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"detriments" poems
People may tell you to not cry... I won't because I know the difference. They think they know when in fact they lie... I say bury yourself in the deepest of detriments. They may say that a new day will come... They only spout what they can't comprehend. They forget that you are ailing from a broken heart and that you're not dumb. There's only you in your space, alone you stand... Textbook responses are all they can offer... They know not that it'll only make things worse... There can be no replies so nice and proper. To rid you of your life, your plight, your curse. They may even share personal events that they think familiar. Thinking what worked for them may work for you. But no two situations are the same, albeit looking quite similar. At the end of the day, you only owe it to yourself to pull yourself through. I say feed your pain, grieve hard if you must Wallow... Dwell... Drown yourself everyday. Let your blood sear your insides, beneath your crumbling crust. Let the world around you descend into destruction and decay. What made me the expert... To say these horrid, putrid things. Because I am you and we both lay in the dirt. Driven mad by the persistent echoes of our own misgivings. I'm no expert... I am just a broken man. Telling you to let yourself be caught in your own sad and angry song. Be weak... Be as weak as you possibly can... So you could rise from the ashes and emerge hale and strong.
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Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Advice
Are humans inherently evil? Does it go right to the core? Do we always need to prove ourselves? Do we need to settle the score? I watched a documentary With people doing experiments On other people just like them Callous with their detriments The lower class The prisoners The foreigners By practitioners And now we have this information Torture, surgery, chemical weaponry Some classified, some out to view Is it their duty of citizenry To share that information with me? To tell me how and when and why To share results of tests gone by? Do I even want to know? Do not let them die in vain Maybe I should share the pain (maybe you should share it too) To learn To see And   NOT to do
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Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
In the Name of Science
Lumpenproletariat's                      Comprise the population Revolutionized, new variants Attempt consolidation. Socialist experiments or Anthropology's deviation? Avoidance- societal detriments of health: Classism's obliteration.
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Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 12:45 PM UTC
Classicism's Obliteration
a small group of individuals bound by the intersectionality of their detriments meet; and although alone we stand in head and heart and hand together the mind and the heart gave birth to something each of us forgot were worth: when we are together, a real person is born not through the perceptivity of gore and of **** but of virtue and strength being visible not to anyone other than us 3 who forgot.
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Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 5:24 AM UTC
Who We Made and What They Whispered to Me
you fall down, you have no choice but to get back up. when you get back up, you lose something; a piece of your strength, energy, will... something. keeping on is not free. you spent the day in bed. too exhausted to get up. you're so sick of bed. your body feels angry for being so still. you just didn't have it in you to move around today. this is fatigue. it isn't fair. in fact, it's cruel. there is no feeling good anymore. there are what some poor souls refer to as "good pain days" which is just another way of saying "I know what it's like to be in such bad pain that you want to die, and I'm just thankful today's pain was at least not the worst it has ever been" you're on no kind of schedule. it'd be a blessing just to eat and sleep at normal times, with some regularity. you feel like crap all the time. you gain weight and lose muscle. you feel weak and heavy. lie in bed. peace of bedtime is a foreign concept,  your body aches to be comfortable, and you may doze off for 3 seconds before jerking awake by inconsiderate muscles that don't really care that you haven't had a solid hour of rest in 2 days. pills are a blessing and a curse. relief and side effects. they allow you to rest and they mess with your brain. you'll get so sick of taking pills and you'll begin to hate them for needing them. the very best you see in your future is surviving. that's what fibromyalgia is. your job is getting through the days of pain and exhaustion, the physical and mental detriments that come with it. your life is a fight, and you are so, so, so, so tired of fighting. you always, always, always feel you have no more fight left in you. you're 21 years old and you fondly and bitterly remember a time (not too long ago) when you thought some things in life would just be givens; career, family, adventure, accomplishments.... health. you're 21 years old and you learn that you get none of the above. you're too tired, you hurt too much, and this disease seems to only get worse... it seems to have taken everything from you and then it takes some more.
