"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?
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC
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.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 7:32 AM UTC
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.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 5:25 PM UTC
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.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
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.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
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.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
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.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
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
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
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.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 1:21 AM UTC
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.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
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.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
This sadness is but a phase
The numbness will take away
But it seems in humane
To feel nothing
Isn't that something?
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
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.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
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.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
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.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
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.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
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
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
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.
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
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.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
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
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC