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Asim Javid Nov 2015
I woke up this morning and my name flashed on T.V.
They said i blew up places , they said i killed masses .
Men , women & children I murdered them all.
Who am I ?
I am a muslim and i am taking this fall.
They used my name and spread the terror.
I am not them , it surely is an error.
We, muslims, are the holders of peace , we spread love.
Why am I being  represented by their false actions.
I am a person, with different notions.
World will now brand me a terrorist.
Don't judge me by their actions , I insist.
I am not them, they pilfered my name.
They inflicted libel , and my religion to defame .
I have been robbed , robbed of my name.
I am a muslim , human like you , all the same.
My name has been robbed , my identity stolen
I deprecate the terror and mourn for fallen.
There are millions like me and humanity lies in our depths.
But we are all victims of Identity Theft* ...............
We Muslims condemn  the Paris attack.
And indeedst, thou mourneth once more
When th' lover who is to thine become
Returneth not, in thy own brevities-of love and hate,
As t'is chiding ruthlessness might not be
thy just fate.

Cleopatra, Cleopatra
Shalt thy soul ever weepest for me?
Weep for t'ese chains of guilt and yet, adorable clarity
T'at within my heart are obstreperously burning
I thy secret lover; shrieks railing at my heart
Whenever thou lurchest forwards
and tearest t'is strumming passion apart.

And t'ere is one single convenience not
As I shalt sit more by northern winds; and whose gales
upon a pale, moonlit shore.
Cleopatra, play me a song at t'at hour
Before bedtime with thy violin once more
And let us look through th' vacant glasses;
at clouds t'at swirl and swear in dark blue masses.

Ah, my queen, t'ese lips are softly creaking
and swearing silently; emitting words
of which I presume thou wouldst not hear.
On my lonely days I sat dreamily
upon t'at hard-hearted wooden bench,
and wrote poems of thee
behind th' greedy palm trees;
They mocked me and swore
t'at my love for thee was a tragedy;
and my poem a menial elegy
For a soldier I was, whom thy wealth
and kingdom foundeth precisely intolerable.
How I hate-t'ose sickly words of 'em!
Ah, t'ose unknowing, cynical creatures!
I, who fell in love with thee
Amongst th' giggling bushes,
stomping merrily amongst each other
and shoving their heads prettily on my shoulder
As I walked pass 'em;
I strapped their doom to death,
and cursed their piously insatiable wrath
Until no more grief was left attached
To th' parable summer air; and rendered thou as plainly
as thou had been,
but bleak not; and ceremoniously unheeded
Only by thy most picturesque features, and breaths.
Thou who loved to wander behind th' red-coated shed,
and beautiful green pastures ahead
With tulips and white roses on thy hand,
And with floods of laughter thou wouldst dart ahead
like a summer nightingale;
'fore stretching thy body effortlessly
amongst th' chirping grass
Ah, Cleopatra, thou looketh but so lovely-
oh, indeedst thou did; but too lovely-too lovely to me!
A figure of a princess so comely,
thou wouldst but be th' one
who bringst th' light,
and fool all t'ose evils, and morbid abysses;
Thou shalt fill our future days with hopes,
and colourful promises.

And slithered I, like a naive snake
Throughout th' bushes; to swing myself into thee
Even only through thy shadow,
I didst, I didst-my love, procured my satisfaction
By seeing thee breathe, and thrive, and bloom.
I loveth her not, t'is village's outrageous,
but sweet-spirited maiden;
a dutiful soldier as I am,
my love for thee is still bountiful,
ah, even more plentiful t'an t'is cordial one
I may hath for my poor lover. Not t'at I despise
her poorness, but in my mind, thou art forever my baroness;
Thou art th' purest queen, amongst all th' virgins
Ah, Cleopatra!
To me, if rejection is indeedst misery,
thine is but a glorious mystery;
for whose preciousness, which is now vague,
by thy hand might come clear,
for within my sight of thee
All t'ese objections are still ingenious,
within thy perilous smile,
t'at oftentimes caresses me
With relief, whenst I am mad,
and corrupts my conscience-
whenst I am sad;
Even only for a second; and even only
for a while.
But if thy smile were all it seemeth,
and thy perfection all t'at I dreameth,
Then a nightmare could be mirth,
and a bitter smile could be so sweet.
Just like everything my eyes hath seen;
if thy innocence was what I needest,
and thy gentleness th' one I seekest,
then I'd needst just and ought, worry not;
for all thy lips couldst be so meek
and thy glistening cheeks
wouldst be so sleek.

Oh, sweet, sweet-like thee, Cleopatra!
Sweet mournful songs are trampling along my ears,
but again, t'ey project me into no harmony-
I curse t'em and corrupt t'em,
I gnaw at t'em and elbow t'em-
I stomp on t'em and jostle t'em-
th' one sung by my insidious lover,
I feel like a ghost as I perch myself beside her.
Whilst thou-thou art away from me!
Thou, thou for whom my breath shalt choke
with insanity,
thou who wert there and merrily laughed with me-
just like last Monday,
By yon purple prairie and amber oak trees
By my newest words and dearly loving poetry.
Oh, my poetry-t'at I hath always crafted so willingly,
o, so willingly, for thee!
For thee, for thee only, my love!
Ah, Cleopatra, as we rolled down th' hoarse alley t'at day,
and th' silky banks by rueful warm water-
I hoped t'at thou wouldst forever stay with me,
like th' green bushes and t'eir immortal thorns,
Thou wouldst lull me to sleep at nights,
and kiss me firmly every dewy morn.

Cleopatra, Cleopatra
Ah, and with thy cherry-like lips
Thou shalt again invite me into thy living gardens,
With thy childish jokes and ramblings and adventures
To th' dying sunflowers, thou wert a cure;
and thy crown is even brighter t'an their foliage,
For it is a resemblance of thy heart, but
thy vanity not;
Thou art th' song t'at t'ey shalt sing,
thou art th' joy t'at no other greatness canst bring.

Ah, Cleopatra, look-and t'is sun is shining on thee,
but not my bride;
My bride who is so impatiently to withdraw
her rights; her fatal rights-o, I insist!
And so t'is time I shall but despise her
for her gluttony and rebellious viciousness.
T'at savage, unholy greed of hers!
How unadmirable-and blind I was,
for I deemed all t'ose indecipherable!
How I shalt forever deprecate myself,
for which!
Ah, but whenst I see thee!
As how I shall twist my finger into hers,
(Oh! T'is precocious little harlot!)
Thou art th' one who is, in my mind, to become my lover,
and amongst tonight's all prudence and marriage mercy
I shall dreameth not of my wife but thee;
Whilst my wife is like a cloaked rain doll beneath,
and her ******* shall be rigid and awkward to me-
unlike thee, so indolent but warm and generous
with unhesitant integrity;
Ah, I wish she could die, die, and be dead-by my hands,
But no anger and fury could I wreak,
for she hath been, for all t'ese years,
my single best friend.
Or she was, at least.
Oh Cleopatra, thou art my girl;
please dance, dance again-dance for me in thy best pink frock,
and wear thy most desirous, fastidious perfume;
I shall turn thee once more, into a delicious nymphet,
and I standing on a rock, a writer-soldier husband to thee-
Loving thee from afar, but a nearest heart,
my soul shalt become tender; but passionately aggravated
With such blows of poetic genuinity in my hands-
by t'ese of thee-so powerful, and intuitive sonnets.

Oh, my dear! T'is is a ruin, ruin, and but a ruin to me-
A castle of utmost devastation and damage and fear,
for as I looketh into her eyes behindeth me,
and thine upon thy throne-
so elegant and fuller of joy and permanent delight
Than hers t'at are fraught with pernicious questions,
and flocks of virginal fright,
I am afraid, once more-t'at I am torn,
before thy eyes t'at pierce and stun me like a stone,
an unknown stone, made of graveyard gems, and gold
Thou smell like death, just as dead as I am
On my loveless marriage day
And as I gaze into th' dubious priest
And thee beside him, my master-o, but my dream woman!
Oh, sadly my only dream woman!
Th' stars of love are once more
encompassing thine eyes,
and with wonder-oh Cleopatra, thou art seemingly tainted
with sacrifice, but delightfully, lies-
As I stareth at thee once more,
I knoweth t'at I loveth thee even more
just like how thou hath loved me since ever before
And thy passion and lust rooted in mine
Strangling me like selfish stars;
and th' moon and saturated rainbows
hanging up t'ere in troubled, ye' peaceful skies, tonight.

I want her not, as thou hath always fiercely,
and truthfully known,
so t'at I wriggle free,
ignoring my bride's wise screams
and cries and sobs uttered heartbreakingly-
onto th' gravel-and gravely chiseled pavement outside,
'fore eventually I slippeth myself out of my brownish
soldier's uniforms.
Thou standeth in surprise, I taketh, as I riseth
from my seat-my fictitious seat, in my mind,
for all t'is, pertaining to my unreal love for her,
shalt never be, in any way, real-
All are but th' phantom and ghost
of my own stories; trivial stories
Skulking about me with unpardonable sorries
Which I hate, I hate out of my life, most!
As to anyone else aside from thee
I should and shalt not ever be-married,
and as I set my doleful eyes on thee once more,
curtained by sorrow and unanswered longings,
but sincere feelings-I canst, for th' first time,
admire thy silent, lipped confession
Which is so remarkably
painted and inked throughout
thy lavish; ye' decently translucent face;
t'at thou needst me and wouldst stick by me
in soul, though not in flesh;
but in heaven, in our dear heaven,
whenst I and thou art free,
from all t'ese ungodly barriers and misery,
to welcome th' fierceness of our fate,
and taste th' merriment of our delayed date.
Oh, my love!
My Cleopatra! My very own, my own,
and mine only-Cleopatra!
My dear secret lover, and wife; for whom
my crying soul was gently born, and cherished,
and nurtured; for whose grief my heart shall be ripped,
and only for whose pride-for whose pride only,
I shall allow mine to be disgraced.
Cleopatra! But in death we shall be reunited,
amongst th' birds t'at flow above and under,
To th' sparkling heavens we shall be invited,
above th' vividly sweet rainbows; about th' precious
rainy thunder.
Echoes from within-
The constant ripples of these calming echoes have become my own kind of serenity.
I feel as if I am walking under water, the angel of death has struck me with his intoxicating arrow.
When these unknown echoes bounce off the invisible walls that surround me I am able to stop time.
I move to the rhythm of this darkness, sway to the tempo of the echoes that have invaded me for so long. Hell this isn’t a cold war no more. .  I reminisce over the day I made my choice. The day I was saved by these unknown echoes, the day I received this freedom that has me enslaved.

As I walked down the aisle, my shadow comforts me. I look back and smile. At least someone stayed behind.
I stood at the altar, my bare feet adorning the cold floor. Taking in all of what I deserved, nothing.
I stood at the cold altar, looking death in the face as I said my vows; I pledged my life, confessed my eternal love.  As I engraved death’s name across my chest, my empty hallow chest.

My long walk to freedom is an infinite road, a deadly labyrinth that has me going in circles.
These cold metals hold me in my right place, like gravity they hold me down, down where I belong.
As these chains cut deep into my skin, I feel a bit of relief. I still appreciate the pain that never left me.
I am filled with gratitude as this sharp razor blade embraces my flawless skin, as I receive the only love I’ve ever known.
This is the kind of love that fills me with uttermost joy, love that life could not give me.
As this sharp blade carves into my pale skin I drift into my happy place, my safe place.
The clinking sound of the cold metals sinking into my skin sends me on a rampage inside this comforting cage. If I don’t have these echoes I have nothing!

As the spotlight focuses on me, I can’t help but disappear into the background.
I am dead beat from chasing these shadows that deprecate me into nothing.
I see my pain bouncing off these walls like relentless echoes that end up in this empty space.
As this red liquid drips and dances to the rhythm of my empty beating chest I curse the darkness that gave birth to me.
This deep dark dripping liquid, matches the pulse of these echoes that surround me, these unknown echoes.
As I stand on top of this mountain that amounts to the sins against me: cases against my innocent tainted blood I can’t help but scream. I question the shadows that surround me I summon the death that gave birth to me, but what I hear are echoes of my own voice.

As this deep dark red liquid drips from my wrist I feel at ease. I feel as though I have paid the universe. I hope to lose myself in time, in space like the resonance that suffocates me.
I hope that this deep dark red pool that I lay in will help me float into the sunset. Award me the freedom I long begged for. I am tired of chipping bits of my dark soul in order to fit the picture, tired of the weight of the world on my shoulders, tired of chasing the fast spotlight. What I have, what I own, what I know are these echoes from within me, echoes unknown.
Kam Sep 2018
I. Apply foundation in a tone more perfect than the one you're born with,
doubt that there's anything beautiful in the term "natural"
blot your lips with the cherries you deprive yourself of
and wonder, "What good is difference when it's not appreciated?"

stop reading this.

II. Forget how you were born;
every freckle,
every beauty mark,
every uneven line etched into your face are nothing to be celebrated.
Deprecate yourself, you are unwound and beg this world to shape you in its eyes.

skip this line.

Society speaks subjectively of happiness, but fill your head with lies
that we're all pretty if we can keep up our disguise.
The weight of this world upon your shoulders,
alludes to being big as too much to handle.
Curl into everyone's palm as if you're so fragile,
they have to pinch the skin on your bones with the thumb and index finger.


III. Draw on the perfectly plump pout, filled with nothing but
expectations of everyone else.
Your beauty is not a privilege for anyone,
but judgment that has defined your worth.

Emprises that market upon your insecurities,
admire that solemn face in the mirror
as the reflection discourages you
at the acknowledgement of any impurities


How To Be Beautiful Lifelong

Admire the history that lives within the heartlines of your palms,
how strong you've grown, once cradled in your mother's arms.
Disregard where it is you've come from, but how much further you've journeyed forward.
I. Apply the sincerity in your best friend's voice when
                        she calls the time you've spent together, beautiful.
Do not doubt the splendor that comes from wisdom.

II. Every wrinkle you've earned,
as time gives back to you from lessons learned.
Blot your lips during the release of laughter
as saliva mists through the air,
your joy so vigorous
the ghosts residing in the graves
regret no more.

You are as you should be,
a composite of everything that gives you life
and grants you purpose.
Begging for this world to love you,
there is no fault in this desire.

They speak of happiness as if
it's only a potential-oriented concept,
Do not let your heart surround the gossip
or it's golden armor become bronzed.

III. Draw on the canvas of existence
in the brightest of hues, in the purest of love.
Filled with nothing, but expecations for yourself
say farewell to the darkness
open the curtains to light.

Your beauty is magnificent
as your name will be transcendent.
In each day we decide to be ourselves,
the poise presents itself.

You. Are. Beautiful.
And the trees about me,
      Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
      Groan with continual surges; and behind me
      Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!

Paint me a cavernous waste shore
  Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
  Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.

Display me ****** above
  Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
  And swell with haste the perjured sails.

Morning stirs the feet and hands
  (Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
  Rises from the sheets in steam.

This withered root of knots of hair
  Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
  The sickle motion from the thighs

Jackknifes upward at the knees
  Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
  And clawing at the pillow slip.

Sweeney addressed full length to shave
  Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
  And wipes the suds around his face.

(The lengthened shadow of a man
  Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
  Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)

Tests the razor on his leg
  Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
  Curves backward, clutching at her sides.

The ladies of the corridor
  Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
  And deprecate the lack of taste

Observing that hysteria
  Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
  It does the house no sort of good.

But Doris, towelled from the bath,
  Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
  And a glass of brandy neat.
I will accept thy will to do and be,
  Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,
Thy will at least to love, that burns within
  And thirsteth after Me:
So will I render fruitful, blessing still
  The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,
  Because thy will cleaves to the better part.--
    Alas, I cannot will.

Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive
  The inner unseen longings of the soul;
  I guide them turning towards Me; I control
    And charm hearts till they grieve:
If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,
  Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;
  For I have power in earth and heaven above.--
    I cannot wish, alas!

What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet
  I still must strive to win thee and constrain:
  For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,
    How then can I forget?
If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,
  Nor choose, nor wish,--resign thyself, be still
  Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.--
    I do not deprecate.
Maerius J Porter May 2014
Here lies Maerius Lee,
she lived to be 103.
She kept her virginity till she was 15
She was very good for this vicinity.!/profile.php?id=716179266&ref;=ts
Jerry Saltz Michael Reid Rubenstein: What I am about to write IS NOT A PUTDOWN of your art. You write, that "everything you see is priced under $950..." I am NOT sayiong you are a bad artist but I looked at some of those brush painting things: They are overpriced at that figure. There is no originality in the work; no spirit; no idea; no touch; risk; or whatever. I am sure many many people would not pay a dime for MY WORK! I would not pay fopr yours. Again, no disrespect intended; YOU posted it and made the offer; I thought maybe I'd buy something so I looked, is all ... ♥ Js Tuesday 12:30 PM

2 figures on stage in totally make believe situation
JERRY PEPPERZ hello Michael i noticed you withdrew your offer
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN why are you acknowledging me if you think i have no originality no spirit no ideas no touch risk whatever?
JERRY PEPPERZ oh come on Michael hasn’t your skin grown tough enough by now to withstand a little criticism you want to run with the big guys you got to learn to play hardball (smiles smugly)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN a little criticism huh Jerry you’re a published big time nyc art critic nominated for prestigious awards advisor to celebrated exhibitions visiting critic at many esteemed universities friends with renown celebrities photographed with powerful dignitaries who the hell am i to utter a whisper in your direction (smells looks away)
JERRY PEPPERZ now come on Michael i was just doing my job no need to take it so personally like i wrote What i am about to write IS NOT A PUTDOWN of your art (picks hair from shoulder flicks it)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN Jerry you got a way with words (pause) i’m just a stupid-*** painter who doesn’t stand a chance against a shrewd critic like you i think i’ll just keep zipped up and quiet (makes eye contact)
JERRY PEPPERZ but i asked you when i re-friended you on FB to be more vociferous and participatory i guess i didn’t realize how valueless your artwork is please forgive me (sniffs finger)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN didn’t do your homework huh Jerry? i keep asking myself why you didn’t send me a private message why you needed to take an earnest exchange of ideas and openly deprecate me heck you’ve never even seen my work in person your casual remarks dispute my entire life’s work credibility authenticity what you think you were being clever or cute Jerry you know how to be vicious i realize you don’t become a famous critic by being nice to people critics gain popularity because they’re ******* with razor-sharp slandering tongues you want to hear what i think i’ll tell you you’re a balding insecure little man who enjoys beating up on small time artists (is it all right with you if i call myself an artist) like me you know how to take a person’s complete career and trash it with a few choice words you can be rather mean Jerry (grinds teeth)
JERRY PEPPERZ i apologized now let’s not turn this into a regrettable incident (rubs hands together)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN at least i’m doing something Jerry instead of sitting on my **** condemning others i wonder if my work were hanging in Larry Gagosian’s Gallery and collected by Charles Saatchi how fast you’d change your tune you’re nothing more than a puppet of the rich and if you try to sue me for these remarks you’ll get nothing since you made **** sure my paintings are undeserving with your haughty dismissal
JERRY PEPPERZ would you excuse me i’m late for a lunch date with Alec Baldwin this little repartee will have to end bye Michael (turns looks down checks cell phone)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN Jerry can anything good or positive come out of this or does your mind not work that way i mean you’re a revered critic i need you in my corner
JERRY PEPPERZ you really think i’m an ******* don’t you (looks down rechecks cell phone)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN like i mentioned Jerry i’m just a stupid-*** painter not a judge or brilliant critic what i think is irrelevant what you did was cruel sadistic abusive
JERRY PEPPERZ get over it let it go just drop it Michael i really need to run Alec doesn’t like to be kept waiting he’s buying (grabs coat walks like he needs to go to bathroom fast stage right then suddenly reappears) don’t let me find out i underestimated you who do you think you are i’ll thoroughly destroy you (exits immediately)
MICHAEL REID RUBENSTEIN (shakes head) sheesh

Jerry Saltz
Jerry Saltz September 8, 2010 at 9:22am
Subject: I am sorry.
I read your comment.
I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you any pain.
I went back and deleted by commnet to you. I will now delete the comment i made to you about it.
You can do whatever you want with your comment to me; it is up to you.
Thank you,
Jerry "clever," "cute," "vicious," "*******," "slandering," "balding,"
"insecure," "little," "beats up on small time artists," "take a person’s complete career and trash it with a few choice words," Saltz
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.
Tara May 2019
I can’t love myself,
but I still need to be okay,
because all I need is to survive,
and love won’t always get me by,

people leave in the coldest ways,
and one day I’ll want to leave myself,
and break my own heart,
because loving myself was a joke to start,

I won't drown in self hate,
but I refuse to live in a trap and deprecate,
maybe now the sun and moon could agree,
and let me live somewhat happily.
"I have turned around twice with my eyes sealed
and the woods were white and my night mind
Saw such strange happenings, untold and unreal
And opening my eyes, I am afraid of course
to look-this inward look that society scorns
Still, I search these woods and find nothing worse
Than myself, caught between the grapes and thorns."
Anne Sexton, Kind Sir-These Woods

Examine the looking glass
And confront the sleep-deprived coward,
Who wastes away his hours
In a forsaken tower.

Uncomfortably sporting skin I deprecate,
The skin of a hypocrite I've endeavored to escape.
Hankering for an empathetic reader to
Not pass these words by,
Because by circumstance, they can relate.

What state of mind would an artist
Be in without an audience?

One that is unfulfilled, starving, and jarring,
His or her work habitually
Unnoticed in enveloped darkness,
Then discovered a millennium later
Like a caveman's carvings.

But I am hardly an artist,
And that which is inducing your eyes
To sway left to right is not worthy
Enough to be classified as a work of art.
I am certain my mediocrity has worsened thus far,
Or it may be that I'm simply playing a card.

Either way, I would not blame
The aforementioned, hypothetical reader
For not making it this far.
My apologies, the blueprint I had in mind,
In the process of writing,
Became unintelligibly marred,
Like an optimistic womb-man
Relinquishing a newborn
From her blood-splattered ******.

A month or two ago, my oldest brother Tay
Directed a question towards me.
He inquired as to whether or not I loved myself.
I was ashamed to give him an earnest answer.
Yes I could have lied, but a lie only does so much concealing....
I have said too much already,
And I realize what you're reading is much too revealing,
Loathsome and lonesome as I am...

For Anna, poetry was primarily
A psychological exorcism of inner demons,
And for me it's the same.
I also throw parties for them,
Which are organized by someone very close to me,
He goes by Pity.

It's possible that he has inspired
The spontaneous, salty droplets of water
Emerging from my eyes while I sleep,
Explaining why I've occasionally awoken with damp cheeks.
His most cherished companion is a former Christian
Hell-bent on personal redemption.
It's quite easy to see how my interdependent desires,
Thoughts, and actions are in continual contradiction.

I dabbled in a taboo I'd never thought I'd stoop to,
And consequently I'm confronted with
The stigma I've been reduced to.
I pursued a thrill until it
Transformed into an obsession,
Now I glance at the looking glass,
Unable to bear my own presence.

Originally written in 2013
Revised in 2014

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Katy Turner Jul 2013
My nails are perfectly manicured, and nice to look at,
But they took ten minutes to start punching the keyboard.

Lethargy is not beautiful.

They had no trouble gripping the stem of the martini I mixed,
With a few of the pickled ingredients that were supposed to mask the heavily peppered *****,
But my lips still burn with every dipping.

Only after settling on self-indulgence,
Did I start pressing down on the sticky keys.
I used a lot of commas,
And I painted satisfactorily crap images,
that would allow me to describe destruction.

This rotten passage lets me fantasize about slamming my laptop shut,
Gripping the end between my two fat lazy hands,
And slamming it against the ****** living room wall
That separates me from my ****** bedroom.

My words are violent,
But that just isn't enough.

When you can’t blame emotions on a subject, or a person,
You can transfer them to something physical.
You can crumple it, shatter it, burn it.
You can destroy and indulge in your heavy soul.

You can self-deprecate


This is a work in progress.
spysgrandson Nov 2011
we are
all plagued
by some churning remnants
of haunting pain and shame
but we are not to blame
for repentance oft falls short
no matter how much we try to exhort
these murky maddening memories to depart
they flow yet in even the purest heart

for me
my crimes, too many to enumerate,
will all cause me to self deprecate,
but of the ones I seem to recall
the deed that taunts me most of all
was the simple thoughtless movement
of two five year old fingers
I used
to crush
two sublimely blue
robin's eggs
in a nest
on a promising bright afternoon
in the dark land of memory
when I was 5, in 1957, a friend showed my 2 robin eggs in a nest--I touched them, not realizing how fragile they were, and crushed them both--I don't know if it was the act itself that stuck with me, or the comment from my friend (an older man, likely 7) who said the robin would find me and peck my eyes out
Zero Nine Mar 2017
Back *****
Glass won't shatter
Lens can't demonize
Soft serve
Flesh form
I won't crumble
Just age
Gaze can't shatter gaze can't shatter
Gaze can't shatter
And I recite, face looking back in fear
PH Jun 2011
Everybody knows.

We've been here this whole time.

You're closer than you think-

Your address isn't hard to find.

Trapped alone and on display,

like all of us here.

Relinquish your seclusion

for a cheap opinion or two.

Reality fumbles

to keep up

with this consortium of bums

that look unto a crowd as if to see a mirror.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, I thought it clever."

"But you don't like it?"

"I don't understand."

Divorce yourself

from the idea.

Grasping for straws.

If no one agrees, how can it be so?

Staring in the dark,

etching silhouettes on the wall.

Fooled into waiting

for anonymous approval.

How fragile our ego;

self-deprecate unless instructed otherwise.

Sing out loud, crave the applause;

drown in only the echo.
slightly revised 11/2/11
shayla ennis Nov 2014
Don’t deprecate  the seductiveness of darkness.
Even flawless hearts are drawn to it.
   The sight of blood Calls to me
A craving to take life
Blood dripping from your veins
The pulse of your heart beat
The breath from your lungs
To take it all away
To ****** you to my world
To make you
The silence of your heart
That beats no longer
The air in your lungs silenced
The blood in your veins
No longer warm but cold
Death as welcomed you
Darkness as lured you
Like me blood is life to you

By black rose
欣快 Jan 2017
The sequence idles for a bit then undulates
shall I leave or stay wait for you to collapse
on me like a ton of bricks or a roiling wave

My starvation for your presence and the increasing
loneliness I have, palpitates its manifestation
on tear stained pages and overwhelmingly cheesy tropes

that make it seem so unbelievable, how did all
of my life here and the past lead me to be writing
all of these sentences to deprecate all my life's choices~

I am an armada with holes in its hull
a meteor burning up in the mesosphere
the girl you met sort of once and forever marked you

I'm insane for launching headlong into loving you
Life is passion and I have to have it~
clear skies and gantries releasing my rockethead into space

I just wish settling down was not the only stigma
that prevented your engagement in the leap of faith
and direct contact was all you wanted for all these nights
Joshua Fenner Sep 2014
Sleep can't help me now. Nothing can help
me now. As many people care, and as sure as I am that the number of people that do care is less than or equal to zero, I still regret waking up every day. How hard is it to feel

When do the days grow into hours grow into grow in grow to the
     top of the forest where the environment sways back and forth
          on unstable ground where everything is constantly shifting
and sinking deeper and
                           deeper and
                           ­      e
                           ­        p
                         ­            r, to the point where nothing even matters anymore and the only sounds anybody hears are just the bittersweet echoes of whatever ounce of sadness you still have saved for a special occasion. Represent the resentment that resides in the recesses of your wretched receptacle that reaches for any affection afflicted amorously to our attached arteries and alveoli and attend to any of our other needs. Remember not to cast asunder others or to deprecate mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers who should love one another for each other as well as the lovers who quiver and shudder at affection and attention reflected at their functioning conjunction of otherworldly love for one another. Know what you want and need and see to it that you get to be the best you could be and tell yourself to be free! Scream to your creators and scream to yourself that I, yes I can be whatever I want to be and whatever social constructions will not let me see, then I wish to be freed and I get down on both knees and pray to whomever will hear my dreams.

Know that there is no being more powerful in your life than you. You are the Alpha and Omega, the Logos and the Pathos, the Shakespeare and the Limp Bizkit. Everything that you ever want is an achievable aspiration, and all you need to do is know. Know. Know. Know. Know. Know that when you grow old and frail and brittle that your body will ache with the experience of a person who has been to hell and back and maybe back to hell one more time because you were young and never learned. So play games, jump and run, dance and sing, do something you'd never do normally, try out for the play, play sports, write a poem, write a song, write anything at all, talk to people, talk to strangers, sleep for 4 hours instead of 8, sleep for 12 hours instead of 4, think and think and think until it drives you to drink and think some more. Know that you wish and wish to know that everything you want and need is obtainable and in your reach. Life is alive and wants you to live, so show Life respect and do what it wants you to do: Go.
Subrata Ray Sep 2014
My Relations

Don’t know why and how ,
In my mother’s womb first ,
My shelter was destined with His trust .

Then on earth , -a strange place ,
Wondering eye ,hovering grace ,
Started my second phase .

Sense to things with name ,
Attraction’s ******* came.
Feeling and body began to play,
In the house of my earthly clay.

My dumb reflected on alphabet ,
Letter to sentence , opening gates .
Mother , father ,sky and bird ,
Came up as integral part .

The exposed nature with concrete form ,
And the thoughts of the past in bookish norm ,
Mates and teachers ,the warning bell ,
Entered in to my reforming cell.

Then in a cloudy and stormy morning ,
The drudgery of lively hood in me springs.
Tidal of love for fair *** ,
Cut my being with a sharp Axe .

A room within room ,
Sun rise and gloom ,
With new Me’s and She’s ,
Sprouted in my mid-day’s lease .

My negligence to my inherited friends ,
Resulted deprecate ,decay of strength .
They proved a threat to my worldly stay ,
And pushing me back to the invisible bay .

Now I seek what my relation is ,
If you can do it please .
No where no where whisper my soul,
A fool you are ,hence no goal !!!
Nathan Raux Nov 2018
When, when I thought it was naught but conspiracy,
That it'd be comic, a joke, not a would-be plea,
Who, who'd hit and break, swung, a shillelagh,
Hard wood strength, a bludgeon, a sequence, simply plainly,
What, what roots from prejudice so inclined to the contrary,
Brought harm to one's self, a broken goal to be free,
How, how the past, beyond belief, it'll truly see,
Deprecate the future held deep beneath seas,
And finally,
One last breath that awakens a crisp and unveiled gaucherie,
Picked like grapes in a heavenly vinery,
Why? You tell me.
I made this after learning someone had also had a crush on my ex-crush which I  learned to be sexist. I guess I still continue to question myself about how I feel. Also, I'm back! Yay. Written: 11/12/2018
TussyLambz Aug 2017
Living in a city of empty people
peeking through my peephole
surrounded by weak souls
I'm forgetting what is real

Forgetting how to ******* feel
Beliefs heavy as concrete
humanity's Achilles' heel, still

I get no sleep
see theses webs of deceit
see me question everything
From our origin to corporate extortion

distortions of historical proportions
If no life is worthless
do the math and divide the portions
Factoring in that a few hoard fortunes

So in the end what is really important?
Sporting Jordans at the performance?
Or forming meaningful communities
with other human beings

The type that have me believing
that there is strength in unity
And that living life beautifully
is worth more than greed achieves

So I am not speaking of Utopian fantasy
but I am so dope the status quo can't handle me
so "put your hands in team"
and recognize life is more than just existing

we are on the verge of mass extinction
but, oh so captivated by television
social media and religion
all program us to stay in position

we have our own vision
but it has become tradition for us to follow
so repeat this motto:

"Live life as if there is no tomorrow"

'Cause we borrow time every day
So it is safe to say one day it will all be taken away

With no replays, I hope the words I say crash like waves
'Cause once awake you are never the same
I may hate a lot about the current state
But I cannot even place the blame

I would rather self-deprecate
If it would do a ******* thing
Like address climate change
Or increase the minimum wage, I am just saying

Let's debate a path to take to avoid dark fates
Let's make the world a better place
and forget about the word race

'Cause it still frames a way to segregate
Police profile people that they incriminate
generating prison profit off of slaves

Our priorities are obviously nonsense
At what point can we no longer stop this?
What the **** is this that you call progress?

I feel stress in my bones
and I know I am not alone
my environment isolates me from those that I know
my confinement makes me feel like I am on my own

So I scroll through my phone
looking for something
anything to give my life meaning
Somebody, please cut the seams at the borders of  my being
Releasing my inner-beast as I breathe in peace just this evening

listen here:
What if I can't look again?
Without disliking the words I say
I'm a manic
And the words in my head never truely translate
I wanna be a artist and create
Banish all forms of hate
That self deprecate
I wanna be happy and smile
But I can wait for a while
I'm impatient
But not like before
6am to see if Santa's called
Is this even good I question it all
But I've realised to move forward I have to scale every wall with due course.
Dustin Dean Feb 2017
Impervious to the oscillating fans of time
It ran into all man made obstacles
The question burned on the final cross
“Were you the real master all this time?”
Until I staked it with the sword of progress
Soon enough, we turned into rats
A sense of humor was well written
Into the natural order of all things
But I still had to pick off dead skins
From my head onto the winds
Leading me to self-deprecate
I wondered, what was the point?
Grasping at that marage of me
Burning homework in fifth grade
Pillars of bright fuzzy bliss
Surrounded the flames around
I climbed and I climbed up one
Until I reached a pulsating hue
I touched it and the bell rang
I looked down to see superiors
Laughing, for I had to fall down
Then, I felt the rope burn
Ashley Feb 2018
Do you choose or will you blame this on fate?
Your insolence is inescapable
And yet I allow thee to deprecate
Myself till I become incapable.

With such malice it cannot be legal,
Abusing ignorance, I must comply.
You call me chicken instead of eagle
So I dig, peck, and scratch when I could fly.

Departing once I realized your lies,
Fleeing with haste, there was zero forbearance.
So arrogant it took you by surprise,
that I did not heed your crude deterrence.

I will return one day, not to abhor
but to demonstrate, how high I can soar.
Mosaic Oct 2017
To deprecate defile reality uncertain
Drawn are curtains using l
Of mental metal mass produced perception broken compass lipblocked direction affection anntenaes through
Hippocampus can't this be a repeat
Record second scratchin me raw
Hit delete

Noxious talking called small
Bout the weather
I'm no flying machine
Stuck on cloud nine with desentzied time
Sundialing for conversation catch 22

Feeling cotton candy
Lack of oxygen
In-house run house round me
Living post patriarchal society
unnamed Apr 2017
I have lingered in the shadows of deceit
Where the bonds of love and kindness never meet
I have tasted every tear ever cried
In the face of honesty I have lied

I have let love slowly fade away
And arms stretched out in need I kept at bay
Acts of kindness and forgiving I did deprecate
Links to the past had sealed my fate

And I have cried alone
Wyatt Jun 2018
I am a man
who’s barely alive,
“I am the pen who
hates when you write.”
I am that feeling
which makes you sigh.
I am a knife
that carves little lines.
There’s a pounding in my head,
an incredible sense of dread.
Dope my mind full of meds,
I’m sick of cleaning up the mess.
Putting my pencil down, giving up,
for surely I have failed the test.
So much sadness inside
that I must always address.

I hope you don’t think
that I like writing
about how much
I wanna die currently.
I hope you don’t think
these words are a show,
I don’t get a bunch of kicks
from living down below.
Know this is real for me,
call it an autobiography.
I don’t like repeating myself,
falling prey to the same trap.
I’m not relishing in the relapse.
I always find lies in the fact.
Death seems so matter-of-fact
which may be why
I gravitate towards it
and reject my signs of life
which leave me perplexed.
Ease my presence,
don’t complicate my existence.

I hope you don’t think
that I wanna be this way
although every day
I play tug of war with
self-destructive thoughts.
Do I wanna motivate
or deprecate how far I’ve come?
If you can relate
then let me tell you
I’ve got no answers
for our plentiful problems,
so I want you to live
hard enough for the both of us
because I wanna take
the easiest ways out sometimes.
I’m selfish most of the time.

I’m sick, I’m too depressed
but you already know that.
I must confess,
I think a lot about death.
It’s no habit anymore,
it’s more like a regret.
I could have been long since dead
but I want to see it all for myself
how dark this picture can get.
It’s the only reason I still exist.
If only pain killers could **** the pain,
they more-so give the pain a jacket.
Covering up,
hoping it soon passes.
It never does,
new hurt only attaches.
A glimpse of hope
but I murdered chance.
next to a set of matches.
I’m much too cynical
to remain passive
because pain never passes.
Jerry Feb 2018
Someone should adore Attitude
someone would pour Multihued

someone should appreciate Madness
someone would deprecate Sadness

someone should defeat austerity
someone would breed prosperity

someone should expect hope
someone would accept wandering souls
Tryniti May 30
Am I offering myself a knife to the heart?
Have I unsheathed my dagger?
I think not, I think not
Have you accepted your role, your part?
Would you admit your weakness, your stagger?
I think not, I think not

Deprecate my sense of taste and saunter away
Did you think I'd lay down and take it?
I think not, I think not
Putting my life on hold every single day
Did you think I could fake it?
I think not, I think not

My soul is music, and my heart is sound
Could you feel my past haunting your remark?
I think not, I think not
I looked for your empathy, it couldn't be found
Did you care if your words were stark?
I think not, I think not

Let me tell you this one time
Will you listen to such a girl?
I think not, I think not
What's been taken, was always mine
Did you notice when you broke my world?
I think not, I think not...
Written 05/22/2020
Julian D Aug 2018
Dry thou tears young man,
"I can't, I can not resist the temptations,"

my urge to deprecate who I am,
my readiness to comply, I am a defeatist,

sunken as cobalt blue, at the very bottom of the ocean,
who am I, this detested anatomy that walks around,

unclear of destination, bewildered and drowning in my thoughts,
salvation couldn't save my faults.

— The End —