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Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Fibromyalgia
you fall down, you have no choice but to get back up. when you get back up, you lose something; a piece of your strength, energy, will... something. keeping on is not free. you spent the day in bed. too exhausted to get up. you're so sick of bed. your body feels angry for being so still. you just didn't have it in you to move around today. this is fatigue. it isn't fair. in fact, it's cruel. there is no feeling good anymore. there are what some poor souls refer to as "good pain days" which is just another way of saying "I know what it's like to be in such bad pain that you want to die, and I'm just thankful today's pain was at least not the worst it has ever been" you're on no kind of schedule. it'd be a blessing just to eat and sleep at normal times, with some regularity. you feel like crap all the time. you gain weight and lose muscle. you feel weak and heavy. lie in bed. peace of bedtime is a foreign concept,  your body aches to be comfortable, and you may doze off for 3 seconds before jerking awake by inconsiderate muscles that don't really care that you haven't had a solid hour of rest in 2 days. pills are a blessing and a curse. relief and side effects. they allow you to rest and they mess with your brain. you'll get so sick of taking pills and you'll begin to hate them for needing them. the very best you see in your future is surviving. that's what fibromyalgia is. your job is getting through the days of pain and exhaustion, the physical and mental detriments that come with it. your life is a fight, and you are so, so, so, so tired of fighting. you always, always, always feel you have no more fight left in you. you're 21 years old and you fondly and bitterly remember a time (not too long ago) when you thought some things in life would just be givens; career, family, adventure, accomplishments.... health. you're 21 years old and you learn that you get none of the above. you're too tired, you hurt too much, and this disease seems to only get worse... it seems to have taken everything from you and then it takes some more.
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. *a■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ quiet  sol-■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ itude envelopes■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ my space • deflecting■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ all that is consequential•lea-■■■■■■■■■■■ ving voiceless  thoughts i cannot■■■■■■■■ trace • only ghost-like echoes vi-■■■■■■■■ sit;  faint  and subtle •nestling in■■■■■■■■ this void that i am in• comfort e-■■■■■■■■ mbraces warm like a  long lost fr-■■■■■■■■ iend•i melt as i sink deeper with-■■■■■■■■ in• slow tumble into an abyss w-■■■■■■■■ ith no end•relativity dissolves in-■■■■■■■■ to nothingness •everything seems■■■■■■■■ warped and incoherent•there is...■■■■■■■■ an odd strength about being wei-■■■■■■■■ ghtless • as the currents carry me■■■■■■■■ away from the days' detriments...■■■■■■■■ welcome, come in......you've been■■■■■■■■ here before•do not fear......it's not■■■■■■■■ too far • just a few steps, beyond■■■■■■■■ the door•slip into my dark-              ness for i've left the                gates to my                          mind                               ...* slightly ajar• .
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Ajar
. *a■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ quiet  sol-■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ itude envelopes■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ my space • deflecting■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ all that is consequential•lea-■■■■■■■■■■■ ving voiceless  thoughts i cannot■■■■■■■■ trace • only ghost-like echoes vi-■■■■■■■■ sit;  faint  and subtle •nestling in■■■■■■■■ this void that i am in• comfort e-■■■■■■■■ mbraces warm like a  long lost fr-■■■■■■■■ iend•i melt as i sink deeper with-■■■■■■■■ in• slow tumble into an abyss w-■■■■■■■■ ith no end•relativity dissolves in-■■■■■■■■ to nothingness •everything seems■■■■■■■■ warped and incoherent•there is...■■■■■■■■ an odd strength about being wei-■■■■■■■■ ghtless • as the currents carry me■■■■■■■■ away from the days' detriments...■■■■■■■■ welcome, come in......you've been■■■■■■■■ here before•do not fear......it's not■■■■■■■■ too far • just a few steps, beyond■■■■■■■■ the door•slip into my dark-              ness for i've left the                gates to my                          mind                               ...* slightly ajar• .
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Beneath and beyond the ends of warmth and scars. And the horror of shades to tear. All along within the menace of our years. How could this be just mere? Gender equality; disadvantageous to our masculity. Our laws failed us,-failed to settle the disparity. Left us in mud of our fate; such a scroll, At the detriments of our souls. At times, I wonder the stance of men in **** Convicted and jailed just to knot tight his lace. He rapes, he’s justifies as an ape. When ***** he toiled in silence as his fate. If, Our society can’t help, but Protects other women’s rights and voice If, Men are seen toxic, but Still tonic the affairs of our state. If, Men are now monsters, Yet, represent elements of determination, growth and strength. If, That man could feed you care, and Still respects your gender differences. That man deserves your honor and regard, Because men are not stone, and That makes us sweet and admiring.
