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"desensitised" poems
Do we, as a people, deserve to be critised? Have we as a nation become so desensitised to the plight of those among us who are marginalised? Do we care nothing for the less well off, the disenfranchised? Rents and cost of living as high as we have ever known, numbers on the breadline and homeless have consistently grown, so many suicides because people feel so desperate and alone, how can we stand by and let this happen to so many of our own? So many families torn apart and utterly devastated, Far too many of our young people reluctantly emigrated, People losing their homes, heartbroken and humiliated, There is not much about this country now to be celebrated! It’s true that during the recession most people lost a lot But was it the booming economy that really started the rot? Did we start judging each other by how much each had got? Was compassion for our fellow man something we forgot? Though going through hard times we still give much to charity many services only possible because people work voluntarily but the government rub their hands together with unashamed glee Are they right to think our actions absolve them of all responsibility? Though all of us are struggling, each with so much on our plate   Should we not come together, do something before it is too late? Surely the plight of these our people should prompt a national debate? to ensure our government meets the needs of every last citizen of our state. The frightening thing is, it could so easily be you or I left unemployed or homeless, or barely scraping by we cannot just dismiss it, the signs are all there and if the present is anything to go by, will anybody care?
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May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC
Does Anybody Care?
Do we, as a people, deserve to be critised? Have we as a nation become so desensitised to the plight of those among us who are marginalised? Do we care nothing for the less well off, the disenfranchised? Rents and cost of living as high as we have ever known, numbers on the breadline and homeless have consistently grown, so many suicides because people feel so desperate and alone, how can we stand by and let this happen to so many of our own? So many families torn apart and utterly devastated, Far too many of our young people reluctantly emigrated, People losing their homes, heartbroken and humiliated, There is not much about this country now to be celebrated! It’s true that during the recession most people lost a lot But was it the booming economy that really started the rot? Did we start judging each other by how much each had got? Was compassion for our fellow man something we forgot? Though going through hard times we still give much to charity many services only possible because people work voluntarily but the government rub their hands together with unashamed glee Are they right to think our actions absolve them of all responsibility? Though all of us are struggling, each with so much on our plate   Should we not come together, do something before it is too late? Surely the plight of these our people should prompt a national debate? to ensure our government meets the needs of every last citizen of our state. The frightening thing is, it could so easily be you or I left unemployed or homeless, or barely scraping by we cannot just dismiss it, the signs are all there and if the present is anything to go by, will anybody care?
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and suddenly i can see them, colours like i've been so oblivious to their existence before. i notice the yellow rim around my towels and the redness of my lips, the shampoo bottle is actually blue and my scrunchies reflect deep purple. like my eyes and my soul have become desensitised to the beauty surrounding my life. A life full of colour. I don't want to merely exist anymore, I am happy to be alive.
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Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 7:32 AM UTC
A Life Full of Colour
We need to find a new space of revolution, Beyond this place of pollution. Democracy’s dying - the chambers of brick and bone can no longer hone the power effectively, And besides, the mortars crumbling. Grumbles echo between screens until the rumbles bubble then burst and tumble onto the streets, but cries are few and weak. The masses are meek. ‘To question the system is extreme’ media teams scream while they profit from the chaos and hide behind headlines. The bourgeoisie sit comfortably as their bunkers are fortified, Happy to capitalise on destruction and dramatise death. Their crimes are discreet, And steeped in deceit, Yet they remain unburdened by the bodies that pile at their feet. Why bother searching for answers when science is censored and senses are dulled? They want us senseless, Immune and desensitised to the countless lies and ecocide. “Not our species, not our problem” But it’s both and more. Our streets, Our future, Our planet. When will the lesson sink in? When pollution is skin deep and soil bares only the spoils of war? The climate crisis takes no prisoners, favours neither rich nor poor. Your wealth can’t save you.
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Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 5:25 PM UTC
Ecocide lies
Walked down to the river at midnight - Used to be terrified sneaking through that Lampless village in the dark, Could hear villains from a horror story calling, Over the precipice of each passing garden wall. But now I'm impervious, Desensitised by hourly hauntings, Which whisper that my adult brain itself Is the spectre and the jangly skeleton, That once lurked round those corners And chilled my childish bones.
0
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Horror Story
Fleeting eyes of despotic marauders desensitised clones bound to extremist orders martyrs to a God non-existent, fake pretending to liberate but instead they take bone and flesh flying like bits of confetti killing anything be it two or twenty spreading their faith with blade and explosive ideologies sickening, unjust and corrosive unsung heroes, are we forever in their debt? Their sordid acts spilling blood, tears and sweat - tell me Radical, does God really give a sh*t whether the bullet from your gun misses or hits? They care for no one but themselves and their kind stomping upon our future and leaving destruction behind - watch out my friend, any stranger could be one of them for its not a matter of 'if' but a matter of when.
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Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
IS; Idiosyncratic Stupidity
My head on another desk Grandpa’s words echo between my Ears – somewhere – spanning tired Fatigue ‘listen to your teachers’ Traffic, static mumbles somewhere Beyond the glass walls of this crucible Quiet civilians desensitised To the sound – Reminds me – of the sound of the Urban sea Through a conch shell. The carpeted walls muffle my mind – Like earmuffs absorbing my Words and thoughts Jumping electron shells in an Excited state of bored Releasing the light of light – Light-hearted scribblings. I confer with an open page He offers lines and I typeface The space I need in solitary Confines of the brain. Soon I will be called – and Questioned in expectation – What crime have I committed? But heavy exhalation [I wonder how many modest Strangers I could irritate with Heavy breathing??  Maybe but I’ll Try another day, alright? – awake] Right now the sigh is in my mind As I consciously start myself again.
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Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Starting Again
Chewing upon fingers rotten and curled knowing everything makes sense in a senseless world inglorious, bedridden, they hide behind trees - serving up genocide, well-spoken and civilised clawing at the insides of our sordid society wearing TNT like it's the latest fashion they smile politely and walk upon our streets - brainwashed and stupefied, Dumb-hounds corrupted and paralysed crawling down the path of a religion birthed from self-righteousness and bomb-smoke upon their jealousy, their juvenile blinding faith we suffocate, gag and choke visualising the world from eyes of despotic marauders selfish needs defeats the objective desensitised clones bound to extremist orders innocence green-eyed and bastardised reciting prayers bound together with cyanide they call upon a Lord that no longer cares alas the tendril of insanity catches them unawares for 'tis within the womb of bloated belief that martyrs are bred, sanity unreeling, dangerously unfeeling, and willing to allow our streets run red.
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May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Dumb-Hound Dawgs
Brushing up against me, except a caress isn't as welcome as a whisper Dragging prehistoric pills into my nose with the pull of memories that prefer to stay whispers It's these desensitised nights that remind me of what was once so loud And loud is quiet to me what is inaudible to others under yellow spectrum of silver-gloss, enough in god and without loss I swallow the capsule and taste the nothingness and shake my head to hear ringing and see other, rarer colours- ones your eyes could hint at And to be an ultra-deterrent that kills without touching the lives it is bluffing, I cannot suture the fracture in my future to be god, no To be semi-real, perhaps I am not as prolific as I pretend to be Each facet is another winter day I wish wasn't sunny and mocking me To be what you define reality, you are a part of me And a part of yourself is what you have let me define My harbouring hunger havocs soft And if what I inhale makes me become transparent, will you still see me? What's real isn't what I can reveal, my dear Isn't it broken, the alignment in our stars To shift the glow, evermore I determine the order You determine me Isn't it irreparable, the crackling phenomenon existing between our gazes We both know it is, and we love to fall victim to it, gracefully or not -c.j. and Joshua Haines
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
sometime in the thirteenth month (feat. Joshua Haines)
I’m sure sometimes even doctors have to practice telling bad news, until eventually they think they’re desensitised. But I’ve seen when they have to tell themselves it’s a just story, to deliver it without crying too. A little vial of blood determined the difference between losing life and growing it. You were something I never thought I’d have, the news was delivered like a punch to my ribs, even after the fist had left I still felt the pain between each breath. You could have been gorgeous, could have smiled at me from bed every step of mine reminds me of the ones you will never take could have laughed at school and become the cure to our misery. Instead, you became the cause; a tender bruise too new to touch, a ripping of my stitches, the beginning of my end. To this day I imagine your smile in every baby. I hear your every laugh and every cry through them — every video of first steps reduces me to tears for they, could have been yours. It’s cruel of mother nature, to remind us something as common as life can be so precious, so fragile that just a crack in the window in a sheet of glass, thin as my patience, lies between life and death and can leave us both breathless.
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Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 1:21 AM UTC
Mother’s Nature
There are no bars, Its still a prison: My little blue bird. Softly sing in my ear So your song may flood my person. Amidst your music there is no wind, Breezes cease around you. Floating with my feathered friend on the quiet calms of desensitised living. I see of your gracefulness, other eyes are not so kind: Brittle men and rigid woman. They've never heard you sing. Still my heart and close my eyes; And Sing me all your lullabies. Oh Little bird o' feathers blue, In my ear shes hums her tune. I beg dont fly, Stay at my side a harsh world sits beneath you. Without a song, i hear outside The people make me lonely. I need you back, come to my window, And sing to me of empty days, i recede at peace and just observe, With numb songs from my little bird. My little blue, bird. She only sings a single word. May time please not forget her.
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Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
Twice Daily
2nd quarter: you brought me to places i had never been and introduced me to a world i had never known before. you taught me about heights and i learned to trust you as i fall. you showed me the depths of a world that i had heard of; but never quite knew of its existence - until i met you. you showed me the breadth of the universe and showed me just how far the horizon could go. and the places you took me, i could never go back and i have never been back since. the last time i tried, i got so overwhelmed that i had to sit down and curl myself up, contracting my muscles, reminding myself, you/ are/ stronger/ than/ this but that did not stop my melancholic self from the innate desire to drown myself in a bottle of whiskey; even with my father just centimetres away. 1st quarter: it's time you stopped fearing, and learned to let go. for the places that once held these memories will eventually lose their vile allure; and the minute you let go is the moment the hold that the past has over you vanishes. and maybe you will go to these places once again and think of the days you spent there, and realise that you feel nothing at all. you are not desensitised. you are no longer controlled by your past. you are free. embrace it.
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
a place that we had once been to
This sadness is but a phase The numbness will take away But it seems in humane To feel nothing Isn't that something?
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Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
Desensitised
My scars tell a story A much more permanent memory Left by life's indelible mark Mostly trauma's hallmark Reminding me that my tormentous past was real That I had wounds even if they eventually healed Some will fade, but most will persist And those are the ones that will teach a lesson A reminder that they will always show where I've been but never dictate where I'm going A promise that ultimately something positive comes out from the broken Although the history behind it is pitiful The future holds something much more beautiful 49 stitches, desensitised and disturbingly serpentine 13 inches of a rugged and raised line So macabre you can't look without flinching But I have come to gaze upon it without cringing My scars may not look appealing But are still a sign of healing They say I took a hit but I survived They are but evidence of the life I lived The strongest and best of people have scars So I'm glad my wounds and stitches left a scar So like jewellery I show off my skin which has been marred For everyone to see, like the scars of the universe; the stars And maybe it will teach others that they can also heal No matter the injuries they suffered, it doesn't have to be their Achilles heel. R. Q.
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Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
MY INDELIBLE MARK (Nature's Golden Repair)
Letting someone touch me is like dancing with the devil. The way I flinch whenever someone goes to touch me or the way I have to try and train my brain that the boy that is holding me at night now isn’t trying to choke me when he moves his hand around my face - all reminds of a duet dance the stumbling and passion. 
Touching me in the slightest is like balancing on our toes to tango and I hate that my past still haunts me to this day and I think that everyone in my room with an outstretched hand has a gun behind their back and that at any moment a sweet encounter could be something else. Something terrifying, a reminder of why I don’t trust guys and why I’m so desensitised to the violence - why don’t my eyes close and let me snooze or drift into a place where I cannot be hurt? I am an adult that is learning to trust and to love from the start again - learning the basics of human connection and communication and sometimes I wish you could see through my eyes just to realise how dark the other side really is.
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Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
Close Encounters
Hooked on to the drugs My doctor gives me He tells me not to skip a day But i feel it's the meds That's making me feel this way. He says its my only hope But i can't feel my heart no more He says i got to take em twice Before and after meals If only i got hungry like i did before My doctor is a very nice man But i don't believe in his plan he says regular walking will Stop the talking. but the voices follow me till bed. my doctor says he understands by his voice i think he's the only one who can So i take his pills and advice. But I wonder does he really know whats it like To be undoubtedly desensitised.
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Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
desensitised
it's the ache in my chest and the tingle in my palms the ***** of tears at the corner of my eyes that makes me think makes me wonder what it is to truly feel what love is like as young as i am and as innocent as i seem amidst the world desensitised and numb i don't understand and maybe that's okay for now because from my own experience from what my own fingertips feel from what my eyes have touched and from what my ears have solemnly listened it is a kind of pain we often yearn for.
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Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
feel
It's so prevalent No day passes without a mention Be it a Devine prophesy The apocalyptic revelation To be human is to war The unfortunate experience of battles Unknown Thoughts that occupy our inner minds The traumas of war are real Are there winners in any war! It's clear that there are victims everywhere A distraught progeny Desensitised through their experiences Dispossessed of their inheritance Disposition end from what they hold dearly Living a nomadic existence Despised whererever they go Disintegrated from society Due to a fear of the Unknown
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
What about war!
Naturally tranquillised or desensitised by outside interference and here around the circumference I'm being discussed in some great conference by authors of the intifada a guard rail and thank god for it stops me from falling into **** creek next week I may not be so lucky as the outcome of said conference might just be about to **** me. and anyway these people **** me every day I lose a little more of the will I owned and many times before I die I'll die and die until even death turns around and asks me, why oh ******* why? I shall overdose go comatose I suppose that's what they'd like to see, but being me I won't, I'll stick around to be a constant thorn make them ******* wish to have not be born I can be a ***** a butch a screaming Lord ******* Such and if you don't know that you don't know me.
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Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
One from a scroll
He feels too much. I don't worry when he's like this. But when he becomes desensitised by it all.. Numb.. That's when I will be frightened.
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Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Numb
It was a day where the sky cried for me and I cried for me too it was a day where I decided to ignore the cuts and bruises I gifted myself as a present and keep walking on the smashed tiles                   I was desensitised to the ache but every slash that broke my skin seemed to give release looking in the mirror, the eyes that blinked back carried no colour the mirror cracked under the sting of my hateful gaze and for some reason my knuckles bleed from this drop …… drop oxidised deep red stains followed me to the timber balcony the wood absorbed every distress from me and the sky the silence on my mind as the rain played with my face was disturbed by wondering of what it would be like on the other side of the world where there was a small barrier between fire and eternal peace
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Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC
No feeling