"diatribe" poems
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
*Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too*.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
The Syrian process is a serial problem
When the disenfranchised
Cause a landslide
Of historical hatred
The key that ignites
Business and commerce
Wildfire hearts
And boiling skin
The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera
The blockade of the forceful armada
The coalition forces
Run wild like horses
The bombs keep falling
The people cry
The engine keeps stalling
The car dies
The white phosphorus
Brought by the white prosperous
Can burn to the bone
And wounds can ignite up to three days later
But the people of Raqqa
Are used to reigniting scars
They're used to searing flesh
That melts like tar
Where this will go
No one knows how far
Machines must be sustained
Hearts will be untamed
Lives constantly rearranged
A human rights activist attempts to send a report
What he's witnessed in Raqqa
Injustices; perceived and objective
But Hellfire
Turns the Internet cafe
Into a senseless violence display
The dirt, blood, and bodies
Mixed and spread like the art
That was ignored to lead to this quagmire
Whether this calamity started
At the Melian dialogue
Or a market diagram
Or a martyr's diatribe
What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds
But who will save us?
When noble protectors are blown up
And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Welcome to the con! The con starts with the author, Dr. Seuss.
He's no doctor. And that's a fact (and no it's not the only truthful
thing in this diatribe of mine). He used the doctor moniker to
sell more books!
That guy in the book pestering the other guy to try "Green
Eggs and Ham"? Turns out to be the ham and egg salesman,
Sam I Am.
It's a motivational selling "won't take no for an answer"
how to sell book disguised as children's literature.
And Sam I Am is psychotically relentless in his pursuit of a
sale. He needs a restraining order slapped on his ***
"Would you eat them in a box? Would
you eat them with a fox. Would you eat
them with a goat. Would you eat them on a
boat". Would you eat green eggs and ham,
would you eat them Sam I Am?
Dr. Seuss
And on and on. Sam I Am goes stalking him from page to page.
I had a friend of mine, Mustard Joe, ex war veteran with more
than twenty kills (you don't even want to know the things he's
seen) take a look into this green eggs and ham food source that
Sam I Am is pushing so hard. Here are some of the ingredients
he may or may not have found.
Ham -- 30 grams of sugar (questionable )
-- 15 grams of caffeine (untested)
Green eggs -- Trace amounts of nicotine ( not verified)
-- Handfuls of ******* (rumored)
As you can see, It's not an exact science.
People. When eggs turn green, that's mother nature trying to
warn you that your food has gone bad.
But in the end, Sam I Am gets the fool to finally try the green
eggs and ham and he absolutely loves it. Maybe the books lesson
is about to not be afraid about things you don't understand or
never tried. But I still believe there is insidious deception and
evil in the book. I have to think that way. Because after all -- I'm
Willoughby !!
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
Exclusion or ... " Inclusion " ...
Which Option Do You Choose ... ???
Do You Feel Like ... " Your Inclusion " ...
Is The Passage To Be ... " Cool " ... ?!?
Even If The Crew You Follow ...
Is FULL of ... STUPID FOOLS ... !!!!!
FOOLS Who Use ...
Their Snakeskin Shoes ...
To Make Those CRUCIAL ...
... " Power Moves " ... !!!!!!!!!!
If That's You ... ???
Is That ... " YOU " ... ?!?
Are You ... REALLY ...
Being ...... " True " ...... !?!
Or ... Living Life ...
In A ... " Human Zoo " ...
By This I Mean ...
Your Self-Esteem ...
Has CLEARLY LOST ...
It's ..... " Mr. Sheen " ...... !!!
You're In A Zone ...
Now FILLED WITH CLONES ...
Whose Facade ... Is TOUGH ...
When ..... NOT Alone .....
They Change Their Ring ...
WITHOUT ... Dialling Tones ... !!!
Because They Have ....
Such ... " Brittle Bones " ... !!!
They Claim To Have ...
A ... " HAPPY Home " ... !!!!!
But FEAR The Thought ...
of Life .... ALONE ....
They Surround Themselves ...
With SUPERFICIAL Friends ...
Throughout Their Week ...
And At .... " Weekends " ....
So ..... ???
Which Do YOU Prefer ... ?!?
Exclusion or ... Inclusion ... ???
A Life Without Confusion ...
A Life Without The Nonsense ...
of ... " Agenda-Lead Collusion " ... !!!
Do You Need Doors Open ... ?
Or ... Do You ... ? ...
Open Them ... YOURSELF ... !?!?!
Do You Want To Make A DIFFERENCE ...
Or ... Get Yourself SOME WEALTH ... ?!?
I Try To Keep ...
My ... Mental Health ...
By .................... AVOIDING THOSE ......
Who Have ..... " Foul Smells " ..... !!!!!!!!!
I Trust In ... " God " ...
And TRUST ... MYSELF ...
To Do What's RIGHT ... !!!
Or ...
BURN IN HELL ... !!!
I BELIEVE In This ... !!!
YES ... Love Thyself ... !!!
Love Those Who ...
Do Love Themselves ... !!!
WITHOUT .... VANITY .... !!!
Or The .... " HARD SELL " .... !!!!!
These People Make ...
Our World UNWELL ... !!!!!
Look In Their Eyes ...
They're TELLING LIES ... !!!!!
To Be .... " Accepted " ....
By ..... FAKE GUYS ..... ?!?!?
Who Just Can't Take ...
..... My Diatribe ..... !!!!!!!
This View IS MINE ... !!!
It's NOT .... " Divine " ....
Don't Feel Inclined ...
To ..... FALL IN LINE ... !!!!!
Exclusion ISN'T ...
.... My Design .... !!!
It's Been ... " Designed " ...
By ..... " Simple Minds " ...
Who NEED Inclusion ...
.... ALL THE TIME .... !!!!!
Why Do They NEED IT ... ?!?
They Can KEEP IT ... !!!!!!!!
I'm An ... EXCEPTION With Insight ......... !!!
EXCLUDE ME If ... You Feel That's Right ... !!!
At The End of The Day .....
We're ALL GONNA DIE ... !!!!!!
Those Who ... " Exclude " ...
Will Probably FRY .... !?!
Finding INCLUSION ....
Where ... LUCIFER LIES ... !!!!!
That's NO SURPRISE .... !!!!!
.... " Facades and Lies " ....
Are Them DEFINED .... !!!!!!
But ... CAN'T DiSguIsE ...
Their Fraudulent Guise ... !!!!
It CAN'T Be Wise ...
To ... Always Hide ...
YOUR True Self .......
Why Be So Sly ... ?!?
That's A Question ...
I DON'T Face ... !!!
Because I'm ... ME ...
WHEREVER I Be ... !!!!!
I DON'T NEED ..... !!!
These PHONEY CLIQUES ... !!!!!
What About YOU ... ?!?
Are You ... TRUE ... ?!?!?
Or ... Do You NEED ... ?
These POMPOUS CREWS ... !?!
That's Up To ... YOU ...
What Do You Choose ... ?
" Exclusion Or ... Inclusion "
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
There are so many sides to me...
A perplexing mixed identity...
A spliced yet whole menagerie...
Of characters...
To meet each one...is to be undone...
Touched...without flesh...
I am Vesuvius...just below the surface...
Molten malice merging...swirling...
The narrow Nile...
Meandering mildly...coaxing vexing perplexing...wildly...
A temptress...a child...a bitter diatribe...holding...no...unfolding...
This story...non-benign...
And this is where you come in...
Tumultuous tide...your raging winds...
A course-less calamity...to pursue...
That is not me...THAT...is you...
Unbridled...and unabashed...
Alas our toxic story line...how well embittered did entwine...our love...
Dangerous pursuit...then...you took root...
Off with the loot...
Of my misfortune...
I attempt to fold...
Forfeit my resentment...discontentment...
My own deliverance from you...
You disappear...no...transform
Retreat...from your chaotic norm...
Another type of magic trick...to capture my bewilderment....
Fully...
Fooly...
Folly...
Tears tremble on edge...carried swiftly from ledge...where they teeter...
Behind each one...is held an ocean...
A watery well...
Endless emotion...
Navigating features...dodging dignities plea...
WE...
Toss the currency of love into the depths...
Whisper wishes on the wind...
The downward dance...a wishes chance...
The murky bottom is but wishful thinking...
I should be rich off the wonder...
That put asunder...Our love...
I am Vesuvius...
Just below the surface...
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed
I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight
we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:
*You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave (Joni)*
She'll tolerate my confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous quietude, equanimity and perfect poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume her prior harmonic convergence of heart stuff
as I with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life
*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38 The Boho Dance
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
I returned from three days of golf
At Lake Orion, with a philosophical man.
A PhD talked the ear off me,
And spoke so deeply on the meanings
Of life as we approached the green.
Across the fence in a sawgrass meadow
I saw a doe grazing in spite of us.
I don't remember much of his diatribe
But the ball and the doe stuck.
He continued on the fallacy of memory,
Asking me to name the cities of the Olympics:
Mexico, Rome, Beijing, Montreal,
I think I was able to name them all;
But the ****** pup swimming
Beneath the walkway
Dragging a branch underwater
Cleared the air,
Like a thump on my chest,
Took my breath away,
And stopped my ear.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
The night falls swiftly,
And yellow flashes
Of northeastern
Fireflies mark
The edges
Of the
Hedge-lined path,
And gnats
Hang in the air
Like suspended gravel
While my flats
Slap the pavement
Like a ****** rap gavel,
In repetition so
Soothing I forget
My sentence
And all that I'm losing,
And everything makes sense,
I feel connected
To the heron
Gliding above
The river
Like messenger
Pigeons follow
The street grid,
Or like a charge down
The neural pathway
That makes me grin
When I realize
I'm not defined
By what's within,
No more
And no less
Than the wilderness
Can be constrained
To the way the wind
Sings its wearisome
Twilight refrain
As the air moves
And spins
Through the spaces
Between the wooden
Masses atop
Parnassus,
I feel the humidity
Flee,
And my breath quickens
As Corycian nymphs
And the nine
Sacred women
Of creation
By man's mind
Surround me and drive
Me to place one
Ancient foot
In front of its partner,
The images they conjure
Like a Reckoner diamond
Encasing me
In a cage of
Liquid iron
While beckoning
Me forward
With 72 hymens,
But I know it's a lie,
I know why
Men fight and die,
And it's not for any
Contrived diatribe
Promoting an
Unattainable
Ultimate prize,
It's to give rise
To the feeling
Of being alive,
That's all we want,
That's all we strive
To find,
And that's why
I'm approaching
Mile five,
And breathing
The life
Inherent in night
With the scent
Of the soundscape
Still burned in
My sight.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
I feel the friction raising blisters to fingers.
I feel the whispers of the smoke when it lingers,
a siren rifling delirium
and biting to the throat of a genius
who questions how bad miasma hurts the singer.
It's the quintessential fever dream between us
Oh, he's so smart, look at his three page diatribe
describing his rage, he's a machinist
yeah
Go join the dire parades of craven weakness.
Admire reagents calculated to the T,
brewed and created for playfully degrading,
and raising heart rate, lying to you,
and prying from your fingers.
When they ask you why you're dying be facetious.
Just sew the mask on to your face and make it seamless.
Breath it in.
Smell the plastic and bone.
Relax enraptured in what half of us know.
We drink the rumors from a chalice,
sink in fallacies of balance,
humor actuates the patterns,
and its harder to battle the tumor after it's grown.
Then we're just grass on the road,
and we can laugh as we go,
and we can act as if inaction
ain't the crack in the stone.
And we'll be baffled alone.
We'll be the practical applicants
of a graph of a lung,
hung in a school.
Drooling hospital drones.
Stool in a bag on his side.
Try to hide the agony in seeing lagging behind
tank of life on a chain.
Banking his breath on a check,
and when it bounces he dies.
It ends faster than you think it might.
Don't even start.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist
why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic
at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension
so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology
by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude
logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining
this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution
too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
Have you heard the words spoken by the ocean, when the cliff tops call its name with disparaging diatribe? And how do you fare as the undulating waves tell tales of a million generations of fish? I sat there as the days wore on like so many jazz men beating holistic drums and blowing those crazy brass horns as if possessed by the demons of some ancient tribe way out in the Kalahari, masked by the illuminating stares of wonderment and the children in the darkened bar, silent, speculating. I see the waning wood through magnificent trees, behemoths in the dusk skies. I see the ground too, for it is stable and true. As true as one could attest to its objectivity, I often ponder the relevance of truth and whether the whole concept is but a twisted lie fed by the men before us. Quite cruel these thoughts, and barely worthy of the hours I waste. The ocean too speaks truth but its truth is one I have faith in. Sure as I am, sitting here, witnessing the waves as they mourn the changing sands and the rubble they sift, sure as I am, that the gently faltering ripples will retreat before attacking the shore once more. I am sure of these acts, as I am sure that I will die with laughter on my lips and a tear in my eye.
Take your water and let it flow through the bodies of man, take it, take it and do good. Let those clear drops circulate and bring about true knowledge in one and all.
Let your rocks fall to the ground, erosion of the city and decay of the populace. Let them fall with dignity, while we scream from the Atlantic and feel tumultuous waves of apathetic foreboding ripple into our skin and bring us to ******
These rocks in the sea, these rocks in you… and in me.
Has the land seen distress like its inhabitants, or have they been the harbingers of such malcontent abuse to these fare isles? Have you, You, have you seen the sea when its tranquil repose turns to solemn spite at the ego of the cliff face? I have heard the ocean speak, and it told me to fall to its mercy and ebb into the unified conscious.
Have you heard the words spoken by the ocean, or do you too stand with your back to the truth and one leg bowed cocksure over the top of some deteriorating construct?
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
Don't be material,
They say with condescending gleams,
Oh it is the devil,
you'll find, a way to hell,
and nothing more.
Meanwhile, behind the curtains where they think themselves safe,
they beat it to child **** with quite a similar gleam.
Oh I know what will **** me,
I won't smoke that cigarette,
But I will feel happy with success,
Oh I'll take that money and spend it,
On these amazing things capitalism and competition,
Drive the world to create.
I tell you what I don't know what joy is but,
I love my new phone,
And I've seen some real demons,
And they look a lot like you, judging,
They look hungry for righteousness,
And self satisfaction,
Well I get nothing off myself,
So I guess I'll settle for the world.
Ain't much of a poem I guess,
But at least it's something to take home.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
By no means is my diatribe polemic
The truth of the matter it was systemic
The CIA created the crack epidemic
Which over time became pandemic
They needed a scapegoat to pay the cost
So they blamed it all on Freeway Rickey Ross
While acting as if he was the boss
In hopes the evidence somehow would get lost
Then a reporter for the San Jose Mercury News
Came along and gave them the blues
By exposing their involvement they stood accused
Of funding the Contras and substance abuse
Meanwhile Nancy Reagan was just saying no
Her husband Ronald was using the dough
To fund the Contras like I told you so
So don’t pretend as if you didn’t know
Ronald Reagan remains the patron saint
For Conservatives everywhere even though he ain’t
What they make him out to be despite the taint
Of his secret dealings done without restraint
His secret deals with Iran and the Contra’s too
Was something that very few people knew
See there was no limit to what he would do
To insure that the Communists got the *****
The crack epidemic was allowed to grow
Because of the supply a never-ending flow
From Bogata to other places we know
Fueled by ambition and the money yo
So they shouldn’t pretend to be squeaky clean
While blaming the victims ya know what I mean
When they’re nothing short of being obscene
Though we tend to blame the average crack fiend
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
There is a hate spouter named Rush
His brain spews great piles of horse mush
He thinks that Sarah
Is the first female savior
But we know that Palin's a bust
She lost the race in the last one
They’ll lose warming over this past one
We poo on her chatter
She’s short on gray matter
And Limbaugh must truly have none
His whole diatribe is a crock
But He thinks his candidate’s hot
As we know she’s copeless
And far beyond hopeless
And that’s why we owe Limbaugh a lot
So when you bed down on this night
Thank God that Rush Limbaugh ain’t bright
We’ll smile to remember
When cometh November
If right wingers followed his flight
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
The soul has as its sextant the ribs opened wide,
The heart its compass in fluid circuitous diatribe,
When each to zone the geometry of Greek sky
With its powdery fabulism of centaurs and jars
From Aesop’s wine of words, the untimeliness
Of sundials to Charybdis’s bloom of giant watery eyes.
To know oceans by the dry riverbed of my pulse,
To scale only as high as the sparrow’s tomb of my heart.
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 5:05 PM UTC
...She gazed into the pond. She was drowning.
Until she glanced at her left side, and she realized
SHE HAD GONE COMPLETELY INSANE.
What lies behind it? And what happens if I gaze upon this reflection?
I'm looking at nothing. Nothing. It's only my own reflection,
except inverted.
I must not look at it, because it is inverted.
I must not look at it.
I must not look at it.
I must not look at it.
I must not look at it.
I must not look at it.
I must not look at it.
**I WOULD RATHER GOUGE OUT MY EYES WITH MY BARE FINGERS
BEFORE LOOKING AT THAT HORRIBLE INVERTED REFLECTION**
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 2:18 AM UTC
the soul never sleeps
it see's adolescent behavior on a big scale
once more the arms of war on sale
I detest violence vehemently
I stamp my tantrum feet as a child relentlessly
even in my dreams little respite
from the apprehensive dread of the devil's bite
severe mercy
transcendental meditation
transpersonal dissociation
more war, sordid *****
catatonic heap defaces the floor
oh remorse and entreaties
oh despair and wringing
oh come love bringing!
layers and layers of phenomena
mysteries ever abound
yet our untimely knuckles drag the ground
incomprehensible inscrutable invidious bile
damnable war never rests a while
I've come to expect its a natural state
will humanity always regard it as ** hum fate
I try to look away, fain smiles, reply "I'm fine"
the deception is for them
I really want to die
No more war, no more lies
oh remorse and entreaties
oh despair and wringing
oh come love bringing!