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Sep 8, 2022
Sep 8, 2022 at 3:04 AM UTC
BOYS ARE NOT STONE
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope, I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal And who is to blame? Who? Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever… After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led So now I state the obvious Why? Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return Return? Return from what? From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken? And so I take my leave, but I will return I will not leave such a dear thing to burn Burn in the essence of what we call hope For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
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Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
To Be Left a Rotting Corpse
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope, I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal And who is to blame? Who? Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever… After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led So now I state the obvious Why? Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return Return? Return from what? From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken? And so I take my leave, but I will return I will not leave such a dear thing to burn Burn in the essence of what we call hope For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
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**** depressed due doubts dance dutifuly demented dawn deludes detriments dinning during daunting dissidents deemed disinterested daft dumb dreamer don't **** demigods digesting disambiguations digging down destroying discourses dally daily doomed deranged dragged damaged dusted damp dark determined dexedrine dagger darts denting dudes don't do D
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
[D]
i am abstracted my dear; waves no longer take their love overlooked starved, lacking, consuming your detriments shred upon the earth lest remain I be unhooked starve me, deplete me, consume all in sight rewarded comes great pleasure here I am hidden all night
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Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
distraction
Drifting down between the riverside trees Early afternoon sunlight kisses you As your raft glides over the clear water Your focus is held by the horizon In the distance, a split in the river Presents itself, and you must make a choice, Similar to one Robert Frost once faced And like him, you stand in uncertainty The one stream appears in a wilder form Verdure bulging over it unrestrained Keeping the sunshine from touching water As if it welcomes neither man nor beast It offers danger... and adventure too. The other stream seems safer to explore The plants on either side yield evidence Of passage made by creatures unharassed What great temptation security is And what mind-numbing boredom it provides Tension builds as need for decision comes Emotion overwhelms your perceptions And you choose by impulse over reason Moments after resolution was made You are already regretting your choice Yet the depths of your mind cry out to see The benefits beyond the detriments
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Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
The Two Streams
Regrets and mistakes riddled In a fading abyss Where services long past rest Are shackles at the soul’s behest Crawling in the ashes of perception False comforts ring as hollow realities Bound, unbreaking, unyielding To withering ideologies In the demagoguery of fears Hearts are burning so bright When their truths are set alight Never to cross the surface in their plight The detriments born of desire Create the fuel to a new kind of fire Seizing the boundaries Consuming rationality In decisions to face Creations belie The beauty and foulness Where reflections Of imperfection Die
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Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 4:31 PM UTC
Atonement
you don't know how many times i wished and tried to crawl out from this skin— to escape from this messed-up head and body. _to slip delicately away from me without annihilating the few good fragments of my existence._ away from my deformities. away from the detriments that i am. away from myself.
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Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 10:33 AM UTC
or maybe away from this head
the usurper once cried "you do not sit with me now" to the detriments which scoured like pouring rain. "I am found" he says
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Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
The Usurper
Why do we allow these shallow stubborn ******** to acquire annual annuities on slick sick investments; Like oil refinement or weapons, such detriments to our social health and our environment. Will we be able to restrain this barbaric disposition that manufactures guns and environmental disasters with our false bravado?
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May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
Untitled
ordinary strangers lost to a disfigured screen the pixels diluted so that the eye cannot retrieve a scurry of fuzzy people which skitter across their faces lost to painted scoured masks silhouettes hovering within retracing channels my friend, the reception have gone haywire since we have believed in everything shown on this screen and now it's too late to cut the televised cable it has ****** everything we were once able and the batteries to the remote cannot handle our detriments which begins to glare and we lose sight to those ordinary people
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Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Delusions
Never good enough is a feeling I know all to well, Like a stained emotion in my brain, that runs so deep down through my veins. It's a seed of feeling you planted in me and over time have watered routinely, to grow immensely to the point of where it is all that I know. I've always been the target to all of your own regrets, and the target practice never seems to end as you're incapable of grasping that the shots you fire conclusively leave me scarred with nothing but unsolicited relics of your detriments. Those scars are permanent, and your late apologies are nothing but pointless bandaids with weak adhesive. At some point one may "forgive", but one never forgets.
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
Dear mom