glance projecting my ruthlessness,
Because I am in fact,
Superior to the king himself.
The sun looked innocent,
As the clouds rolled in viciously,
This storm seemed like an old friend,
I recall it's grubby warfare,
Kicking me around as I swayed to and fro,
On the mahogany of my dear rig,
A rig that has been stolen from me,
On the lost sea of emotional wrath.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Y'know the last cat I had wasn't even my cat,
he was the neighbour's cat
Yea! He defected... came over to our house
My neighbours they had a holiday home down the country
and used visit it often on the weekends
So the poor cat would be left behind at home
and he'd get lonely
So he'd come out to us, and he liked us so
much
We used give him a great reception
He'd get so much love and attention, nice
food as well
That he decided to stay with us rather than
go back home
We even bought him one of those nice furry
little cathouse bed type things
Put it out in the garage and he'd sleep there.
But whose cat was he now then, was he ours
or was he still theirs
Did they still have a claim on him
Or was it up to him to choose,
You know it could have caused a
Constitutional Crisis
Could have gone to Court
Who had ownership of the cat
Could have been a real tug of love affair
A bit like that film what's it's name...Kramer
vs Kramer
Luckily the neighbours though they didn't
seem to mind that much.
Of course, the punchline to all this was, one day my Dad was out visiting
my neighbours next door
When who should he see lying there on the sofa looking very contented
and very much at home
Yea! You guessed it.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking
Yea exactly! I bet the cat...our cat the Defector
He was probably a Double Agent all along.
Jan 20, 2023
Jan 20, 2023 at 12:00 PM UTC
Until this thick burden
Eats all of you dry.
I remain the living
torn shrapnel of paint.
I've seen where we should be.
And I'm not alone.
Here in this garden
truth will be shown.
Before all the roaches.
Before all the lies.
Before all the temples.
Call blood from the sky.
I am no section.
I am not whole.
Where is your face?
This shadows a forge.
Yet I have defected.
And call out your threat.
In brown eyed seduction.
You'll fear what you get.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
Why does everything have to be so perfect
for everyone?
all the time, every time.
see-it-to-believe-it
a blind man can see more
than we can.
we as in greedy,filthy,hungry,hypocritical,
antagonizing, walk-the-walk, and
talk-the-talk kind of society.
I've come to the realization,
that i am my own
and you are your own
worst enemy.
and i refuse to carelessly create a dependency
on the defected critic within myself.
I have a brain. I am sane.
Insanity is a fabrication of ones own ability
to ACCEPT, CONCLUDE, and CONVERSE.
so in turn the insane will confuse
their own reality for the worlds reality.
Can you imagine, adopting a word
and labeling yourself with it?
As if YOU were molded around IT.
Not allowing yourself to distinguish
this imaginative delusion from reality
By an opinion, not a fact
you have adopted and concocted within yourself
an imaginary abnormality.
which will never leave your mind
unless of course you will it to.
I was so sick. I was so hurt. I was damaged goods.
I was, I am. I I I I I I I
I stands for imagery which i get when i relate the word i
to myself. I envision two little mes' sitting a top each shoulder
influencing the voice inside my brain to do things.
Influencing the "control center" if you will.
But the thing is....
That's my conscious mind, not really me. Until i realized this, I had never felt more alone.
Under going this epiphany of sorts, this deep evolvement of my very soul,
I was drug out by the ankles, out of the very existence that i had come to accept as my own.
When I opened my eyes to discover the truth and beauty in life
i could perceive things differently, with clarity. Refreshing. I could
wake up with a smile. Not only tolerate but accept people and their habits. Converse with them as
if i had been connected in some meaningful way. And as I lay my head down to sleep, I allow myself to conclude
that I am me with all of my flaws, grammar mistakes and all. I am still who i want to and should be.
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 2:48 AM UTC
Walk a mile or two from highway down
A school was located in a small town
Summer was very hard to miss
Sun soared up, to give a kiss
Little children came out to play
In break of a boring long day
Evening, teddy bears were sold
Outside the gate, by a man old
Big and small, brown, grey, white
In a black robe for dollars five
One day, kids hit him with a rock
"Defected teddies!", old man they mock
Anger ensued in the mister seller
Love for the kids or rage dweller?
He waited for kids to be good
But long can he live w/o food?
Hurt was his enormous heart
Revenge was this day to start
He picked a knife and killed em kids
Tiny, little, small ****** bits
Tortured, butchered and slaughtered
To hell, the revenge was offered
Stuffed body pieces in big cotton teddy
Killed himself that day very
Years went by, in blink of an eye
Stories told of how kids die
School shut down, high inflation rate
Loud painful noises heard till date
Entrance had tall gates of metal
Midnight, hinges creaking sound settle
Souls of notorious kids scream
"Wake us from this horrendous dream"
They know not they are just ghosts
Hanging in teddy bears, from tree host
And there below sits the old man, black cloaked
Killing new passing kids, in teddies blood soaked
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
After you involuntarily defected
I managed to find words others selected
to grandly commemorate your life
When I read of the third person you
and try to embrace elegiac points of view
I have to admit I feel…nothing
Maybe there is some cyber symphony
playing in the sky you can no longer see
pounding on so many drums you can no longer hear
But I keep reading my “google bible” verse
and try to imagine the funeral crowds disperse
once the scripted lamented chants are silent
Soon the vicissitudes of chemistry will prevail
and the third person you will set sail
to the land of oblivion, until I find another eulogy
or someone writes one for me
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC
It's okay Grandpa, i'm not mad at your dispersement
I know it was a fact of life
Something very hard to get over
But we're human, that's only to be expected
But it felt like a part of my morale's army defected
You left me in emotional stitches
But i know you didn't mean anything by it
I'm just angry i didn't get more time with you before you were gone
That's something i'll always have to live with
And it's unfair, but i'm a strong man
Maybe not as strong as you yet
Maybe never-but i'm going to try like hell
You're everything i want to emulate
But when things crumble, i wish you were here to help
I know an answer will come, but it must be drawn in the cardboard
Or in the sky
Or on something nobody notices
But i just want to know when
After all you've done, you deserve all the free time
I'll just wait patiently for you to answer
The elongated time frame won't worsen my mood
Just you not being here will.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
Once more unto the breach,
dear friends;
We tremble, we
withdraw our pens
We sit still, listen
Calm, collected
To prove our brains
Have not defected,
Once more letting them teach
Our heads
We caw and flutter
Fresh from beds.
We wait long, patient
Trudge the trenches,
to stave away
Failure's stenches.
Once more, until we meet
Our ends;
Continue calling
What luck might send,
We want most, if not all
The gifts unknown,
To make them known.
And yet this day
Is clearly done,
We slump away
Back to our homes.
We write our fingers,
to the bones.
Sleep and toss,
(A dream's a peach)
Then once more,
Unto
The Breach.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
By application only eh?
Another test of my proficiency
Why do they care?
To pick out the defected?
To nip at the disease?
To find some sort of control over the whole ****** thing?
I'm breathing,
Viable,
Mad as a hatter in the skull cap
And I will not be put on bar graphs
I choose to be defective
Free-styling to my enlightenment
Laughing Like the Buddha
I think to myself "how precious it is to be this faulty machine"
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
I love him,
I am his son,
I learnt walking,
I was supported as,
I had held his finger.
I want to share a story,
I experienced when young,
I got free from school earlier,
I was coming home from school,
I crashed my bicycle onto the road,
I was 16 and it was a hot July afternoon,
I went to get my chin mended for the wound,
I reached my home from school earlier than usual,
I grew suspicious on finding the door locked from inside,
I busted a scam of my dad with a girl half his age hiding behind,
I was greeted by "You're getting it wrong boy, you've not busted us up,"
I didn't say anything to them- just walked in to attend to my flowing blood & tears,
I thought to myself what wrong was done to be born in a house where my dad had defected,
I repented coming home early only to see my -yes- my dad red-faced and with a guilty-conscience.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Sweet death at the hour of nine.
Face in the crowd,
ever so endowed.
With that heavy liar's shroud.
Your fate has been interlocked to mine.
Now it's time to find out how
We can die without your lies.
And possess, but not hold onto,
an eternal truth, never to be addressed.
Awaken your heart to view itself
To see that we're all the same spirit.
Take it or leave it.
An existentialist could believe it.
Self written fountain of wealth.
How do you know shapes didn't design themselves?
A thought, sparked in time.
Telling of things known and things told.
Spinning rings, the softest rhymes.
Such a sight unseen is beautiful to behold.
An unfortunate effect, don't think your mind defected.
A truth once cherished is a truth later embellished.
So run with me, at the sweetest hour of nine.
A glowing moon bewitched by our dance of dreams within reality.
And when the hour comes to lose our immortal shine.
You and I will remember singing ever so thoughtfully.
Our own sleeping hymn that we long ago lost but still feel there.
Maybe one day, our hearts will forget they forgot.
And leave our souls once again bare.
To fly unhindered, even the heavens being resigned.
At that sweet hour of nine.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Living life with open conclusions
Unaware that its all an illusion
We turn our backs on the fact we're defected
Silently striving towards being perfected
Its so easy to judge from an outer perspective
Claiming an open mind yet we keep our thoughts selective
Afraid to admit that we are not in control
When deep inside, fear devours us whole
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
these synthetic lights are too loud
the microphone keeps
threatening to take off my head
i don’t want to be a part of this cast anymore
the script is grim, defected
infecting my nights as i fixate on the plot,
which
baffles
me
with its steady flow of crisis
the director keeps demanding dramatic theatricals from me
we rehearsed this particular scene a few dozen times
i’m in an airport terminal
a woman bears to me grave news of a man
who has drowned himself
screeches erupt from the mouth of a child
end scene
now the final production has been released
i’m sitting in the audience
my life is happening on the screen
there are
earthquakes
in my veins
i am the director of this film
roll the credits
but don’t give me credit for this
-k.p.-
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
Semi-automatic eyelids flicker,
Backdrops glare through thick black lines.
Fast forward tracks on silver halide,
Detail removed, spoiled by light.
A scene defected as clarity hides.
Rib-cage rattle engine backfire;
A marble rotates on the edge of a knife.
Three-hundred bodies drift by aligned:
All voices unify into a singular baritone
Outfits blur like the traffic at night.
Cloud cover grows, the audience subsides
Calmness prevails, relaxing your mind
Shoulders sink to back to a perch
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regains its detail
As passers by regain their autonomy
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regaining its detail
Sweat stops pouring from over your brow
Conjoined voices become conversations
Clouds cover cracks as the day drifts by
A marble taps the brickwork below
As vertical beams shoot from the sky
Get back to your feet, pray to the night.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
Like most would do on Halloween, we'd wear a mask to be a person or a thing that we aren't usually,
But do you wear one so you can hide what is on the other side? Another side that you have on the inside that divides you like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?
It's not uncommon to hear that most of us fear how we would appear to our peers and the ones we hold dear.
It's worn to protect them so it won't affect them to a point where we're rejected, disconnected or projected as more than defected.
The main difference with those who wear it is what we have to bear; what most wouldn't dare to share or just scared for the unprepared.
It could be our best friend or worst enemy; the complexity of its identity are incidentally formed either chemically, mentally or even manifest destiny.
How we choose to cooperate with or tolerate it is based off how it is incorporated in our moderated or complicated lives.
The level of comfort is great when the mask is lifted; like the weight has been shifted straight off my face, can you relate?
This mask is about to break so I must take it off and I won't make another; I need to relieve this ache and stop being fake. Please do not forsake, for it is time for me to be awake.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC