"domesticate" poems
That cowgirl won’t go
Won’t ride
Won’t die
Sittin’ on the pisspot in a one horse town
Salient sista, she sees them cowpokes
And they do their damndest to draw her attention
Oh, she’s seen chairs thrown, barfights break out
And the piano man run away
Sometimes they shoot the others down
All for the chance to pay two dollars
To lay with the only cowgirl in town
She’s the Queen Sheba of the saloon girls
**** loose and fast
Motherly and tender, it’s all for the askin
Sanctified or sinister, that cowgirl won’t go
Won’t ride
Won’t die
I asked her to marry me
Many times before
She laughed and said, “Honey, you can’t have me.”
In my naïveté I thought I could change her wayward ways
Domesticate her like I’d break a young filly
All the thoughts of getting off the trail, building a house,
Settling down and starting a family.
But that cowgirl won’t go
Won’t ride
Won’t die
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
perched in a thick mess of pine trees
my head rotates three hundred and sixty degrees
scouring for the vermin I make my prey
I own the night time skies
silhouetted against a harvest moon
death is coming in my dreams
and with it comes new life
wisdom of the self
aware of the lies which cover the world in its blanket of grey snow
the owl lives in my skull
The coyote stalking the empty desert highways
looking for roadkill
looking for the weak and alone
I cackle into the dead sterile air
for every pack member lost to poachers
manic laughter for every left turn which results in dead ends
stealthy patient
hungry and haunting
the coyote treads the territory of my atriums and ventricles
The hawk circles in the blinding midday sun
a deadly serrated dagger with wings
arrow let loose from the quiver of the Gods
impossible to tether and domesticate
finding ultimate freedom in the vast openness of the sky
lock on,
tuck the wings,
nose dive deep into the waters of the ****
a creator
a teacher
a messenger of truth
the hawk soars in the infinity of my soul
ID
EGO
SUPEREGO
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Twenty-three and coming from my teens
I’ve developed along already categorized genes,
By those who think they know me,
When I’m only twenty-three with a molding mentality
I was once vicariously raised through parentally guided means
Socially slit by those that promised me prosperity if I was studious,
Taught the importance of individuality,
Yet forced to be obedient
Then indoctrinated with an educator’s prescription,
An addiction they picked up in a higher institution
I’m finding it hard to follow your lead, when you found nourishment in my youthful innocence,
Socially stitched through generationally fostered fixes
Notions that you could promise me providence,
I’ve been cradled in a crib riddled with termites
Time shows little sympathy for those who have yet to comprehend the promise of a six foot end,
Yet you trained me to believe you didn’t domesticate me
Despite being conceived in a place I was not well received,
You taught the importance of obedience
Yet I’m finding it hard to accept your ancestral credence,
When this place has been passed along bloodlines,
When my generationally guided grandparents' felt the final close of their eyes,
And left me a world pieced together by both atrocities and glimpses of humanity
I’m finding it hard to speak in a world with such narcissistic sympathies of the traditionally raised
Yet I’m socially sutured by the fact that I still breathe,
While being born in a place that once found stability through a slave trade,
A middle passage that led to a devious democracy
I’m so grateful we can mend what barbarians once began,
I’ve had time to age, enough to take the reins,
Though before we build our shrines of this age,
You can still pray for something beyond the grave,
Yet never forget how we've been stranded, left here to continue, or to fray,
To humanize a species that earth derived,
Or to let the braids of life untwine and give way,
During our generations' stay.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 9:25 AM UTC
I am "Josephine Wild."
I am 35 years old.
I am an artist and an ultra runner.
I experience the world differently.
I wake up.
I work and workout.
I play.
I eat.
Then I sleep.
I see things like design and shapes.
I focus on the details.
But I try to see the bigger picture.
I look at typefaces and fonts.
I get hyper-focused.
I like to work.
To make.
To create.
Day after day
This is what I do.
I am never finished.
I date things
Because I lose track of time.
Time is against me.
So, I learn not to waste it.
Sometimes, I make believe.
But I am not a child.
I am grace.
I am strength.
I am beauty.
I am determined.
I have a good heart.
I live in my own home
With my husband.
We share the same bed.
I have toys and figurines.
I collect them.
I arrange them.
They always stay the same.
They bring me joy.
I am easily distracted.
I like to escape.
I can run away with my thoughts.
I’ve learned to domesticate my emotions.
I am an artist.
I am wonderfully weird.
I like people too.
They are beautiful each in their own way.
It’s nice to connect with people,
To feel loved.
Now, I know that I am so, so loved.
It’s hard to let people go, especially when you love them.
I know that I’m not alone.
I am apart of this world.
I just experience it differently.
But sometimes, I don’t feel free.
My life isn’t easy, but it’s a gift.
Life wouldn’t be great if it was easy.
I’m easy to get along with, and now I understand.
I love music.
I love to sing.
The music I like doesn’t need words.
I’m sometimes without words.
I search for them.
I need them quicker than they come.
But that’s OK.
I try my best to better myself.
I am not wrong, I am different.
When I fall, I reset.
I try not to cling onto people, but it’s hard.
I’ve learned to forgive myself.
I’ve learned to love myself.
I make more of an effort to think things through.
I have succeeded at leaving my comfort zones.
My effort is success.
I am not a problem.
Life is opinion. The universe is change.
And I’m always changing, always growing, always living.
I have grown a good heart.
I am awesomely autistic.
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 5:15 PM UTC
Abuse me, please
Daddy issues, broken hearted, relationships misconstrued
I'll complain and scream for compliments
Anything for you, sweetheart
Domesticate me
Let me share your every need and hate your enemies
I'll take your punches and let you own credit for my successes
Bring out the red and violet undertones in my skin
Scar my beautiful body with your hateful lashes and throw me at the wall
Anything for you, sweetheart
Abuse me, please
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
"You cannot just push me into oblivion.
My soul is not another cavity to throw
deteriorating sugar in.
I am a sailor
who pleasures in pleasures,
but what I do
is a gift for you all.
I tame the ocean,
domesticate the waves.
Thank me for that
and do not judge me for my wary appearance."
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC
Let me take a dip
Among all your fevered kinks.
Leave me saturated and tense.
Swallow whole;
your hysteria and guilt.
Walk the night without a change of view.
Sleep noble decadent,
Providing you leave before
daybreak sets the scene.
A quiet night
Of internal sighs;
Ringing in your ear.
No need for an act of pretence;
Make sure to quit while you’re ahead.
Don’t fool a heart with flattery.
Nonessential encouragement
Only further stretched the blame.
Just let me domesticate the beast,
And for an instant live inside its pain.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
You are an unbridled stallion
Disjointed
Incoherent
And wild
Break me
She wailed
Domesticate me
Make me inane
A simpleton
Godless
A No one in a vast of people
I
A sun soaked cowboy
Did her biding
Hunted in her prairie
Lassoed her
And corralled the insatiable spirit
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Does anger domesticate the tranquility?
Being nothing more than a background scene,
I let the abuse happen, once again.
You were once everything to me.
An affair I deemed wonderful.
But you swore, we must keep in secrecy.
As battle wounds were nothing more,
Nothing less than scratches of the deserving.
And we fight under breathing
Settling, Laughing.
I was under the delusion that you were once perfect.
That everything that was done in your presence,
Was a tragedy to be blamed on me.
And it still is.
Demon in the mirror
Devil in the iris of an eye.
That's all you should mean to me.
But there is something more
The good veins to a heart that died.
Replaced by this
Sickness
This
Poison
This
****** Monster
That does nothing but,
Breathes the air
I once thought tasted so sweet.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
please Lord this boy need's Jesus
**** that
tell God he needs to find a shrink
no a priest
no an altar boy getting ****** by the father
woops that one slipped out
like they slipped the boundaries of good taste and human decency
I'm a nightmare for the nice folksy people
I take their money
put in the church's biggest mausoleum
and burn it to the ground
take the daughters and sons
to the state border and set them free with a 24 cent phone call
inhale the night until we're all exhaled
pack my heater close to my business
walking with nerves taut
the breath breathed out by every man before the electrical storm
drinking fire in purgatory alley
until the gut glows hello
I slug back another PBR and let the night current take me
it's all alright
tonight we howl at the moon until it picks up the ****** phone
and we domesticate the domesticated in the art of the primordial
take a life tonight
yours his hers
it doesn't matter
we're all sprinting to the after life
and digging through earth is easier than ascending from earth on clipped angel wings
keep on slitting your wrists
and I'll keep on drinking your blood
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
I can taste the dark ancestry of ghastly dreams where cloven hooves and flickering flames dance along the castle hallways in ritualistic celebration; and I love the night, where haunting apparitions caress my slippery soul and tantalise my deepest fears.
Listen to the grandfather clock, as its hypnotically audible awareness transports our being to a myriad of dusty volumes upon the ancient shelves of a Golden Dawn.
Owls are beautiful creatures of nocturnal stealth.
Yet, the beginning is nothing more than the end, in her deceptive disguises.
Although their are eight points to her identity, Ishtar has innumerable expressions. Therefore, attempts to domesticate are futile.
Let us now invoke ancient daemons and engage in the wisdom of counsel, as we remain awake and share our confessions.
Men are visual creatures.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
I. Orpheus
My dog flees from pluckèd strings;
her fleas command my tune.
What hollow body holds a rhyme
as long as my neck’s breath?
I could domesticate myself,
but in taming our lions
we tame our pride.
II. Abel
My brother is his brother’s keeper.
I am uncle to no abomination.
As we lie in the Garden,
(our hair in the earth)
I question:
Is Heaven above
because our heads are the seat of doubt, or
because our feet are the root of evil?
III. Hector
I was not breast fed.
I am not a fountain.
I will not hector you.
IV. Adam
Even if He and I practice Our secret handshake
in the Sistine Chapel;
Even if He sends me an angelic bath basket
with ambrosial soul cleanser
and holy bubble bombs;
Even if I am the round reflection
of an ever-changing God;
I still have to ask:
Is Heaven above?
Because my head is the seat of doubt.
V. Odysseus
Poseidon hardly even knows me.
An idle king in heart
reigns with a swift lead open hand.
Life’s lees are far too bitter,
far too deep,
and the wine is corked.
VI. Atlas
The sky may fall;
the stellar sphere may crash with all its weight
and music;
god(s) may smite;
the clouds may freeze and bury me;
the sun may swallow me whole;
leaves may drop and leave me bare;
the mist may soak my skin;
I raise my arms only to catch
that snowflake that dares drift upward.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
خالي
Like the emptiness of the dessert
That is my حالي
مالني؟
Questioning my decision like a
مدير مالي
اهمالي
And if I run from it, nothing will disappear
It fact it hunts me back like a جني
عادي
Getting used to it like its my profession
And I follow it let it domesticate me like دجن
And so I created my own سجن
ملل bored of myself
I look at you for لهو
Distract me like a filler
Botox me up till I انفجر
Fake it cause ill never make it
Blind sighted like سحر
مرّ
Like the stinge in my cigarette
Like the stinge in my black coffee
Is the crave to be free
تحت جلدي
Is the truth that would punch
Hit, hurt
Get hurt and bleed
Cause from you I dont استفيد
Im leaving this earth lonely
And I dont even know me
Screaming for help
******* انبح صوتي
And everyone knows it lowkey ..
أركض
أركض
Till the last breath.
And this feeling
You will never undress
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
so maybe this isn’t a second chance
but what if it’s our last?
so dance with me this time
instead of your bottle of ***** at 3 am every night
and make love to the one you’re in love with
not just for validation
but for comfort in your relations
love the way you were put here
and let someone kiss your scars, dear
you’ll feel better after a good night’s rest
better than the the blade of a razor slicing across your chest
and your art can still be great
without killing what’s left of you in order to “create”
find someone who doesn’t want to domesticate you
and let them take your shades of blue
and turn them into purple hues
your mental state has never defined you
and you like to experiment, as if on cue
you text me at 11, and unable to get through to you
i leave you be
and then feel even worse the next morning when i wake up
too early to make up
lies
about everything you said last night
so instead i write
and i tell the truth
of course, i’ll never show any of this to you
but if you happen to find it
maybe you’ll be flattered to know
that you make beautiful art yourself,
but the art of observing you is something
only i have had the time to master
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 1:32 PM UTC
You asked me if I wanted a drink. I smiled and nodded, not noticing how heavy that red plastic cup would feel later on
We smiled and talked. You danced and I laughed. I thought it could be the start of something good.
But goo things never last.
*If you can't hear what I'm trying to say
If you can't read from the same page
Maybe I'm going deaf
Maybe I'm going blind
Maybe I'm out of my mind*
We took a walk around the house, laughing all the while
We plopped down on the couch in the basement, very few people were down there with us
we kept talking, it was a nice, light conversation. Who would have known how wrong of a turn it would take
You kissed me
"What?" you asked me. "I've heard about you." you said
*Ok, now he was close
Tried to domesticate you
But you're an animal
Baby, it's in your nature*
You kissed me again, you touched me in places I didn't want you to
"Stop." I said. or maybe it was in my head
"Stop" I pushed your arm off. But you held tight and pushed me into the couch.
*Just let me liberate you
You don't need no papers
That man is not your maker
And that's why I'm gon' take a*
"shh." You said. "be a
Good girl
"I saw how you were looking at me,
I know you want it
"I know you want it"
I started crying.
*You're a good girl
Can't let it get past me
You're far from plastic
Talk about getting blasted*
"Please stop," I begged
Did my tears turn you on?
I hate these blurred lines
I kept pushing you, but it was no use.
I closed my eyes and tears kept leaking
*The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty*
Pain shot through my body, but I kept my eyes shut tight. I refused to look at your sick, twisted grin.
*Do it like it hurts
like it hurts*
"please." I said
I know you want it
"Stop." I cried
You're a good girl
You finished, and got up. I just laid there.
"You liked it." you said
*Can't let it get past me
You're far from plastic
Talk about getting blasted*
You left
I hate these blurred lines
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
step 1: don't.
we all know words are alcoholic,
they can burn and they can treat,
I've gotten drunk on a moment, on a kiss
on the thin waist of a working man--
there's no use in wishing, on changing substances,
you can't domesticate a bear and tell her not to hunt
hope water will disinfect,
treat with pages out of a book, stitch cuts with sentences,
we all know words wound as much as they heal
try cauterizing with ink or
bandaging with i love you
you'll quickly learn that you are not a healer, you are a bartender,
you serve the vices, flip the switch, change the songs, pick up the drunks,
turn water in whiskey? turn whiskey into water.
help a man, hold him close, wake up and make love
clear a table, clear a mind, open a door,
leave the glass.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
I find it kind of funny.
How you say it’ll be okay.
But now every time I see you.
I can tell things have changed.
Conversations are emotional.
Phone calls are cut short.
And now when I need you the most.
You turned into a ghost…Babe
Please don’t leave me
Behind in these lonely times.
Please don’t leave my
Mind abused ‘cuz your hearts confused.
If I say imma stay.
Please don’t walk away.
If I say imma stay.
Everything will be okay.
If you think Imma mistreat you
Domesticate you
You don’t know who I am…
If you think I’ll ever misuse
Only always abuse you
You don’t know who I am…
No you don’t know who I am
Think about all the times
I’ve stayed up with you late at night
You crying about your life and how
Nothings seems to be going right
But here I am, arms open wide to hide your cries
But you got to put your trust and faith in me
Please don’t leave me
Behind in these lonely times.
Please don’t leave my
Mind abused ‘cuz your hearts confused.
If I say imma stay.
Please don’t walk away.
If I say imma stay.
Everything will be okay.
If you think Imma mistreat you
Domesticate you
You don’t know who I am…
If you think I’ll ever misuse
Only always abuse you
You don’t know who I am…
No you don’t know who I am...
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
Don't talk to me about your love,
I've never seen a drop of it.
Don't talk to me about the climb,
I'll never reach the top of it.
Don't talk to me about the flowers
You've been prattling on for ****** hours!
Don't talk to me as if I don't know
That "rain will make the flowers grow".
Don't talk to me about your dance
I don't even have a dress.
Don't talk to me about your friends
I beg of you, give it a rest!
Don't talk to me about the sky
Mine has only ever been gray.
And if you try to talk about "healing"
I'll MAKE you go away!
This whole world that you create,
It's gorgeous, I must say it's great:
A beautiful cake on a pretty plate.
Welp, guess that means I'm second-rate!
Your poems are all meant to titillate
You titter and twitter and domesticate
These themes that even optimists could hate
I'll never be able to felicitate
You enough for the work that you narrate.
My morbid tones you must negate,
And to fix my soul: eviscerate!
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 12:30 AM UTC
tired. weary.
of having my red flags always ready
of being on alert for every cue
every subtle hint
from any one of you
i've grown scared of small smiles and long glances
even though that's most of what i do
i'm afraid of seeing it back
because i am always afraid of what complications
your attentions would entail
am i expected to curb my fondness
my friendship
my curiosity
my joy
to keep from leading you on
should i protect your feelings
and in doing so push down my own
do i owe it to you not to
really look in your eyes like i love to
or to not laugh too loudly when i find you funny
do i owe you my reservation my restriction
do i owe it to you to domesticate my affections
so i don't hurt you
when i tell you that:
no, i will not go to dinner with you
even though i would love to
if it didn't mean leading you on
or no, i cannot be that for you,
even though i would love to spend time with you alone
if it didn't mean leading you on
because i love you dearly already
and i want to explore every crevice
of your vibrating soul
but purely platonically
no one else seems to think this way
and i am confused
and sad
i'm tired. i'm weary.
of these ever waving red flags.
i hate the color red. it demands so much.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
please. no.
don't make me
domesticate this
with words.
i don't want to name it;
grabbing, whatever this is,
and pushing it
inside a box,
a bra, a khaki short,
a short light purple skirt.
believe me,
we can use language
for nobler things.
this needs no words,
nor tags,
but your body
against mine.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
Cover up your words
With a sugar-coated laugh
She looks like such a friend
But the evil from within
Will soon domesticate her being
Mother helps you practice your lines
The night before the fire
She tells you when to smile
When to laugh and when to cry
I tell her I'm tired
She puts a bandage on my wound
Says it will be good until tomorrow afternoon
Keep my feelings set aside
They wouldn't even care
I feel myself falling
I'm escaping this nightmare
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
It’s in the system that takes rights and hands out privileges.
Where you question self, are you even a human being?
Is it mans right to bomb villages, or was it a privilege to dethrone a king.
Is it a right to domesticate those born free? That which is me, my soul, my life, my entire humanity?
Placed in a cage in which I can not see.
What’s a reflection if I can’t recognize me?
If my eyes are taken out and replaced with what you see
Will I still be me?
Or is that a privilege?
If my tongue is cut from base and replaced with what you taste will I then I have the right to taste what’s free?
Or will it cost me my soul?
Is it the rule of thumb measured by the hand in which sways the pen that says this is the end?
Mightier than the sword at the throats of its enemies that swipes his rights to live or even be a friend of me?
That power....... ink is blood.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
The Odd Narrative
Steamed up window my finger I paint a landscape,
Mountain, forest and a lake; the peak cries into
the lake it becomes a vast ocean,
where trees, are made into wooden rafts floats.
Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest,
this will happen to Himalaya,
it will be a grassland on a plateau, where horses gallop,
flying mane and all that,
since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them
drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas.
The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still
it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking it’s seeing
is so deeply in love with the image,
that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgot,
he has married a big fish
which he thinks is a mermaid, every so often he puts his hand in
the sea and strokes the fish’s belly: “without you,” he murmurs
“I would truly be alone.”
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC