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"deprivation" poems
THE KEY There are many keys to a door Without the keys you can't secure-keep Or open to great possibilities You're yet to reach Do your best in the present To get the key of the future Education is Key to the door of a great future The basic necessity that bridges the gap between the poor and rich I may not be rich today But with this key I will be rich someday invest wisely in education Don't let this precious gift Be a deprivation For with it we'd be Key-Leaders of the future Education- my pride: is the KEY ©LovelynEyo
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Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 6:36 AM UTC
THE KEY
You ask me If I've considered suicide Like I'm actually going to answer Honestly I mean, What would I say? Yeah that's all I think about Please, Put me on piles of medicine So I can be crazy As well as sad But let me tell you I most definitely Have considered it I've got the perfect tree picked out It's got the perfect branch For hanging yourself There's a rope already attached Or if you prefer, It's easy to climb You could always just jump These are two options But wait, I've got more There's a lake out back It smells bad But you could definitely still drown Or better still, There's a great knife in the kitchen Really thin blade But it's super sharp For minimum pain And maximum blood Yet still, There's more I've got duct tape in the basement You could make yourself suffocate Of course, You could use your pillow for that There are the long ways You could starve yourself Sleep deprivation Dehydration Etcetera So Mr. "Psychological Doctor," I don't know... Would you say I've thought about suicide?
0
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
"Psychological Doctor"
Convoluted & Polluted Distraught & Disjointed Corrupted & Addicted Emotion human condition Toil & Deprivation Choice & Inhibition Arrogance & Suspicion Make your self decision Want & Understanding Seek & Sophistication Experience & Learning All on the itinerary
0
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Simple
Sexually assaulting a woman at a burger king who moves like a crack addict, only in a subtle way. Leading me to believe she's a ********** I press my ***** against her hand on the register counter. She alerts the people here. They call the cops. Everybody I know finds out. *** deprivation... **** culture...
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May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
*** Deprivation
artificial feelings stuffed in a room dangerous proximity could finalize doom deprivation brings about illogical thoughts then it happens, and my hearts in knots side effects may include waking in cold sweat followed by hot flashes of regret but it seems like whenever the icing's enticing, i can't help but take the cake.
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Temptation
When I was eight I got very sick. I got to eat mac n cheese on the couch, and drink chocolate chip milkshakes. Today I felt sick. So I made some mac n cheese, and I sat down on the couch. I wanted the milkshake. I didn't have any chocolate chip ice cream, So I made strawberry. Then I sat at the counter and looked at my mess. The milk was out, The ice cream was uncovered and melting The blender was on its side. It looked very sad. Like it was a Roman village I had just conquered. I killed all the strawberry milkshake children. They had such bright futures until they drowned In a puddle of one percent milk. I discovered I don't like strawberry milkshakes that much. And now I have a mess in the kitchen, My car needs gas, And I smell like cigarettes and self deprivation. And everything is easier when you're eight and your mother cooks you your special sick person dinner.
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Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
Strawberry Milkshake
They tell us we need education It's a part of creation It becomes your foundation And you know what, I want to write a dissertation But there's a sly deprivation a twisted and greedy **** that creates this limitation, our gardens are drowning in them. Let's stop this perpetuation. Let's stop the subordination. We need a reforestation. They have the education yet they lack communication. Can't you see the starvation of education? It's causing me frustration. They hold the apple of knowledge and dangle it above our heads, I am surrounded by dead ends. A ********** over education. Lets demand our own salvation from this privation. How would they handle a confrontation? Or even better a collaboration? If we share education as a nation, Then we can all go to graduation.
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Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
Education
don't waste your breath telling me to get better, talk ***** to me don't hold your breath hoping i try to help myself. if you're going to hold my neck hold it a lot tighter than that, don't forget to push down on my windpipe with your palm, we're wrapped up in these bedsheets because i want you to hurt me. i want to see the rope burn on my wrists glisten where it's begun to tear away at my flesh and i like to feel real tangible knots when i'm tied up in self loathing. i struggle to find the line between lovesick and depressed or being a ********* what's the big difference. either way i wake up with bruised blue lips and oxygen deprivation, and fresh linens wet with singeing liquids, and a pain in my stomach or lungs that means i'm still breathing slightly. i wanted you to **** me.
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Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
*********
Alarm clock kicks exhaustion into gut immediately as it sounds University student jolts into day still dark 20 years later body still too daft to recognize shrill wake-up call as prey rather than predator US kills Russians in Syria strikes How to get ready in under ten minutes—life hacks you won’t believe: leave without locking the door, forget to brush your hair, and more Five reasons breakfast is the most important meal of the day Trump wants to replace food stamps for impoverished Americans Snow in the forecast for the next three days Why is vitamin D important for our bodies? Sleep deprivation: a student epidemic I’ve had panic attacks every day for the past three years—here’s how I’ve coped Accused killer says victim hired him to do it on Craigslist Want to know how to budget as a college student? Stop buying Starbucks All she has to do to claim 560-million-dollar lotto is make her name public—she refuses Signs that your friendship is coming to an end Lions eat and **** suspected poacher Tips on how to be successful after college These are the victims of the Florida school shooting Binge-drinking on college campuses and escapism: the dangers of drinking to forget Declinism: is the world actually getting worse?
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Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
Politics in the Dark
My dreams do not come attached to the ideals of my people or the sacrifices of another country. Instead I am poor and mine are clinging to life the very idea of existence. Mundane flashes-- not adventurous endeavors nor flights around the world this is what richly folks do. Simply a mingler someone whose life flourishes around the bends of florescent street lights and panhandling nearby a farmers market just after sunrise. This remnant is few as these are neighbors local countrymen who stoically face the world's deviation and deprivation from coexisting by the bonds of agriculture and personality even as a beggar it is but a joyous memento to a world that no longer thrives.
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May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
Farmers' Market: The 'Poor'
A demon masquerading as the almighty dollar; she is cunning, and she is tricky. She is beguiling, and she is illusory. Deceitful and avaricious, yet believers follow aimlessly. To have her in your possession is nothing like how it feels to be stripped of her. Those who succumb to her seduction are granted luxury and leisure; the pledge to idolize her mindlessly is engraved into our brains. Indigence, starvation; the deprivation of the green goddess is malicious. Free yourselves from the hold she has on you; from the worldly power she possesses.
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Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
The Green Goddess
A pencil dive, when you're half way down into the cool deep, finally realizing how bad you need air. Then it becomes a struggle, a battle of  pushes and pulls. It would be some much easier to give up but as your lungs shriek in despair you know its the last thing you can do.   So you get over the five seconds of struggle and you make it back to civilization again.   You continue this somewhat insane pattern of deprivation and struggle just to remind yourself how much you love the taste of air
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Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC
Pencil Dive
Hyperventilation Depleting frustration Suffocation A painful sensation Desperation Without moderation Devastation Eternal damnation Deprivation Emotional mutilation Derealization Fear escalation Depersonalization Self extermination
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Panic Attack
You say one thing And demonstrate another Most of your actions make no sense I'm tired of your tyranny Over my life. I'm starting a rebellion Against you, I'm tired of your controlling ****** behavior, yelling And grounding me for weak reasons You waking me up at 3 am To complain and belittle me Asking me questions that I'm too tired To even comprehend And punishing me for Wrong answers and bad attitudes You've taken everything from me Through sleep deprivation and Lack of free will, lack of privacy you've taken from me My sanity my kindness My little willingness for socialization My level headed disposition My thirst for knowledge and reading My creativity and imagination You've turned me into... I think your turning me into you And starting today, I'm taking myself back
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Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Rebellion
The effects of sleep deprivation on the mind Sometimes depression, Sometimes bliss, Inability to focus Yet the mind rests exactly where it needs to be I wonder if it is better to remain sane and neutral Or insane, suffering the ups and downs of emotional detriment?
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Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Insomnia
Unofficially the love warrior Locked jaw..inner locked hearts.. Exchanging pain..enduring smiles Meaningless thoughts Fading.. as I pull deeper.. What ...have ...I ...come ...to... be.. A Love warrior Spread...and conquer Divide only to reignite... Shots to the heart...close blank range.. Too Close for comfort Never comfortable in self Destruction... intolerable to the unforeseen to the forsaken eye.. Tip toe around passion..French kiss guilt trips..as Intellectual passionately strokes my love warrior soul..war is an uproar of pain..hurt..love and never being logical.. Warmth with your sweet grace....bless my inner being for loving is always a warrior when attached to something so superficial, self reliance leads to deprivation..loving me takes a warrior.. I break you down only to uplift with greatness that overflow in the fountain of defeat..slowly losing...dying to to belong..love is killing me ...warrior  spirit never letting up...love secretly unfolding times of the essence of being the love warrior.. Nikki.the.goddess
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Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
Love warrior
The villages of Algiers Well, suburbs Really, but villages Is what is said In French And heaven Knows, despite one Hundred thirty years of Colonization Brutalization Deprivation The many Algerians Still Love French. Those Villages team with men At night. At night, the women Wait Indoors Behind doors, away. Waiting. But at night the Men take the streets. At night the men crowd Streets, cut in Front of traffic, clog Cafes, stream Toward the mosque away From the mosque fill stores But mostly Mostly they Squat Sit, or just Hold up walls. They lean. Stare. Talk. They watch cars As they jostle and jolt Watch other men Walking, watch The silence The noise. Watch Stars, the Dark Still buildings The passing cat, the rhythm Of the wind, Watch the gibbous moon and It’s cycle The fullness, the waxing and waning They watch They witness The villages The suburbs The streets They watch The dead.
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
The Villages of Algiers
Two soldiers as they walk Lamenting with much despair Far away from that deadly grip Of fear and deprivation For every person everywhere In every country tribe and nation. Disposing of those clothes they wore Casting away without hesitation Removing reminders of that deadly war Making mends and new relations Building a world like never before With tears of joy on this special occasion. Two soldiers whose lives were on the line Head towards a brand new day They raise their hopes for the very first time Since they were detained so far away Behind those enemy lines Celebrating better times and future days . Two soldiers together in company Telling tales of those fearsome times Happy now they are safe and free With parties and gatherings in the street Time now to raise a glass of wine Alive and standing on there feet . So long you guns and bombs Upon this earth you did not belong You created a world of fear But now those days are dead and gone And peace time now is here Let's hope one day the world will stand as one.
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Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
After the storm the Calm.
No water tastes sweeter than that sip in the desert No touch is finer than that hand on the shoulder when encased in loneliness. No paycheck more abundant than following employment deprivation. No buffet more filling than that first bite in hunger. No more wondrous serenity than when the pain finally goes away from your mouth your back your head your knees your gut your mind. No idea more stimulating to a mind so hungry than a poem which catches the moment so perfectly. No love more appreciated than when awash in self judgement No praise more received than when lost in condemnation. No warmth more soothing than when lost in the snow. No light so bright as that first sunlight when lost in the demons of one's night. No sensation so pure as an open heart after numbness descends Compassion in hatred A laugh when joyless. A lover's kiss after betrayal A loving look after the cold white wall A loving word after tense stone silence. No embrace more healing than when you come home to me. The receding waters after the tsunami The stillness after the earthquake. The peace after the warfare. The spring flowers after the winter The coolness of fall after the blistering summer's heat. The wood stove so warm when the house is so cold. No bed so content No home so sweet after being stuck out on the streets. Duality Reality Without our joys no sorrow Without our sorrows no joy.
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Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Duality Reality
From inside I'll build a prison Bricks of self deprivation and hate There won't be bars on the windows Just flowery curtains Because it's a choice to neglect the light of day Piles of new clothes built up But I'll kick around in this old hood And watch the days fade I honestly believe I'll look back  and dwell on the days I waste But it's hard to break a cycle created by a mental cage.
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Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Old hood
remember... when you were young, very young, recently untethered from proximal parental strings... that liberated freshman rushing into a .... cave of independent studies and uninhibited sexuality... that mulligan phase of impulse and irrationality and...yes...experimentation... of wide-eyed science interns  with mother's cheeks, daddy's visa and the best animal-testing lab on the planet... with live uncontrolled studies of sleep deprivation, orgiastic tolerance, *** toxicity and the effect of extreme jello-shooting on graduation rates... and, of course, the ultra-rad LUG/GUG philosophy, the ultimate pregnancy-avoidance plan guaranteed or your STD back... then you got a degree, a real job, and a surreal 5-figure student loan balance... or was it 6? or maybe you just dropped out like bill, steve or mark... and started a revolution... ~ P (7/21/2013)
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Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Revolution 101...
some years back, not too difficile to recall, revive and animate those memories of love and disasters, but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen eighty day trips around the world, many frequent flyer  miles accumulated with trips to love disasters, interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing (sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly call true love, which is really the high of believing that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege, and sensory deprivation can  fool you, absence makes you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right, **** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless… this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for discerning the genius of genuine, when the risk is the reward maybe when your 22, even 23, you’ll be better at true discernment, but until then be wise, there is no saving the day, till your knees are scraped, and crackling and cracking heart seem like the same thing but they’re not do not confuse causality with correlation love is not your cause, be-all, or even the end-all, do the  work on your self to betterment 24/7, knowledge to be wiser comes with vive les expériences! and someday you’ll senses will be tickled, and the aroma of possibilities will arose that dormant hunger, and may be a correlation to another human in the immediate vicinity, a man, swimming in your moat without permission, then, check him out and maybe, jump in, once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers test, cause the murk is murky, and is never fraught with just rose water, but jump a few toes in and if you’re still sinking, hell he’ll find away and give him the rope to help you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as clear varnished nails with a heart radiating the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
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Jul 13, 2023
Jul 13, 2023 at 1:31 AM UTC
Once was seventeen, not so long but so very far away
some years back, not too difficile to recall, revive and animate those memories of love and disasters, but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen eighty day trips around the world, many frequent flyer  miles accumulated with trips to love disasters, interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing (sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly call true love, which is really the high of believing that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege, and sensory deprivation can  fool you, absence makes you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right, **** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless… this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for discerning the genius of genuine, when the risk is the reward maybe when your 22, even 23, you’ll be better at true discernment, but until then be wise, there is no saving the day, till your knees are scraped, and crackling and cracking heart seem like the same thing but they’re not do not confuse causality with correlation love is not your cause, be-all, or even the end-all, do the  work on your self to betterment 24/7, knowledge to be wiser comes with vive les expériences! and someday you’ll senses will be tickled, and the aroma of possibilities will arose that dormant hunger, and may be a correlation to another human in the immediate vicinity, a man, swimming in your moat without permission, then, check him out and maybe, jump in, once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers test, cause the murk is murky, and is never fraught with just rose water, but jump a few toes in and if you’re still sinking, hell he’ll find away and give him the rope to help you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as clear varnished nails with a heart radiating the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
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49
strike my eyes lovely for S. B. by way of introduction, when you have gone to confession, freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest, no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable, there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs, one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem, a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction so months later you snicker for you have been seriously self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies, trite and yellowed overused, and you read really good poetry and are slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of your own no-winsome word-smithy, no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note, and it’s the only lasting quality is the genuine nature of its intent but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality, a victim of your dissatisfaction let me explain better she messages you while the time difference works in her favor, she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted, she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation, as she cherishes this forgotten one, with words that cannot be ignored the poem**                  strikes her eyes lovely daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged   for this a compliment that any poet would weep for, be inspired by, stung into action, provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better, what writer could want for anything more! who can own this ability   accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification to strike down lovely the readers eyes, almost all once, almost excuses me forever for trying and failing so many times you smile but not in the chest where lovely needs to strike you for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then... let the moment gleam, and then disappear, again and again, stored but not restorative 11/21/18 Miami
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Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
strike my eyes lovely
strike my eyes lovely for S. B. by way of introduction, when you have gone to confession, freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest, no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable, there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs, one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem, a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction so months later you snicker for you have been seriously self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies, trite and yellowed overused, and you read really good poetry and are slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of your own no-winsome word-smithy, no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note, and it’s the only lasting quality is the genuine nature of its intent but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality, a victim of your dissatisfaction let me explain better she messages you while the time difference works in her favor, she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted, she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation, as she cherishes this forgotten one, with words that cannot be ignored the poem**                  strikes her eyes lovely daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged   for this a compliment that any poet would weep for, be inspired by, stung into action, provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better, what writer could want for anything more! who can own this ability   accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification to strike down lovely the readers eyes, almost all once, almost excuses me forever for trying and failing so many times you smile but not in the chest where lovely needs to strike you for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then... let the moment gleam, and then disappear, again and again, stored but not restorative 11/21/18 Miami
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48
Skyscrapers in every nation, Signs of mankind's aspiration, Millions of plebs face starvation, No dwellings for them, deprivation, No, skyscrapers they keep building, How many lilies are they gilding? What else could they be doing?
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Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
SUPERSCRAPERS