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
No known solution for a cast down, complex, generational formula, each one adding a bitter part of this, or that, practiced, rehearsed the diatribe, what she said, he said, I said, around again over and over once again, our legacy of unhealed conflict, a contagion, like a blunt needle stuck in a worn-out groove, Billie Holiday sings the blues, ad infinitum.
In our family, we give in many ways but with some stuff, we’re really stingy, like with trust, forgiveness, openness, and eventually, we stick our anger, our disappointments, our pain, especially our pain, on an old, dusty shelf; we learn early on to keep hidden our feelings, never will we discuss, process, pardon, our pain, we know only the back burner on a long, slow, simmer.
And at times the old shelf, grows weary, tires of our resentment, our fear, our grief, our unyielding self-righteousness, still it manages until death beckons; and with a silent shiver and our final breath, we push off into eternal darkness, our painfilled DNA, our infectious, internal, indignation intact, leaving yet another broken heart held fast, in the dust, on the shelf.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
Mister Nut Bag circled the shop
spouting off mindless diatribe,
like he was a ******* gear-Einstein,
but he didn’t know ****
Everything he said was
total & utter malarkey,
that means some serious ********
He looked like he hadn’t climbed since birth,
like when he climbed down from his mother’s womb
& been eatin’ carbs ever since.
A complete carb ****** he was,
certainly not a ******** hiker.
I wish I could’ve been
not politically correct,
tactless & unsavory.
I would’ve said to
Mister Know-It-All,
you fat ****
**** a bag of *****
I guess everybody's got their place,
arrogance has none
in our place.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
So what is wrong
And what is right?
A formulaic diatribe
Denouncing young brides
An age-old hunger
For reacquaintance
With the same?
Old mothers and young wives
Brandished Ph.D's and lifelong strife
Carry the baby
Forget the rest
If there's love there's still no rest
*** bubbles up
Thinking its own thoughts
And the anniversary deathbed
Gets soaked again.
Generations of beds
Estate sales of lost loves
A splintered family is less rich
An over-achieving cote of doves.
How to be fierce
Without ****** the Earth
Is a rich boy's dilemma
The rest of us
**** who we wanna.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
I’m angry at the world
For not playing fair
And then mocking me
When I do
I hate all the apathy
That stands and observes
And makes no attempt
To enforce the rules
I’m angry at all
That I have to give up
To wait for my turn
And take only my share
I hate that the meaning
Of good has been altered
To apply to group ethics
That are coated in shame
I’m angry to see
How the cheaters will win
And honesty comes
A poor second
I hate all the smugness
(Check Paul Ryan’s face)
And those who are like him
Cheating their way to their goal
I’m angry to be cursed
With the gene of fair play
Permanent - same as
The brown of my eyes
I hate that I have to
Spend so much time hating
Hate is an acid
Dissolving my soul
ljm
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
I've been very vulnerable lately. I am vulnerable, and I'm not sure how to exist within it.
Well, see, society (what is it? It lives and breathes but is often undetected- like a cyborg) tells us that vulnerability = femininity, in order for both to mutually invalidate the other- because in a patriarchal society that feeds on myth, there is no room for either of them, as they provoke questions. But once you're out of the spectrum, things begin to change.
I'm beginning to view patriarchal systems of oppression as post-apocalyptic worlds - something which, through my interest in science fiction, is important and familiar to me. It makes this life seem equal parts more bearable and more gruesome, because, on one hand, nothing seems real, but on the other, everything appears to be hyper-realistic and predictive of some sort of massive disaster. Oftentimes I'm not sure which to side with.
I'm also keeping a journal of things that I do to make myself feel better & gendering them as society would just to see what I'm like inside. It's interesting to see that I'm a mixture of gendered behaviors, but that pain itself is not gendered.
My trans friend says that's contradictory. He believes that society exists purely without gender, intrinsically, and that since we create gender for ourselves as a means of oppression, I shouldn't be trying to figure out how I relate within that system, but rather attempting to break out of it.
But, hey- better the devil you know than the devil you don't, right?
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC