"exacerbated" poems
If (WO)men are the ones that suffer an exacerbated amount
Of the violence, the **** the abuse, and everything that comes
with and from struggle and alienation;
it is because of their femininity that men at times
have come to believe that their contributions soften institutions.
That at times throughout history neither capitalism, neoliberalism nor revolutionary experiments like that of Cuba have placed femininity as compatible
with progress or resolution.
In which case femininity must be hidden, silenced, or displaced with no purpose or place to belong.
Thus everyone closely associated with this femininity such as homosexuals, transgendered (WO)men, and "effeminate" males, (ignoring, subverting and negating the lesbian identity because of their gender) have come to be marginalized by a structural system of exclusion.
(WO)men carrying the highest burden for originating the associative distinction
Homosexuals battling to find love by constantly having to assert their masculinity
Transgendered (Wo)men afraid of expressing their through identity.
Lesbians fighting to legitimize their own identity separate from the directives ascribed onto them by virtue of being born women.
Males who are labeled effeminate because of their sympathy toward those who struggle and are alienated.
And every other individual who refuses to deliver to give a marker to their identity and a degree to their femininity.
Hold fast in your femininity and embrace the rancor that society grants you
As a homosexual I speak with you brother and sister, not for you
Realize that our self-ascribed degrees of femininity and identity are as revolutionary and transformative, and thus necessary, as those of Che Guevara, Mohammed Ali, Harriet Tubman, or the Dali Lama.
That because we have decided to embrace our degrees of femininity, problematic to any movement, at one point or another, we have inadvertently decided to align our selves with those who are alienated the most by the systems in which they live.
So that in this way we must make our struggles deliberate and political. Let our degrees of femininity become legitimizing banners of solidarity for anyone who suffers in any corner of the world.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Thing's that make me uncomfortable:
That feeling when you get mad at me,
because I didn't do the thing, you didn't ask me to do, cause I can't read minds; I'm not your parent.
That tone in your voice when you go off about how unfair the world is, triggered by the slightest setback.
The feeling when I sacrifice all that I am for the sake of your mood and happiness, in vain.
That sound of the exacerbated sigh when I ask you to run an errand, as if I am not also tired.
The pressure of carrying us both on broken legs.
The pit in my chest when I ask your opinion and you say "I don't care," but you actually do care, because whatever choice I make is laced in ridicule.
When you say you're doing something for me but you're just trying to make yourself feel better about doing it for yourself.
When you use my disorder as a justification or excuse, but when I actually need your help you seem burdened and annoyed.
That "okay then" moment when I give you everything you ask for and you take it as if you never wanted it.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 7:10 AM UTC
Upon every arrival of every celestial birth,
There is only one common normality.
A susceptibility to an infinitesimal design,
A kink in the chain, the war of our mind.
This psychosomatic condition is no stranger,
A rendition of life’s existence.
Confinement exacerbated by poor health in the gut line,
Hormonal imbalances manipulated by addictive influences.
Paradigms shifting in front of awakening eyes,
Psychedelic truths hidden within the tides of time,
Confusion and conflict preventing expansion of evolutionary consciousness,
A cyclic pattern, the sadness in all our lives.
This idea is immortal and internal in the human genome,
The greatest subterfuge,
Amnesia
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
My tires went over the cracks in the road
As I drove by people standing on the sidewalk
Exchanging words, emotions, dreams
I passed them on my way to the cul-de-sac
To exchange money, drugs, humanity
The pedestrians penetrated me
With piercing eyes of persecution
They thought they hated me for being there
But their hatred is what led me there
They injected hatred into my life
The way I injected ****** into my arm
They injected banality into my life
The way I injected ****** into my brain
They injected austerity into my life
The way I injected ****** into my heart
They prayed that my sedation was of a more permanent nature
Before that they prayed for the permanent sedation
of my ****** nature
Wanting me to be fully awake
But not fully alive
They snuck into my mind
And exchanged emotions with emptiness
I snuck into their house
And exchanged furniture with emptiness
They exchanged words with the police
Who exchanged my freedom
For everyone else's peace of mind
But the exchange between the excommunicated
Exacerbated my exiled existence
The steel bars placed before me
Paled in comparison
To the bars that surrounded my heart
And faded from memory
When the Xanax bars entered my system
Until I couldn't walk anymore
Making me Professor X
Hiding out with the other mutants
Trying to lecture the world
That zombies turn to demons
If the exchange isn't examined
When they exit their enclosure
Sidewalk standers turn to explanations more elementary
Eliminating empathy
While elevating themselves above us
This is the epitome of our exchange
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
*** bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
You managed to horribly fail every test
Yet you bore the honorary family crest
Until you abandoned me
As friendship isn't free
Leaving me incapacitated
In the infernal infirmary
You had only exacerbated
My own gory purgatory
But I want to see the end of the story
Though it's not going well
Carrier pigeons bring messages of your progress
By ******** on my head
I solve the problem
By staying in my bed
When all I see is red
From all the blood we bled
There was a deep connection
Crossed with a ****** infection
You were so fundamentally friendly
Was it just for the drugs we were blending?
Now I just have nightmares of your life ending
And ponder the value of the time we were spending
Your spirit animal is a coyote
Mine an exploding car
My fragile heart is imploding
From all the black tar
Coming from your lips like the needle
Rushing through my veins until I'm fetal
From your sedating voice
I heard an invading choice
Live alone or die alone
The dog gnawed the bone with it's clone
I just want to hear you're doing fine
So I can stop feeling so **** guilty
And I don't have to hear about you again
For my heart has been untamed
When I feel this constant pain
From a friendship down the drain
There is no peace to be attained
For the friendly fire in my brain
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 5:57 AM UTC
Their lives bleed into mine
What am I becoming?
As long as I'm bleeding in line
I can hear war drums drumming
I feel my purity and youth leave me
As their lack of couth feeds me
And their sweet tooth bleeds me
Until eventually I too am greedy
In this ****** atmosphere
Our ***** past is clear
Inspiring future fears
And hardened tears
Drowned by beers
And empty cheers
Through the years
Until we're here
As a ****** stranger
Head banger
Teenager
In Jesus' manger
This blight
Of life
As a simulation
Of assimilation
Into a nation
Of incineration
In a ****** mire
Lit by the fire
Positioned higher
I call my sire
I fidget in the cage
Of this pivotal maze
Called the Digital Age
I'm in need of healing
From this dark feeling
That I'm an innocent child reading
A book about a grown man bleeding
Always met with a hateful greeting
While sympathy is fleeting
Being replaced by our own jadedness
After living with those who hated us
We develop defensive thorns
Resembling demonic horns
To match public scorns
My first love
Drew first blood
And I couldn't halt the blood loss
Exacerbated by the mud toss
Of the sinister town crier
Exposing my heart's desires
So I said never again
For the bleeding to stop
When dealing with men
Is like meeting the cops
Aware that I'm defenseless
They start beating me senseless
So I become a judge myself
Part of the sludge for my health
I won't budge unless it's for wealth
Accepting the cards I was dealt
They bled into me
Now red is all I see
No way to get free
So I follow their lead
And choose to bleed
As they pray and plead
It becomes my turn
To cause the burns
That I had learned
When I was spurned
And lost my purity
Now blood cures me
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
Enraptured by the senses heightened,
Sight stolen by blindfold,
Mobility hindered by bands of silk,
Forced into placidity by restraints.
Blinded abruptly,
Aural faculty's amplified by the loss.
Still, I hear nothing.
Silence so thick it's tangible,
Heavy, weighed down by an anxious nervousness,
Attuned to very vibrations permeating the atmosphere,
Breathing in sync with the pulse of my blood,
Harsh and quick,
Thunderous in the stillness of this contemporary plane.
I'm almost afraid.
Fear exacerbated by acute vulnerability,
Naked to criticism, to contempt, to desecration.
Offered as repast,
Meal to sate invisible mouth,
Chocolate sin to tantalize his tongue,
Displayed and arranged for his feast.
I long to be free.
Wavering between the excitement begotten by thrill,
And a desperate need to escape,
I hang. With nothing to ground me.
Held aloft at another's will.
I long to be free...
Don't I?
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
Emotionally connected,
Sensual smiles,
Intimate Consensuses.
Flirtatious attire.
Soft Caresses.
Inflamed desire.
Cuts of Passion.
Bleeds of Ecstasy,
Burns of Obsession.
Deep & Slow breathing,
Nimbly propelled.
Rhythmically heaving.
Exacerbated autonomy!
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
One day God created the Heavens and Earth and Sonewen
From that impoverished Ghetto came great men and women
And from her shores came Zogos that are nationally notorious
Yet from in one blessed home came a child bound to be famous.
From His Throne he saw that his handed works was very good
So In every households He placed a family to populate the hood
And so from sunrise to sunset, their faces glowed with happiness
Yet it was from one blessed home came a poet bound for greatness.
One day the rumours of war began to echo on the playgrounds
It was December and arid heat had just dried up the muddy ponds
As far as the eyes could see, stranded frogs hopped and jumped
Signs the history of the Sonewen ghetto was about to be transformed.
Transformed it did because in her, the elements of war found a safe haven
Exacerbated by war, compounded by poverty still to God she said Amen
Trusting in Him to bless and bring prosperity according to his divine favors
So from this humble child comes a big thank you for answering his prayers .
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
Harbored in my chest
something like a beast
as such
That, passions hold sway
over all
tossing reason out
the window
of My speeding car
Like rage like
discouragement
exacerbated in a
moment's breeze
turning my tables
with it
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
Doubled over Stella cans
crawling from last night's 10p home.
Late brunches for the new majority
waking within a block who's characters are now alone.
Previously untouched by the new,
the heavily worn and stained wooden
chair now longing for stories of the few.
The old exacerbated, they couldn't
see it coming. Their home.
Now a haven for the new.
A new Mecca for creativity with no retreat
For those left behind.
Doubled over Stella cans.
This used to be free the old fuss.
Now there's no home for them.
Their 10p shelters gone with a gust.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 9:04 AM UTC
Americans live with fear.
Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.
The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.
Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.
Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.
And then there is Putin's Russia.
The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.
Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.
Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.
M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
i used to lie awake
smitten. enamored. giddy.
itemizing your sweet details
fondly reminiscing
the thought of you was too delectable to trade for sleep.
sleep is still elusive
you are still the cause
but the thought of you is sour to taste.
you unfailingly pervade my thoughts.
memories are tainted
exacerbated by the comparative sweetness they (you) once promised
i wish i could just collar you and make you hear all the things i tell myself i'd say.
until then, insomnia's got me clutched in its pitiless talons.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
This worm crawls through ****
Believing it to be mud.
How sad, how quaint.
It toils forth and thus it faint.
Left alone to die, to sleep, to bud.
If only, to could **** from that fortunate ***
After a tempest, the worm awoke.
The smell had exacerbated,
And now, the worm knew it crawled in filth.
It tallied on, fourth, through the zilf.
It hoped, wished, that it might be alleviated.
Only, it would not: a cosmic joke.
Bacteria and flies swoon around.
Cautious, curious to the worm’s presence.
It looks not like them.
Yet, the odd and unique is where they stem.
But, still, he lacks their essence.
They enjoy the **** he seeks the ground.
The worm saw the bacteria and the flies.
He did not like them, but he accepted.
He had joined their culture.
So, he greeted a fly, through he wished to punch her.
She smiled, as is etiquette. Yet, it percepted
That this is only the first of the worm’s lies.
There crawls our worm again.
Who began to search for **** across the land.
Confused and an idiot, he misses the soil.
No time, none left except for his toil.
He says he seeks the ground, yet he can’t see past his hand.
To ourselves, we deceive, we’re determined, but it is all in vain.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 2:44 PM UTC
***So weak is the mind
That the heart feels drained
Evaporating love in respire
Pretending inviolate love
Has a place here
Ascension of the soul
Negated by nocturnal verbosity
Insipid words of discontent
Exacerbated by the irrationality of emotion***
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
Lest my tongue be burnt
and all words I loved disowned
as children tossed out
from the mouth that cradled them
to wander foreign countries alone,
I caress from the creases of my fingers
my english,
this full length mirror
a street girl carries crooked
under her arm and breast--
a horizontal slant nuder than flesh
making meaning in flashes.
Where is it going, bumping along?
Jarred and crashing and beaming
like a throwing up or endlessly exacerbated jazz.
The singer who could charm the world
with a humble reed, must indeed
be in love with words,
yet always this english
why is it you hold out in your upturned hand
precisely what you are at once pulling away,
as if no where pleased you to linger
and so you congeal at the table with us
neither shining nor dissipating,
like a dark matter.
I sang for the certainty of mahogany
the solidity of brass:
where you would meld back into lake
be healed to the pond's surface,
permanently affixed to sky
given back to the unopposed silence
where they might remember us in times to come.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
Paused.
The light in the tunnel is blocked.
A shadow emerges in silence,
& all I smell is death;
the stench of rotting carcass
lingers.
Nearer.
The shadow moves - hunched,
& stumbles towards me.
A penetrating echo
vibrates through the tunnel,
a cane shunts around
puddles.
Paused.
There is no light - only deaths
shadow, me & the putrid water
dripping down walls
covered in mould; graffiti
breathing life into this
concrete jungle.
Arrested.
A man stands - his stare,
holds my attention.
He sways; the wall & cane
prop him up.
A fetid smell, exacerbated by
wet gangrene, pollutes the
air.
Paused.
"Son, forgive me."
© Sia Jane
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
see your bright face,
and the freckles that run lost on your cheeks,
I wouldn’t be crying myself to sleep.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I would ask how your day was with every fiber of geniality inside me.
I would not just say the words to progress the conversation to get to what maybe was really on my mind.
I would start with your day because that is real and important and helps me know you;
keeps me knowing and loving what I know.
Your day is more real than the delusions I came here to talk about.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
my hands would stop shaking when they touched yours.
I would order coffee because you did,
trying to hang with the big dogs.
I would ask the waitress for 10 flavored creamers and use them all for one cup as I cooly smiled at you across the table.
You would use one creamer, no sugar.
You like the unaltered smell of coffee.
It’s one of your favorite smells, in fact.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
you would already know what was wrong, so I wouldn’t have to. You would make me smile before I had the chance to tell you what I thought it was.
You would look at me so intensely that I could feel all you didn’t say and believe it so honestly.
We would make jokes about the corny verbiage of the breakfast titles as our inflection steadily escalated as we repeated them.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I wouldn’t be here wishing I were meeting you at a diner right now.
I would instead be memorizing the changes in your face, the way life does that.
I would love them the same because they belonged to you and told a story.
Your laugh lines would be exacerbated from the laughter you created and allowed in you,
by those lucky souls graced with your presence,
hopefully appreciative of it.
Your lips are still soft.
Your skin is slightly touched by summer which brings out your telling eyes that I can see when I close mine.
If I were at a diner right now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with you.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 1:14 PM UTC
Expand.
Enlarge.
People won’t find
Much…
They veer off
The meaning.
They are lost.
Blinded.
By own Choice.
As I’m blinded
Too.
Swallow sand.
Painful.
Gnashing of teeth.
Skin ripped
In Stripes…
Nerves over-excited.
Dilated pupils
Wander desperately.
Hopelessly blinded.
Impaled.
Salivation
Exacerbated.
Breathing at an
unbearable pace.
Do you want to truly terrify a man?
Expand his world.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
the strangest dream I had my mind did stir
a faint symphony beyond dark distance
black pearly gates of enticing luster
my entire essence pulled forward in ethereal trance
as gates slowly opened to draw me inside
held steadfast by intrigue I offered no resistance
progressing downward in pitch darkness a great sadness I espied
song of great sorrow its melody did sway
familiar voices, recognizable cries
the troubles and sufferings of others whom in life I turned away
in trembling sadness the echoes permeated
my body, spirit and soul did fray
a cacophony of pain and regret my eyes more exacerbated
looking into a mirror stained
reflections of hurt my own actions created
light’s pinpoint guided me from this valley disdained
into a lake of fiery brimstone
vengeance consuming me till nothing remained
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
LOVE AND LOVERS (31)
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 31
All people live downstream.
The greatest rage is when you scream so loud you cannot hear the scream.
Danger has anger in it, tragedy rage.
Anonymity vitiates worth.
First, do no harm.
Second, do no harm.
Third, do no harm.
Fourth,....
Pills are now our pillows.
FORTUNE 500 vs. MISFORTUNE 7,000,000,000
Knowledge sees that all are different, wisdom that all are one.
You cannot hoard love.
We are ordained when the sun touches our brow.
Back in their hotel room, Bian sat down with Jon.
"You know, of course, Jon, that the poor and extremely poor of the world earn less than $2 a day. That's about one-in-four of all Citizens of Earth. Unconscionable!" Bian said.
"You know as well inequalities such as fewer rights and resources are primarily based on caste, gender, ethnicity, and tribal affiliation. Decades of civil war across the globe have exacerbated these injustices. Now violence on local levels has become
increasingly injurious. Hunger and malnutrition stunt the lives of billions, weakening their strength and energy while debilitating their immune systems making them all the more susceptible to illnesses that hinder or **** them.
"Moreover, without viable health-care systems--especially for mothers and children--illnesses like malaria, diarrhea, and respiratory infections can be fatal. Furthermore, pregnancy and childbirth can be death-dealing.
"Over two billion Citizens of Earth don't have access to clean water at home. Contaminated water leads, of course, to waterborne diseases. Poor water infrastructure abets this deleterious situation.
"The catastrophic climate crisis Earth is now enduring, say experts, will push more than 100 million people into poverty over the next decade."
Jon stood up and gave Bian a big hug and a sweet kiss.
Mr. Ly and his friends had many, many other friends, large groups of whom lived in every nation on Earth. All were anonymous and all were devoted to creating PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE.
Concomitantly, these groups discreetly followed Bian and Jon into the country the two had just left and began helping the poor: food, water, housing, health care, education--in any way they could.
Love is contagious.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 12:46 AM UTC
Thumbs fumble and caress,
exacerbated in mid-movement,
stress refusing to slip away.
Toes fidgeting, mouth stuttering,
eyes glossed beneath their cage;
warm lips sewn shut by breath alone.
Throat burning, stomach churning,
every sound becomes a bell,
every word garbbled; unnerved.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
I feel like a slug
sometimes I feel like it might be easier just to be one
Faced plainly with my own mental lacunae
I feel the vice grips of creative sterility
Only exacerbated in my willingness to idleness
I am struck by two Slavic language words
Toska and litost
Both have a meaning akin to boredom and existential depression wrapped in one
It is a curse really
To be constantly bombarded with thoughts of my own inadequacies
And having no will to do anything to change them
Maybe that is why I have always been drawn to those long dead souls
Who barely clung to sanity in life and plunged forward like grand ice breakers through the social convictions of modern life
Those desperados of intellect who did simply as will
It is only in the presence of this kind of supreme will that I have found any comfort
And I fear that it is only in the juxtaposition of this and my own disposition
That I have ever lived at all
I mean really is any body picking up what I’m putting down?
This kind of Petulant absurdity is where I thrive
I fear again the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Which in this sense is nothing more than rejection and the knowledge that I really am nothing special
For self-conscious references to Shakespearean texts that lie still unread on my bookshelf cannot bar my consciousness from the near constant obsession
Of simply getting so far out there in the water that nobody can even see me anymore
And I can no longer see the shore
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Flickering halo
Comatose and forgotten
Abandoned
On the corner of despondency
......and shame
Mutilated with the scalpel of false hope
Exacerbated ruin
Razor thin backbone
Just another ill-fated cliché
A dweller of the peripheral
Entrapped by screaming silence.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC