"emasculating" poems
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.
Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.
An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.
But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.
Take my hand, why don’t you?
Come.
Dance with me.
© Qwey.ku
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
you see,
well rather ironically
you dont...
or at least i dont
(...my mistake)
(that was my perception/projection of "you" based on "me" because we (again sorry or/ sorry again) can only see the world egocentrically)
i lost my glasses last week
havent seemed keen
on finding them on the streets of
O, (Oh) (OH) how i keened after them (IO)
driving on a mirror this morning, mourning, before the sun, a rose, arose.
i finally noticed them gone.
the acid lined upper middle class road from my
(socially speaking)
lower class acid ridden
(economically speaking)
upper middle class mind
had dis(re)appeared^(infinity)
all time was lost
and for the first time in my driving career
i found myself, spending more time looking at the street than at the road
shooting stars of red streamed after taillights
as if always trying to catch up
greens joined in from lights above
...but did not muddle the stars
like the perfectly controlled watercolor artisan
what Virtuoso, what Perfectionist, what Letter-dash-letter of a being
could create such an immaculate emasculating picture (lack of question mark)
i am humbled.
p.s
i gave up looking for my glasses
my vision seemed perfectly clear
so was yours (Sorry)
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
She deserves recognition
For her work as a technician
Who's expertise is ball bustin
Who majors in ********
Excelling in the field of advance
Hot air production
A profession heckler who
Composes an orchestra conductin
A firework show eruptin
With colorful rants red, and purples
She's acclaimed for rhetorical
Questions that repeats in circles
An elite linguistics scholar
Who's sarcasm is an accomplishment
Very talented...no gifted at making
An insult sound like a compliment
And Her stamina to do so
Is like an Olympian who's pleased
Only when her track and field
Meet of slander makes ur ears bleed
A masters degree in belittling
A graduated philosopher for the bitter
Must be a psychologist the way
She attacks my sanity to litter
Insecurities, and doubts and I
Heard she has a phd in hypnosis
Until u start to believe her ********
And this psychosomatic is ur psychosis
A world class magician who's
Tricks leave u perplexed in thought
A novelist who narrates to taunt
Controlling all characters and plot
She wrote the book on torturing
A man and emasculating him so
He may never move forward and
She was in the military I'm told
Historically known for her
intellectual Warfare
Manipulating soilders and utilizing
The grounds to ambush u there
A social tyrant who's brilliant
Political ties help her achieve
Her plan like constituents are
Biased so they're all after me
A paralegal who's unfair and lethal
And to her it's titalation
Unfair is her terms but like a
Perm ull get burned in litagation
A degree in early childhood
Education so she acts like a rebel
Perfecting being childish and
Unaffected by ur feelings on levels
Only a schoolyard bully could
Match, she's my jailhouse warden
Who's power is focused on me
Relentlessly constructing like a foreman
With Her future blueprints to
See what the hell she builds for me
Will look like, and she's also a director
In the *********** industry
So she tells in great detail
Just how I'll be ******
She must have been taught by
Peter pan how to never grow up
Trained as medic who specializes
In one area over them all
Nudering human males
So surgically she removes my *****
After she breaks them and
So I am the constant fool
This exceptional jack of trades
Makes me wish that I stayed in school
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
And again surfaced that smirk
Glinting ever so alluringly in my wake
Kindling an effigy of suspense
Amidst the faces that evening
With the minutes I dissolved
As classic fairness advanced
Forsaken was I to saturate within carnality
Could such a reason exist
For such monumental idolatry?
Could such possibilities exist
For the sake of emasculating warriors?
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
The dark demons in my head
Would all proclaim,
The pain is dead
The shot so hard
The price so high
As gawking, ghoulish grins
Come forward to flaunt
The chains emasculating me
In wild, ecliptical regressions
Pressuring my senses
To lie in a calm
That no longer exists
The needles of my peace
Frustrate my confidence, sublime
As i await the restoration of my sanity
The renaissance of my agility
So i squander reality
Like a cyclone
About to unfold
A devastation
This whirling charade goes on
Until the hours
Have long passed their bedtime
The magic of the wasted clowns
Begins....
If i share with you my story
Will you tell a different tale?
For what I am about to say
Would cost my heart
The tears i’ve cried in vain
But i must tell it just the same
Do not close your eyes
Nor cover your ears
If the pretty pictures fade
For there will surely be
Devils where i come from
Within my room
Inside my head
When the magic drugs me
To sleep
Dreams are often dark and deep
Sorry slumbers shattering
A shivering soul
Predestined to meet its end
Where drunken cannibals blend
Into a wretched scenario
Of an afternoon in hell
There is no awakening
Once the reason is shed
There is no truth
To the demons in my head
No truth at all
About what they said
No truth at all
That the pain is really dead
It never was
And never will be...
Once the magic of the
Wasted clowns
Start to begin..
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 2:35 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Stupid punk-headed faget *****
We ain't on the same level,
I will dust you off my shoes,
And I personally know the devil,
You ain't putting fear in my heart,
Its pure gold,
You can not start a war,
That has been finished since I wrote in this text box,
About how inconsiderate you ******* are,
Please you will get hit by a car,
And when the stars aligned and the time is right,
Your whole team will go down,
Like a neon light,
We power up,
We take control,
Like dash did to you,
You making me laugh so ******* hard,
I'm emasculating while I have the flu,
Once again **** the mafia,
A bunch of ******* weirdos,
Kiss my ***
While I sip my tea and eat my cheetos,
E-mail this to your mothers,
See if they don't get disgusted,
You ****** up bad,
Thinking I wasn't gonna respond but I wasn't,
Until you put melz in it,
And then a ***** got Belligerent
**** you and your crew,
A bunch of peasants.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds...
It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self-helps.
"Deliver us!" (bow down genuflect)
But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...
So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."
Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
*********** with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.
After the sermon,
Let's have true verbal
***********
(Without be getting a shred
Of guilt)
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:43 AM UTC
Why is it that
I am held to a standard set in stone
That you are able to treat like a mold
Why is it that
I am punished for not acting “lady-like”
Yet you are excused because “boys will be boys”
Why is it that
When I was a girl, I wasn’t strong enough to lift a chair
Because you, were the “strong boy” my teacher required
Why is it that
I am trained in passivity
While you are praised for being actively inquisitive
Why is it that
As I speak out, I am obnoxiously bossy
But as you speak out, you are a heroic leader
Why is it that
When insulting me, I’m a *****
But when insulting you, you are just a son of that *****
Why is it that
I can’t speak my truth because that would be emasculating
But you are entitled to, because your truth actually has value
Why is it that
—for the same action—
I am spat out, left ruminating in a puddle of self-doubt
While you are uplifted and encouraged
And, why is it that
I've internalized all of these messages, absorbing the ramifications
While you are able to effectively maneuver them, benefiting off of my downfall
Why is it that, now
I reflexively utter “sorry,” coating my rhetoric to please you
Why is it that, now
I instantaneously tell you, “no, it's ok” when
it isn't. ok.
Why is it that, now
When an adult man catcalls me, a teenage girl
I am taught that is my obligation to indulge him, be kind
So I am not further harassed
And, tell me, why is it that
I am taught to compromise my needs
To fulfill yours
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
please block my number
when i call to ask for help
you've always been there to save me
and because i'm so lazy
i never learned to help myself
fell down a rabbit hole for a need to explore
thought i hit bottom but found a trap door
so don't respond when i text wassup
this time you can't save me
with your emasculating and
unwavering enabling
so cut me from your cordelette length
for now i must find
my own strength
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
I am not a girl
I forgot to tell you that
I have never been a girl
I wish you knew how much it hurt to mark
Female on the PSAT
When I was not female in my mind
How emasculating it is to wear a skirt everyday
And be called sweetheart
Did I tell you how wrong I feel when I look in the mirror and see
A woman looking back
How I want to cut out the parts of me that don’t fit
I wouldn't even feel the pain
It would be nothing compared to the pain of being in the wrong body
This is the wrong body
I am not a girl
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
you pull on my heartstrings,
plucking with a sensational force,
encroaching my temple.
you shake with such a sensibility,
prancing across the barren trench
of loneliness.
tiny toenails scratch the surface of the skin,
scarring my edifice,
emasculating my core.
but language has power.
it swarms,
creating the metamorphosis of a human -
from a body
to a living creature.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
tears are unlike tigers fed by buddhists: oh god... i wish i was a woman, then i’d not have cried my tears drunk, but sober, like any woman does, like any woman has... and my correction what inhabited by tartars fighting the teutons with the tartar i took as blood-relatives and the tuetons as politically-related; ivan made the entitlements of the title of tsar as worth cenroship of the coupon for the lean meat in hunting for war among the pole’s marshall law in dostoyevsky. be warned... my blood runs decided into the harvest of wheat and sweat, rather than the parlor room and chandelier corsets; while boney m filled the rest - inviting islam into europe by ignoring poland.
so drunk they want a rewrite...
i missed the joke...
got a rewrite instead...
was i plagiarising?
i don’t know... you know.
originally intended like sunrise...
instead taken as copyist of sun-and-orange...
can’t be repeated... but i wanted it said...
but they didn’t want it said... they wanted it unsaid...
wanted it seen but unseen and therefore thought
and when transmitted not really thought...
just willed... comparatively ingrained and lost too...
it was a charlie murray quote that got me...
i thought i was testimony... oh right... now i remember...
gay **** is really emasculating...
it’s like watching 90 minutes of football...
gay **** does that to you... really there
among ******* videos...
i just like watching the eyes...
i make eye-contact...
and it’s almost bowtie with the suffocating gag
of the girl...
but no... it’s more like niqab in the night... joke...
gay *** is more emasculating than football...
honest to god hear my prayer - while heterosexual
*** is really discouraging from transition
of daughter to ****** to ***** to wife to mother...
nibbled ******* unless it was islamic hide & seek!
ah... call mohammed... i need my head chopped off!
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
a counselor once told me I had abandonment issues
so i have dreams of this guy shoving his tongue down
my throat like a dart and it makes me s c a r e d of the
things I can't see in people, unable to discern the
true intentions in the b e d r o c k of their heart
because I don't excavate men anymore (at least that's
what I will tell myself) and I've only e v e r had boys
for toys, people who give me their strings for play
things. endearing but emasculating, the two things
i've aspired to be and I guess I'm just terrified of
not having control, of being the lowest block on the
totem pole with you can leave me dangled over my
head, you can leave me, you can leave me, you can
leave me.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
you can go **** yourself!
and she laughed lazily, applying It to everybody
forcing them forward in time with her mind powers
killing the girl over and over in her head
realizing looser control in less of a mind
except me
what if i came back as a bee, or a firefly
i'd forget what humans were
getting high and snuggling pathetically
in the Bring Black Pluto! shirt
receding into rotating personalities
hating her voice like fingernails in the back of her skull
confused by the sickness and disjointed aims of her own diary
emasculating herself because where has he gone
to the sky! in smoke,
on nights.
with rear view mirrors that pigeontoe inwards
she cannot reconcile that she spends to much time
deciding what to reconcile,
an unbecoming that does happen from time to time
narrows her eyes, could catapult her
over that divider
only in dreams
he will be he will be he will be
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
After the preaching is
Done-finished picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
When we almost had it gone
Forgotten
From our minds...
It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self helps
"Deliver us!" bow down genuflect
But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
The sermon for the humans that we know
We are -- unworthy
But willingly we suffer
The word...
On how to be just like
The lamb...
So afterwards, when after we've been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
*We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...*
Or so, we've been told
It is written.
So then let us meet for homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
*********** with the word.
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.
After the sermon,
Let's have true verbal
***********
(Without a shred of guilt.)
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
*Excuse my ignorance
or pardon me for my damns
for when I wrote that letter
your breath was still in my lungs
your kiss wound into my tongue
etched into my forefingers
your presence twirling around me like smoke
emasculating freedom of thought
taking over like a low swooping cloud
casting shadows upon thy back
And so when I said I love you
I was misguided
I mistook it for infatuation
like chocolate
pure bliss within the moment
love is not the paper
burning fast and bright for but a second
love is the one that lingers
love is like the hot coals
where a fire has burned
love makes people run
it made you run
for some reason it comes as a burden
to the heart
a heavy sinking anchor.
but to me love is not anything of that sort
it is light and free
it is a songbird
in the early hours
what you felt was fear,
that is the anchor,
now...
release... **
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of the liquid tapestry.
Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's torn,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.
An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.
But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and a rather brazen beat.
Take my hand, why don’t you?
Come.
Dance with me.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
Summer, field of fresh flowers
Backyard bonfires
Among cinnamon flavored daffodils
Hazy nights, and hazy days
Hazy cold dark maze built into the back of my mind
Every crack and corner and secret passage ingrained into my memory
Every trap and snare and pit of shame
Suffocating, emasculating holes
Arguments and pain pills and disappointments
A unique enemy in a dungeon I can’t ever really leave
Because even when im gone away
It's in my blood, that sweet smell of cinnamon
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of
This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him
I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine
I just I don't like being angry
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
My father slaving for a check
the fed become corrupt elect erupt with disrespect
They say that money's harshly sought out by all those who evil
i see the one percent flourishing off all other people
I see my brothers outside of this bubble slowly dieing
i see that natures trying surviving through humans prying
I see that y'all misguided the guide to life isn't provided
they smoothly try and fool you the fate of lesser decided
By green ;
digits in the bank that you cant see
Paper is your worth if your not worth you wont be seen ;
its aggravating
The system is agitating
exasperate the weak if your poor they emasculating
They not helping
if it aint *** its not selling
Maybe drugs
and other delusions
Fed will come when he is ready via massive intrusion
taking everything you love from in the palms of your hands
Hope your ready to withstand when Marshall law rules the land..
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
After the preaching is
Done-finished
picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
When we almost had it
Bygone
Forgotten
From our minds...
It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self helps
"Deliver us!" bow down genuflect
But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...
So afterwards, when after we've been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."
So now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
*********** with the word.
(Worship)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.
After the sermon,
Let's have true verbal
***********
(Without a shred of guilt.)
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC