"demographic" poems
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.
Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.
Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".
To map a new demographic before our deaths.
If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.
And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.
We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.
The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Men are 3 to 7 times more likely to commit suicide than women.
Men account for 55 percent of the workforce, but account for 92 percent of workplace deaths.
Men live on average 5 years less than women.
Police shoot more white men than any other demographic each year.
The vast majority of people in prison are men.
The majority of people suffering from homelessness are men.
Men are encouraged to seek help with there mental health but are ridiculed or ignored when they try.
77 percent of suicides are men.
"Be more open about your emotions"
"Stop complaining, you have no right to complain"
"Man up"
"Don't be a *****
"That's not a real man's job"
"Grow a pair"
"You won't even fight back?"
"I need a man that can afford me"
"Men don't cry its a sign of weakness"
"Men have it so good"
"All men are trash"
**** all men"
Welcome to manhood.
Sep 29, 2022
Sep 29, 2022 at 6:56 AM UTC
With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence
They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers
You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends
You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees
MWAH! x
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
*White.
Female.
Middle Class.
Heterosexual.
Agnostic.
Libertarian.*
Yeah.
That's me.
That's that first layer,
thin as the paper you could
read it on.
Just a
Jane Doe,
a nameless, faceless
demographic.
But peeling back the layers,
ripping through page on page of a complicated novel,
digging
down
into
a
bottomless
hole
to
China,
unravelling
the intricate
web of
stereotypestruthsliesassumptionsprejudice
and
there you will find
me,
a colorless genderless asexual
spirit whose frame
is crafted and molded
not with how the world
chooses to see me and
who "they" deem me to be;
no.
A guy that didn't know me well
once told me that I
spoke more urban than he
expected,
and I couldn't help but wonder why
someone from an urban area
couldn't speak like they were
from a city,
like somehow what he saw in my
whitefemaleheterosexualmiddleclassagnosticlibertarian
prologue forbade me
from speaking in colloquials and
abbreviations.
Oh, I apologize,
I laughed later to my friend,
**law students are supposed to speak
with an ostentatious vocabulary and
an heir of
(superfluous) arrogance.**
I am rarely a prototype
of what it means to be
White,
of what it means to be
female;
middle-class or not,
my parents insisted at age 8
that I begin to understand
the value of a dollar;
my sexuality indicates little
about my level of attraction
to the world around me;
agnostic is really just a term
I put because I'm still trying to
figure out whether I really
believe everything I was forced to
learn at Catholic school;
and isn't Libertarian just a fancy
word for I don't want to
choose liberal or conservative?
It's insulting to
ingest how much is
insinuated about
my depth in
the shallowest of pools.
My cheeks burn hot
with frustration as I
try to balance on a beam
cracking underneath the weight of
a world that is constantly begging me
to go back in the neatly
wrapped package from which
the world would prefer I
came.
I'm not someone
you can put in a *******
box and
label;
you can't contain my
shine behind
blackout blinds;
I will burst out of your bubble
and break your glass ceilings;
I will scream at the top of
my lungs in a soundproof room
until you HEAR me.
I'm not meant to be judged
by my cover,
and neither are you.
We are meant to be read.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
I am a knock on your door
You open up and I sneak in
Ill put your life on the market
Snarky teenagers to target a holiday demographic before fully developed concepts begin
Your backpack and notepads house your sins
A man that's tall and gets caught in the calls of women to distract from the purpose of ink pens
You're too ***** to be great
A ****** is a dead end
And a vortex for survivals' fate
Explorations of vanities' intellectual alternative gate
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
*tick all applicable
please use blue or black blood
when exercising choice
in the type of role applied for*
Liberation [✓]
Vindication [✓]
Resignation [✓]
Transformation [✓]
*do you recognise yourself
as belonging to a Demographic
Of Brotherhood.
Of Commonality
to other hurting spirits*
Hope without creases [ ]
Hope, in spite of bruising [✓]
Train without brakes [ ]
A tunnel bricked at each end [ ]
Forest fire as result of
volatile conditions
and negligent spark [✓]
*do you accept that the data you provide
not only reveals everything you would
sacrifice and be sacrificed for
it
also
counts
for
n· o· t· h· i· n· g*
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
So..
I am part of something
A middle class youthful bohemian playground
Where support is subtle, where communication is flourishing
Where everyone's expression and hard work is at our fingertips
And where losing your inhibitions takes a drink and a smile
For me.. it is a transitional period of the existential
Questions and day dreams clatter through the sieve of this moment now
Insecurity and the cons of being human slowing my feet
But not stopping them
By learning who I am, why I did what I did when I hated myself
Why I did what I did when I surprised myself
Why I did what I did when I adored myself
I can do more
I don't know what I will be to others
Anything more than an employee, customer, passenger, demographic to the wider society
Anything more than a statistic to those with too much money to know life like I do
Anything more than a short worrying quiet guy lost in thought to those local communities I fall into
Or anything more than a friend to those I have to admit more desire for
I do know though... that in 60 years I may be a bit dead
Whether my soul evaporates into the infinite colour and connection of the universe as a whole
Burns in a torturous eternal injustice because of what a book says on who I should ****
Or simply dissipates its abstract non-existence along with other gooey and chunky bits of me
I've only really got this perception, this body and this life now for definite
So...
While I'm not sure what the overall goal is yet
While I'm not sure who'll wake up next to me
While I'm not sure about a lot of things
I do know one thing
I've got one shot at this, so I better get on with it.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.
I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,
for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;
and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.
The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.
It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with *** there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
Intellectual Insubordinates Infiltrating Independently Isolated Islands...
People Positively Promote Popping Pain Pills
Do Dummies Distinguish Different Demographic Disorders
Crazy Commanders Create Confused Combat Corps
Unorthodox Ultimatums Usually Unfold United Unions
Things That Typically Transform Taint Temperaments
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
We paint your breeding world as queer
and every man a closet queen.
Your days like Noah’s now appear…
our King arrives to crown the scene.
Oh Father of progressive souls
whose neo-pagan mercy reigns,
bring union to fragmented wholes
as lovers rattle rainbow-chains.
We’re clubbing with the scribes of ***
(our fairy-dusted lying press)
who pay out cash for background checks
while prying more and praying less.
The starry heavens twinkle gay
and rainbows end in gold, you know).
To see it any other way
would harsh our high and end the show…
Your family paradigm descends
upon the Roman road to hell
where reproductive reason ends
in demographic show-and-tell.
God’s wisdom pleads in vain. What’s life
when mobs are primed for anarchy –
assaulting yet again Lot’s wife
in Sodom’s dead democracy.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Donald J. Trump:
Say what you will, but
He’s the only guy out there
Asking the obvious questions,
Common sense questions like
*“Why don’t Japan, South Korea &
The House of Saud, pay the USA for
Defending them militarily?”*
We sustain their political status quo,
We put boots on their ground, &
We provide them gold-plated munitions of
Mass Devastation
(like Mass Destruction only worse.)
What do we get? Bupkis, as in
“Bupkis Mit Kaduchas"
באָבקעס מיט קדחת
Translating roughly to
*“Shivering **** *****
The 2016 election truly highlights
A profound social shift taking shape,
A demographic division, similar to what
The 1960s called the Generation Gap.
Trump is anathema to most of our
Over-indulged, Millennial offspring;
Our privileged kids, a cohort of Americans children
Reared by blue-collar but college-educated parents,
Those of us who busted *** for our
Bourgeois lifestyle & discrete charm.
We were the Flower Children of the 60s.
We left Yasgur’s farm on a
Hallucinogenic carpet high but rudely
Crash-landed, a consequence of
Altamont Speedway,
Gasoline queues & shortages, &
Years of bipolar economics,
Replete with spinning gerbil wheel of
Double-digit inflation.
We went to work.
We got our **** together.
We settled down.
We gentrified.
Our kids?
They tell their friends they are house sitting,
But the place is the house they grew up in &
Their parents still live there.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
You can say you know me
Every little idiosyncrasy, habit and ritual
That you see me do
You can say you know me
Based on the demographic
Of the people I am with
You can say you know me
Because you have watched me cry
And heard me yell in anger
You can say you know me
Because you gave birth to me
Because you created my existence
But until you can say
"I held you rocked you fed you,
sang to you hugged you loved you"
Then you will never know me
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
It's been a dark and ***** start to the year, and altogether
too many of my heroes are dead.
Too many of the old
villains too; those familiar monsters
are gone, replaced
by new and more appalling terrors,
as fear is rebranded for a freshly emergent demographic.
All the girls are much too young for me. Everyone
is too young for me.
When they speak, I hear
only static, like
the ghosts of extinct, pre-digital
TV screens haunting the
empty beauty of their
dead channel mouths.
In the supermarket, they've taken to
playing songs I like on their
in-store radio, wedged between
corporate jingles and adverts for
two-for-one offers on
hot dogs in jars, and I'm
so irrelevant I could cry.
I'm struggling with the world and my
own inability to find somewhere
I can be in it. I can't relax, can't
stop fighting against inertia, contentment
and any hope of peace. Maybe drugs
are the answer, but I think they'd just
make me forget the question.
I feel the cold, and I
want to sleep too much. I miss
my bad habits, but not enough
to relapse. I'm not
young enough or cute enough
to get away with
this much ******** angst.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
I’m…
Sitting in my flat,
To my couch I am thatched,
Kyle’s yelling,
He keeps telling,
Me to,
Get a job,
Like walk straight into one,
I get slightly indignant,
That it’s easier said than done,
He points it out,
So his main demographic
Don’t switch off en-masse,
Ending his quasi-infographic
Combination of hot air and bad gas
Mr. Kyle’s relatable,
He makes an effort
So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves,
He’s not hateable.
SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C,
The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me
The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery
Through way of a work programme
How he has decided that I need to experience real life life,
Through legislation and universal credit,
Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it
SO my rhyming thought full of tangents
Must now come to end
As the tangent I have accomplished
Is impossible to defend.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
It’s the Shiite Protestants we fear the most.
It’s the ******* Christians
Scaring the **** out of us now.
It’s those John Birch Catholics
Making us fill our boots with ***
As in shaking, quaking in our boots,
Complete loss of bladder control
(BLAD-CON MED AD HERE.
I invite Pfizer, Merck and GlaxoSmithKline
To get in on this poem:
The poet continuing to reject the
Dying in the gutter-artist track,
Making poetry pay at last, that’s right:
A commercial right in the
Middle of a ******* poem.
Hey Big Pharma:
What are you selling?
What you got for incontinence, Babaloo?)
But I digress.
I was making a point about
Far-right Christian evangelicals,
A significant demographic within the
American electorate.
Jesus was an Aryan, they believe.
Degenerate Art, Literature, Music & Jews must go!
It’s time to purify the race again.
Time for the Huns &
Other Teutonic tribes to
Broadcast insidious seed.
Anti-Semitism rebooted.
Jew-bashing in America 8.0.
Need I remind the Tea Party that
Haym Solomon-- a Philadelphia Jew--
Financed the Revolution.
What about Bernie Madoff?
When a smart Jew goes to jail in America,
Anything could happen.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
Those types of cats can shake me
especially when you're looking your best
the Oedipus Rex yields, and you wield his complex. There are tired green eyes there
that you wont be so privileged to see unless you wait for another spring
to pass.
And all the car lots look like demographic charts: we are the Geo Metro's while they are the Cadillacs
and BMW's.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
The American Cremation society
Is offering 'hot deals'” this week.
We get pitches for Pfizer's ******
by snail mail, on Facebook, by Tweet.
Brochures for an all senior residence
litter our nightstand these days.
There silver haired ladies and gentlemen
pop pills for their nightly forays.
There are bankruptcy ads on the radio
to help manage credit card debt.
There are pill ads to help me remember
what drink used to help me forget.
The cars that they hawk to us seniors
Are designed to just putter around
Not for me Candy apple red Corvettes
To race about with the top down..
I’m stuck in the prune demographic
Where ensure and ex lax abound.
I still have my own teeth, and don’t need drugs to sleep,
But my Glasses have yet to be found…..
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
new disney film about a little girl with arthritis and two alcoholic parents and she begs them every night to stop screaming
new disney film about a child that has a father in prison and a mother that can't make rent anymore
"when i grow up i want to be a divorce lawyer" said the four year old at recess to his friends
god's mouth gave us grenades and waterlilies
"if I buy this lipstick I'll have good *** for the first time in my life"
baby you're so much more than a Consumer Demographic to me
i'm good at bleeding
i'm good at apologizing when I'm not actually sorry
if it's sad just make it sound beautiful
is that blood gushing out of your nose or are you just happy to see me
romantic banter like "did you take your zoloft?" "did you take your lithium?"
there are no princesses here
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
1. The other day I woke up to the smell of your absence clinging to my skin. I took 8 showers that day and I am still not quite sure if it's possible to feel a phantom limb where there wasn't one in the first place.
2. The way that squirrels cross the street makes a lot of sense all of a sudden. I'm sure no one told you that you have a way of making their skin crawl in the most desperate way. I still can't eat on your side of the bed without choking on the residue your dreams left.
3. I read the obituaries like I used to read the creases your smile left, they're not meant for me.
4. Stars manage to keep their deaths a secret for years I wish I were as committed to forgiveness as they were. I stuck my hands in scalding water today and left them there until they begged for redemption, it sounded a lot like your name.
5. It took me two years to find out your middle name, that is not a metaphor. I used to think that the slower I said it the sweeter it would taste. I stick my fingers down my throat hoping to find the words you left there I'm so sorry for being too weak to say them back then I'm so sorry they couldn't make you stay. I drew highway maps on the palms of my hands that led me right back into my own arms, how is that for irony.
6. Television.
7. Lips that don't bruise when they touch my own, I want a love like a car crash. I want painful, and desperate, and no good for me, I want to not want this.
8. I've blown out so many candles I'm suprised I haven't put all the stars out yet. If the universe were capitalist shooting stars would be marketing to my demographic. I would be the poster child for wishes that will never come true.
9. Novels that end exactly as you hoped they would
10. Nearly 160,000 people died in the 1945 bombing of Hiroshima, Japan. 69% of the city was left in ruin. The radiation caused by the explosion was said to effect those living in Hiroshima for the next 30 years. From what I know, hospital walls are lined with cynicism and pain and I can't think of anything worse than oblivion than near oblivion.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
is it a demographic feeling,
is it worldwide?
am I alone?
and my nightly delusions are all going to waste,
they're rusting and greying
with the realization
that I'm out of time.
the things I thought
lines from songs and little papers
crumpled up in your fist.
gone.
the yellow of an old day,
a new day,
one without anticipation.
you are going to die alone.
take your advice from a poem
and set it out like you're
dressing the table for dinner.
chains are made to be broken.
lives are made to be changed.
it doesn't matter what you think,
these things are false.
nothing is made to be anything.
hope is false as well
and we borrow mountains
to hide ourselves behind.
living in the shadow
of a decision you can't make.
there,
that's your problem.
winter is over.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
I have been advised (“…now don’t take this the wrong way”)
That I
Am too RAW…
It was suggested (“…merely a suggestion”)
That I
Water down my art…
Dilute it…
Make it more palatable…
Sugar coat
What may be bitter…
Make what is not nice
Nicer…
For the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”
Don’t expound upon
Addiction or Anger or The Streets
Politics, Passion, ********** or Love Gone Bad
Don’t say
**** or *** or Hell… or ****
Bottom line…
In the name of Money… and
In an attempt to reach a wider suburban demographic
Tone it down… sweeten it up…
Sell out….
And you know…
He’s probably right…
Commerciality does sell…
My dilemma… if I took out the
Politics, Passion, Anger, and The Streets… the
Damns , ***** Hells and *****
I may as well be Doctor Seuss…and
A cute and flowery poet~ I am not
I am what I am (a woman fully grown)
I’ve done what I’ve done (some things only Me and God know)
I’ve seen what I’ve seen (I’ll tell you about it one day)
I write about life … and
Not only is life not always palatable
It can be quite bitter...
Not only is it sometimes not nice
It is sometimes not even
Sanitary...
And if the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”
Can’t get with it…
Then
**** their ***** to hell
Let ‘em watch a ******* TV
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
“But maybe your real job is shopping…”
Sleepwalk through stock footage. Life as
documentary. Soundtrack of horror movie score:
ambient electronica, bubblegum nostalgia and
**** love songs. Everything becomes
visual metaphor: blackbirds, barcodes and
birthday candles; Big Pharma pick & mix;
lipstick ritual; pigeon superstition; fraying flags
of fading empires; migratory patterns of
shopping trolleys; special offers; fantastic prizes.
Worker bees are vanishing - they all want to
be queens - and our hives overflow
with honey, but are empty and dead. We got
infected with aspiration, with individualism.
Generically unique career consumers: remember
when you were more than your credit rating,
more than your demographic, more than your
market-driven self-diagnosis?
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC