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"disobedient" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
We may have a past, But "stop" means just that. I shouldn't have to pull your hands away. Don't you dare ask me if we're okay. You may have a hard exterior, But my body is not inferior. I am a push-over... But a four-leaf clover. And I will not stand For disobedient hands.
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Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Carnal Harassment
Twists, rips, knots, love-filled locks. Hair that embodies personality; Wild, untamed, unkempt, yet beautiful. Hair that embodies nature; Disobedient, ever changing, free. I will never regret these tree root locks. They have taught me patience, They have taught me to love even that which is not beautiful to everyone. They have taught me that we are like the earth, we grow, and we die, and we blossom. I never intended my snake locks to be for fashion, I wanted nature to teach me what it will. And if no other lesson ever stays with me this one will: Nature can never be tamed.
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Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Tree Root Locks
When darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears. Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part, Or harbour one hard thought of Thee! Oh! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love, and changes not, Nor knows the shadow of a turn. Sweet truth, and easy to repeat! But when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet, Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. But, O my Lord, one look from Thee Subdues the disobedient will, Drives doubt and discontent away, And Thy rebellious worm is still. Thou art as ready to forgive As I am ready to repine; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.
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4.4k
Peace after a Storm
I whom once ran from obedience to you O God. Now receives the redemption from you Lord. For you freely give your redemption to people. Whom once were disobedient to you Jesus. You give us grace and mercies everyday. Even though we really do not deserve them. Yet you love us enough, and sees something within us. That we have not seen in us yet, thank you God.
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Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Redemption
I’m not dumb I’m more or less irrational, I am quite passionful I have little self-control and I do not yet know my role I use slang and swear too much I think a lot and like to touch On things that have my interest Basketball, music, dance I like to take a glance, at women But that’s a given I am persistent, disobedient, and selfish And yet, I have one wish That’s to be rich, get girls and wake up Then do it all over again But then again it’s just a dream I struggle with relationships because they never last Then I listen to Drake and think about the past But then again he is no God He kind of puts on a fake façade Now let’s talk about God On the surface no one believes in him But I believe people do deep within I know God is one person I can rely on And that he’s no one I can defy upon So much pressure with my friends And then he goes and lends, me guidance This is me, I am a teenager - Jj
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Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
I am a Teenager by. Jj
You know what the stories say About me. They call me silly, Foolish, disobedient. They say I should have listened to my Father. Now he was a guy Worth listening to: the one Who built the labyrinth -- the one That caged the bull-headed beast And sent virgins, hopelessly Lost, to their deaths. He made me a pair of wings And when he was finished told me to contemplate my mortality. And not to fly too close To the sun. For the feathers Were joined only by wax and days But the sun was made of molten fire and eternity. How could I listen though? When after so long Penned in the cool, dim labyrinthine Depths of his workshop, I was finally Free. A soft warm shaft of sunlight pierced me through and I was lost. On my ****** flight, I was ecstatically lost, rising madly to the shivering brink of infinity. Imagine me with my great white waxen feathered wings circling (Circling) (Circling) spiraling Higher and higher to a crisis. Oh I melted. Then I fell. I do wish they'd asked me how I'd have Liked to be remembered though: Not the merely foolish bull-headed kid who refused to obey, But the dreamer with wild eyes, The one who once flew too close to the Sun And briefly, (All too briefly) Blazed.
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Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Icarus
The curtain frays at the edges Unwinds, disobedient Only to reveal No bed (where one should be) Dainty white muslin Conflicted, floats Away from the pane More like a halo (than a shroud) Here, in the cage of your mind, Lies a mandolin Hollow (with no music in its heart) Towards another window Its brother may lie Born of nothing (but of itself)
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Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
Une dentelle s'abolit
i think im being gaslighted ‘cause i can’t remember why i feel this disgusted with myself whenever i’m around you lately i stopped believing in the magic of being disobedient of other’s rules every time there’s pieces of my belongings scattered and hidden you with a knife ridge smile and no sign of grieving for the waves you stole away from me i need to run away but i don’t know how
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Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
dog in a burning house
1 in the absence of your rays dear Sun the fearful created God 2 we trembled in our nights in the wild and you shattered the darkness and you said: ‘Behold, Creatures - Behold the Earth!’ 3 I lie asleep and you send in beams of messengers dear Sun each with the same message: ‘Hey, lazybones – wakie! wakie!’ 4 by you dear Sun is life; and through you too is death 5 O setting Sun do not drag my heart down with you; for it’s known in nations where you do not shine as often you ****** cheer and smiles away till you come again; do not let then my heart dear Sun sink with you 6 sun crazy sun very disobedient and ill-tempered unwilling to listen to shine not too hot and not scorch the earth; and show-off and bad-tempered with its flares 7 see the creatures of the earth burrow deep and go to sleep in your absence; and they come again kicking and hungry when you shine 8 I see you in the flower that blooms it seems at random; and I see you too in the leaves of the lilly-pilly at my window 9 one must see the sun or feel it oneself 10 I think you’re one hot blonde, O Sun babe; on this side of the universe no one’s as hot as you 11 the clouds try catching you; they are little children and they think you are a ball they can throw to one another 12 sometimes I wonder in the loneliness of night where you are and then I see you bouncing off the moon; ha! she rejects your advances 13 they look at the sun but do not know how to see; poets interpret it as children play with clouds and the holy ones attempt to squeeze the sun into their texts
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Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
Sun Poems
1 in the absence of your rays dear Sun the fearful created God 2 we trembled in our nights in the wild and you shattered the darkness and you said: ‘Behold, Creatures - Behold the Earth!’ 3 I lie asleep and you send in beams of messengers dear Sun each with the same message: ‘Hey, lazybones – wakie! wakie!’ 4 by you dear Sun is life; and through you too is death 5 O setting Sun do not drag my heart down with you; for it’s known in nations where you do not shine as often you ****** cheer and smiles away till you come again; do not let then my heart dear Sun sink with you 6 sun crazy sun very disobedient and ill-tempered unwilling to listen to shine not too hot and not scorch the earth; and show-off and bad-tempered with its flares 7 see the creatures of the earth burrow deep and go to sleep in your absence; and they come again kicking and hungry when you shine 8 I see you in the flower that blooms it seems at random; and I see you too in the leaves of the lilly-pilly at my window 9 one must see the sun or feel it oneself 10 I think you’re one hot blonde, O Sun babe; on this side of the universe no one’s as hot as you 11 the clouds try catching you; they are little children and they think you are a ball they can throw to one another 12 sometimes I wonder in the loneliness of night where you are and then I see you bouncing off the moon; ha! she rejects your advances 13 they look at the sun but do not know how to see; poets interpret it as children play with clouds and the holy ones attempt to squeeze the sun into their texts
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89
She plunges into the hot water and begins to scrub. Brush and soap on skin. She wants him off and out of her. Undo him from her. Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. She breathes in. She reeks, stinks of him. He seems to have penetrated every orifice on her body. She pushes herself under the water, holds herself there, opens her eyes even the sting brings no purification. She sits up and holds the sides of the bath. Calm down she tells her shaking hands and legs but they disobey and carry on like disobedient children in play. She tries to think of other things. Think of somewhere nice, some time once enjoyed, some pleasure once had, sipping of the best wine, greedy eating of caviar or grape. But no. Everything is focused on him and the **** She rubs and scrubs until she’s red and raw. Stop stop her inner voice screams. Nothing is what it seems. He pushes his way even into her every thought now. He seeps into every pore. The water fails to clean. She sits there naked, undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess. This is not real she says, but knows it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother would have used: sullied. Tainted, tarnished, degraded or as Mother would have said: dishonoured. She focuses on each aspect of her flesh as if seen for the first time. What you focus on is your reality. Who said that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky? The Idiot, that book. Who cares who said what. The water is no longer hot. He is still on skin and in orifice in spite of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses. No longer the innocent, no more the sipping of wine or eating of grape. Just him and memory of the ****
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Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC
SULLIED.
She plunges into the hot water and begins to scrub. Brush and soap on skin. She wants him off and out of her. Undo him from her. Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. She breathes in. She reeks, stinks of him. He seems to have penetrated every orifice on her body. She pushes herself under the water, holds herself there, opens her eyes even the sting brings no purification. She sits up and holds the sides of the bath. Calm down she tells her shaking hands and legs but they disobey and carry on like disobedient children in play. She tries to think of other things. Think of somewhere nice, some time once enjoyed, some pleasure once had, sipping of the best wine, greedy eating of caviar or grape. But no. Everything is focused on him and the **** She rubs and scrubs until she’s red and raw. Stop stop her inner voice screams. Nothing is what it seems. He pushes his way even into her every thought now. He seeps into every pore. The water fails to clean. She sits there naked, undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess. This is not real she says, but knows it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother would have used: sullied. Tainted, tarnished, degraded or as Mother would have said: dishonoured. She focuses on each aspect of her flesh as if seen for the first time. What you focus on is your reality. Who said that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky? The Idiot, that book. Who cares who said what. The water is no longer hot. He is still on skin and in orifice in spite of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses. No longer the innocent, no more the sipping of wine or eating of grape. Just him and memory of the ****
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46
We found a new world,                           yesterday. Ordained with holy numbers and d-a-s-h-e-s- by modern priests in blanket white cloth. Pious, singularly unromantic men. Reaching for this sphere it is into an unnamed sea amid unmounted peaks                             I shall fall, a willfully disobedient boy who drowned with a hunger that surpassed                 all worldly sustenance. Though perhaps it’s for the best I’ll never walk its corrugated G a s e o u s                 surface, for an epoch of chastity would be corrupt by my abrasive soles, my cutting words, my fallible conscience and mortal skin. 600 light-years? I’ll save us both the effort. ©Thomas Gabriel
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Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:43 PM UTC
Icarus revisited.
Backward-man loves his dog. Ties him up before and after His walks, likes to goad his pet Too, speaking as the weather wails And howls then dog looks down, Sad on his master dumbfounded. A chain is worn as it scrapes The ground connecting dog To his master.  They both love The sound of it hissing as it strikes The concrete pathways, sometimes Man and dog feel free, not a part Of each other, the chain may break, And fear is for forks in the road, The rusty pockmarked grip of his links Have always been there on walks Ahead and behind though it makes Things confusing as if in a dance And sometimes they wonder which way They might end up after all— And when the dark and golden Rope, as always, is finally tied To some old fruit tree, the man Is happy his dog has both sun And shade, but also has joy watching Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot Reach.  Some people might come To think that dog thinks those apples Are not for eating.  Everyone loves Fruit, don't they? Backward-man built his dog A house as cold as a three- Storied barn, out of things He could not afford, things much Too good for dog to not care About, maybe man built dog's House for himself, he cannot Really impress his dog. Backward-man likes to think He knows what dog is saying. Barks and whimpers have deep Meanings, 'world is a good place,' Dog says, but when pooch says, 'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient Whines gets him a serious kick Out of old anger from backward- Man.  And man can be a hell- Hound on his own, the way He twists and unravels the things He needs, like truth and food And love— that goes without Saying for backward-man hates His woman, but loves his dog.
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Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
Backward-man Loves His Dog
Backward-man loves his dog. Ties him up before and after His walks, likes to goad his pet Too, speaking as the weather wails And howls then dog looks down, Sad on his master dumbfounded. A chain is worn as it scrapes The ground connecting dog To his master.  They both love The sound of it hissing as it strikes The concrete pathways, sometimes Man and dog feel free, not a part Of each other, the chain may break, And fear is for forks in the road, The rusty pockmarked grip of his links Have always been there on walks Ahead and behind though it makes Things confusing as if in a dance And sometimes they wonder which way They might end up after all— And when the dark and golden Rope, as always, is finally tied To some old fruit tree, the man Is happy his dog has both sun And shade, but also has joy watching Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot Reach.  Some people might come To think that dog thinks those apples Are not for eating.  Everyone loves Fruit, don't they? Backward-man built his dog A house as cold as a three- Storied barn, out of things He could not afford, things much Too good for dog to not care About, maybe man built dog's House for himself, he cannot Really impress his dog. Backward-man likes to think He knows what dog is saying. Barks and whimpers have deep Meanings, 'world is a good place,' Dog says, but when pooch says, 'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient Whines gets him a serious kick Out of old anger from backward- Man.  And man can be a hell- Hound on his own, the way He twists and unravels the things He needs, like truth and food And love— that goes without Saying for backward-man hates His woman, but loves his dog.
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53
before going to bed it is to be checked thoroughly if there lays any carbon-paper under the bed-cover now-a-days some upstart pelicans become so disobedient it can not be assured if they come to know the whereabouts of the blood easily from the copy of the heart then they distribute the delirium of the high-heel moon by writing cash-memos at the gate of the locked-out plant the hundreds of thousands of white clouds also drink the whirl-water of love they touch to feel the freshness of the habitat they touch to feel the can full of smiles after the explosion they touch to feel the bier of the deodar-birds covered with tamarisk plants
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Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
the bier covered with tamarisk plants
A thick flood of thought clogs lemon teeth and pools, crude and salty behind lost red eyes. Gouge them hollow! Darken the moon. Brittle moans like a swollen beehive loom tall, fifty miles behind the lost craters. Hugs from pigs in blue, they dance and loll around the flames, a funky dark against their luminous fire. Proud and bogus (and probably ****** bitter about foul books they never read, statues made of fear in the groins of men. Ruined: hurled into a crag, torn and singing, trapped in loops - No elbow room in black hole falls. Snoring next to wives wrapped in shawls, hugging her leather Buick seat, praying to wake up gaunt and lithe. They rise, mornings, clutching onto dreams in which they fly through the cold gloom. They scratch desperate screeds onto napkins, bite squirming, disobedient tongues, souls raw, chafing in their dank enclosures. Animals! Bred to elect ourselves for slaughter.
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Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
The Hugo Exercise
Make me ugly Touch me and let the sores sprout And the hair fall away Turn the dull brown of my eyes to milk Knock aside my straight white teeth Let the children run from my smile I want to shatter mirrors I want to punish eyes People will cover their mouths in fear And I will be the person under the beds Of disobedient children I will be shunned and hated People will whisper monster under their breath Others will ignore me entirely And all the while no one will ever know What kind of person is behind this face
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Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 3:29 AM UTC
Ugly
O God ! O God! Why have you forsaken me? Shepherds slaughter the fattest sheep. They join and plot and mark the victim for their feast. They have but one aim, to please the high priest, Get postings to pastures with the wealthiest sheep. We are special claim they and we Are anointed by Jesus and stand for him Beware of our powers which exceed the bomb Our curses cause damnation fore'er Afraid of the trappings, frightened by the robes And stories of punishments to disobedient sheep We cower in fear while they revel and plunge Their knives and forks into our hearts for their feast Organized religion has killed our faith Yet we remember how You were slain By organized religion which was the same then As it is now And repeat your cry O Father,why have you forsaken me? I have tried to live in your presence And be honest in everything I have put my trust in Your priests and Your Church Only to find That they Secretly mock and plan to slaughter us To fatten themselves. Should I pray- curse them to eternal poverty Of Spirit and temporal wealth Let them wander in hunger Till they realize That they live with pigs But Your way Lord Is to forgive And pray- 'Forgive them, for they do not know what they do'. Help me, give me strength to conquer my weak mind and ego And forgive, and pray.
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Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
Forsaken
In a perfect world, we would turn from lust But I’ve kissed the devil and lived In a perfect soul we’d find glistening intentions But I’ve sin enough to forgive I hope that the Lord looks down on Earth And still considers me his child For long moments I've faced a deepening ravine With long questions of unleashing my wild Disobedient ways, to let them flow freely And terrorize any purity left Plunging down deeply into the abyss My shell of a conscience bereft Though prudence and virtue have always won out The battle from time to time rages And I fear the day when, if I cannot quite quell it, Hope abandons for more worthy cases So may my Father forgive me my ignorance Each time that I prove I’m a fool And though, on occasion, I may tempt damnation Please save me from my own misrule
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Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
The Entitlement of Humanity
Her eyes seek mine, but thrilled as they are, both, refuse to leave the swell in front of her blouse.
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
she makes my eyes disobedient
Poetry’s carved into her flesh, intertwined with her ribs and parasitic on her brain, the softest ***** now that her thrashing chest hardened. It’s the thorn of a plastic rose, jabbing her distinct print, and analogies crawling down to her jaw line, sprawling at individual forks of two points; it was always only two. Melodic qualities burgled her mind to exist in ubiquity throughout her pores and soiled strands of hair pinched with a tie ten centimeters from the root. Poetry, disobedient and sovereign, lived to spell a testimony individual to her since no one breathed her air.
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Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Her Name's Poetry
I never got to know who I would really be. The day was pure, I went to play and lift me brown-eyed brave; I never got to know who I would really be. My cousin was not home, but his father was, who offered to show curious me something; I never got to know who I would really be. Taking my hand, up we went into that shadowed bedroom; I never got to know who I would really be. There I cried and nearly died as breath and trust drained away, and then he finished; I never got to know who I would really be. With all my four-year might, I barely stood, trembling friendless for a lifetime, waiting and wishing for the end of me that never came, frozen by the echoes of his whistling; I never got to know who I would really be. My light and trust twisted numb, and I became, in that sacrificial horror, unwantedly wise; I never got to know who I would really be. My nature heart and caring head left for other worlds, replaced by unwanted imitations, strange deliveries from the unknown; I never got to know who I would really be. The rest of my life unfolded in starker silence, hidden tears, and lurking fears, later liberated for short, surprised, and sublime times by the fairest love of two women, safe children, their adoring little ones, and a few determined adventures now and then, hinting of the lost; I never got to know who I would really be. But now I write it all, and from my defiant and disobedient depth consider, when I can, what imagining did for me and never came true, to stand and say and show who I have become anyway. This is my private anthem to my beloved self, though I never got to know who that boy might really be.
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Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
I Never Got to Know
I never got to know who I would really be. The day was pure, I went to play and lift me brown-eyed brave; I never got to know who I would really be. My cousin was not home, but his father was, who offered to show curious me something; I never got to know who I would really be. Taking my hand, up we went into that shadowed bedroom; I never got to know who I would really be. There I cried and nearly died as breath and trust drained away, and then he finished; I never got to know who I would really be. With all my four-year might, I barely stood, trembling friendless for a lifetime, waiting and wishing for the end of me that never came, frozen by the echoes of his whistling; I never got to know who I would really be. My light and trust twisted numb, and I became, in that sacrificial horror, unwantedly wise; I never got to know who I would really be. My nature heart and caring head left for other worlds, replaced by unwanted imitations, strange deliveries from the unknown; I never got to know who I would really be. The rest of my life unfolded in starker silence, hidden tears, and lurking fears, later liberated for short, surprised, and sublime times by the fairest love of two women, safe children, their adoring little ones, and a few determined adventures now and then, hinting of the lost; I never got to know who I would really be. But now I write it all, and from my defiant and disobedient depth consider, when I can, what imagining did for me and never came true, to stand and say and show who I have become anyway. This is my private anthem to my beloved self, though I never got to know who that boy might really be.
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40
Listen... If this goes down like the Christians are sayin'... Ain't no one getting in and god knows it That ash hole loves it He's super into punishment That and judgment Those two seem to be his favorite Bringing true enjoyment So arrogant he wrote it down, A confession in print It's obvious no pastor is oblivious, There's just a willingness, A complete lack of acknowledgment They preach benevolent All I read is maleficent All I see is a battlefront A holy deficit How he treats his creation, Love and compassion destructively absent It's an embarrassment Secondhand, none from firsthand involvement Unless you think abandonment is an accomplishment Or fraudulent is some kind of complement Yeah, I've read it I wouldn't have taken it public It's a narcissistic story of sin and atonement Punished for the failure of a first experiment Because one decided to be disobedient Now ungodly pain will accompany pregnancy, Fuuck the pregnant Punishment doesn't fit the crime, But don't question it That's how it had to be, But I don't understand that argument Does the almighty have a limit? They say no, There's nothing he can't do So, This is exactly how he CHOSE to do it And when it comes right down to it, If this shiit I hear is legit, Let's see if he can feel regret Will we Get any Apology For this kind of "heaven sent" treatment Force it to admit to all of it Even if it takes an eternity, I'll have all of eternity to do it ©2024
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Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 6:36 PM UTC
~•§•~ Crimeless Punishment ~•§•~
i have kissed too many girls, who, between leaded lashes and bloodied lips, begged me not to fall in love with them
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
disobedient
No distance is for reproach. No gaps exist that can't rebuild fallen bridges. Silence was only to retain, one such moment of perfect beauty. That mother's perfect Day. To be still is knowing the ways of the Universe and its creator as in walking side by side. No arrogance ever known or intended no disobedient streak no malice ritual performed. only wrong medical advice the culprit. my demise but I raise triumphant motherhood against tirani. Being voiceless was to let you speak. ignorance was obliterated by your wisdom for loving me, and betting on my future. My being afraid ended with your hello your songs and poetry. I remain pregnant drunk in love and joyfully thinking of you. My mystery twin flame, from beyond, still you fill me up. Anxiously patiently I wait for your return your presence. my powerful great fortune talisman of happiness is only you. sent from another world. You are my one best moment of perfect beauty. I know I am yours. I stood in awe voiceless in shock. I feeling alive someone like you cared for me for so long. I walk in gratitude feeling blessed. I return to your power house of freedom true love and I grab what you give honor what you don't. Accepting whatever blessing or crumb granted. without selfish requests. I remain your faithful student my first, last best teacher best friend, husband lover and to my eternal joy the best father to our children in every lifetime. You are my lover of life, giver of life My one moment of perfect beauty forever only you, my past my present, my future my best poet, my everything. ~~~~~~ All Rights Reserved in memory of a great portrait Mr and Mrs Andrews. by Karijinbba.
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Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC
One moment of perfect beauty
No distance is for reproach. No gaps exist that can't rebuild fallen bridges. Silence was only to retain, one such moment of perfect beauty. That mother's perfect Day. To be still is knowing the ways of the Universe and its creator as in walking side by side. No arrogance ever known or intended no disobedient streak no malice ritual performed. only wrong medical advice the culprit. my demise but I raise triumphant motherhood against tirani. Being voiceless was to let you speak. ignorance was obliterated by your wisdom for loving me, and betting on my future. My being afraid ended with your hello your songs and poetry. I remain pregnant drunk in love and joyfully thinking of you. My mystery twin flame, from beyond, still you fill me up. Anxiously patiently I wait for your return your presence. my powerful great fortune talisman of happiness is only you. sent from another world. You are my one best moment of perfect beauty. I know I am yours. I stood in awe voiceless in shock. I feeling alive someone like you cared for me for so long. I walk in gratitude feeling blessed. I return to your power house of freedom true love and I grab what you give honor what you don't. Accepting whatever blessing or crumb granted. without selfish requests. I remain your faithful student my first, last best teacher best friend, husband lover and to my eternal joy the best father to our children in every lifetime. You are my lover of life, giver of life My one moment of perfect beauty forever only you, my past my present, my future my best poet, my everything. ~~~~~~ All Rights Reserved in memory of a great portrait Mr and Mrs Andrews. by Karijinbba.
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