"excommunicated" poems
I’m the excommunicated extra extraditing
your excess excrement, extricating specimens
of your essence getting especially excited
call me the exorcist enlightened,
a devil exercising a frightening
double existence.
Conscious constant resistance
from a heavy conscience that lives in
the conscientious angel hidden
deep within a very contentious prison of flesh
fresh from living a half-life, given a dark light,
splitting apart like I’m shining through a prism.
Divine intuition combined with true sinning.
Pinning down angelic powers devoured in hellish prowess,
Tyler’s now a super-villain.
I’m my own double, troubled my other
call me Jorge Dostoevsky a symbiotic brother.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
For every
condescending syllable,
that has slipped out of
your.
Serpent like tongue.
Wish I could
squash you with my
black leather boots
&
watch you squirm.
&
Gasp for air.
Like I have done,
so many times before
your black-hole-eyes.
But, that wouldn't be the Christian thing to do.
Good thing. I got excommunicated.
Now, suffer.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 7:04 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
the pope asked me what i really belived in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfact way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
ill pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the rhods we take and lines we cross just to hold echother near. and at the end of this congregation i promise ill see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees makeing a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know its a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see thats just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death theres nothin left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the prest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and evry single holy ghost who was there, that im in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straigh and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they belive will work on somone such as me.
and THATS how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
Didn't learn much from school
but for a poker-face, how
not to **** in his trousers
and the surpassing value of quick getaways
'Twas losing that did the trick
especially that business of losing in love
I van detestable, desirous of love but
minus mandatory leveragables
Ends up instead, in a specimen jar
at his local sleep lab, filed under
'Good for REM Experiments'
and HAARPs started playing at night
Couldn't keep up with gollums
pimps or clockwork candymen
dispensing their oranger shade of pale
so he called up the creator of love
Himself ..... got the real deal
Seems the goodly church retailers
excommunicated him, for knowing too much
So, finally, he decides, to read and write
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
Every now and again, I think about where my dad might be, and what he might be doing at the very moment in which I think of him. “No dignity, no duty,” I remember my Grandfather saying. We, meaning my mom and I, think that his current dwelling is south, somewhere in Arizona. Maybe alone, maybe with a recent girlfriend who hasn’t realized how two-faced he is yet. It went something like this: when I was the little old age of three, he decided to leave me, my mom, and my sister. He said we were an expense not worth retaining. Having us around couldn’t pay back the debt he owed from his failing business proposition, the invention of a hybrid eating utensil that combined a fork, spoon, and knife together to increase the amount of table room at restaurants and finer consumption establishments for large parities of impatient patrons. His “would-be” investors claimed they already had the “spork” and that hybrid eating utensils were a thing of the past. He cursed the world, anointing the words **** you, I'll make it... I'll make it big somewhere else," and simply was gone ever since.
“Your father is a very bad man,” My mother explained to my watering eye. “I hereby excommunicate him from this family. We are going to love each other in this house.”
“What’s ex-chum-oon-eh-cating mean?” I asked diligently, wiping a tear.
“It’s what the Christian Church does to people who have been naughty. You’ll learn all about those religious doctrines in school, when you’re older. We’ll talk about it then little Bugaboo.”
And I was off to bed.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
in the hall, I listen as she calls out
his name
not aware I am there,
nor would she care
if I open the door without making
a sound,
I purloin a few seconds to watch her
before she sees me
when her eyes catch mine,
she looks away
the morning sun makes a sympathetic effort
to light our room
"our" room which from which I have
been excommunicated
the drapes she sewed only last summer
are never open
that is her world, staring through
baby blue curtains
which mute the half light of morning,
though not enough
not enough to blind her to the spot
where her son's crib waited
until I committed the unpardonable
sin of taking it to the cold cellar
only a fortnight after our stillborn child
was placed in the ground
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
Tonight I dance alone, in my red robe.
Alone, with what I have come to let haunt my mind.
The temple of solitude is breached.
If I am the Soliloquist,
I have too many voices within me to be heard.
If I am the Sciamachist,
I have too many enemies to hope to win.
Tonight I dance alone, because pleasure eludes my mind.
Alone, excommunicated and,
in some sense,
left behind.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
Broken damnations in the form of prayer.
Handicapped nation known to glare.
Captured by an enraptured stare.
The peering eyes fulfilling a dare.
Scripture spoken in an illiterate tongue.
An angelic chorus line demonically sung.
Flying fragments of a cancerous lung.
Left heaped in a pile of excommunicated dung.
The wishful watch, with rose-colored eyes.
Their habits accompanied by universal despise.
Made to long for their own demise.
The result of some rather heinous lies.
Became fractured with a loss of vision
Despair followed, relieved of decision.
Left aimless in an act of derision.
The root being your basic long division.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
I have been in love since the moment I was born.
My mother was first and for a long time she held my heart.
At five she still had my love but so did Clint Eastwood.
That poncho wearing, cigarette smoking cowboy was the dad I never had.
In the sixth grade it was Stacy Smith.
She was my Wendy Peppercorn,
my Messiah,
my World Series Ring.
my love.
I made it to high school after
a few brief people put stars in my eyes.
In high school I met a girl
who took all the stars that had ever been in my eyes
multiplied them by all the stars in the sky
and put them back in my eyes, only for her.
Now, three years later,
a ******
excommunicated addict
I am in love again.
He is an author and he writes novels.
He is a novelist.
He is a genius.
He told me:
There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.
And I have figured that one out.
Until I have devoured him,
until I understand every single one of his literary pieces
I may not die.
I may not.
Until then,
I may love no other.
I may not die.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Excommunicated
Only to be exonerated
on this road less traveled
All this knowledge
for what?
No one finds it to be important anyhow
No one cares to know
Where are all the conversationalists
Where has the brilliance gone?
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 1:44 PM UTC
I long to take a breath of air.
Uncontaminated air.
Air not poisoned by pride.
Air not masked in a fog of filth.
Air that is pure and clean and innocent.
Air that fills my lungs with life,
Instead of the air that blackened my core.
I no longer breathe in your oxygen.
For now, you are the carbon dioxide
I expel from my soul.
Into the mars of ruins you constructed.
My world is of peace and purity,
where you shall be excommunicated.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
a table of mannequins
enjoying a bowl
of plastic fruit.
with their glass eye,
watching the fake flowers grow.
i walk in the room,
in the fashion of skin,
starving for beauty,
and am reminded
of why i was
excommunicated.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
I must talk quick,
For I'm unsure as to when this feeling I'm having shall fade.
An inner monologue of sorts,
Much like that of Johnny Depp as he plays the role of Hunter S. Thompson in the film "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"
How far,
Dear Reader,
Would you go to stick to your core beliefs?
Even if that means being Cold, Alone, and Abandoned for the Wolves,
Excommunicated and Exiled?
How strong is your faith in your ideals,
Reader?
Hopefully most of you won't ever have to go to such lengths,
But to those who do,
You unfortunate individuals,
I wish you good luck and Godspeed.
Been there before,
And I don't relish ever going back to that.
But if you weather the storm,
I'll be there at the finish line,
With a bottle of water and a change of clothes.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Its a ride, ain't it? Not just yesterday. Not just today. it will never end. Are you happy?
All the dark parts of me you hate have been exasperated by your selfish actions. Are you happy?
All the parts of me I love and am proud of you call a phase, and insist it'll be gone one day. That's exactly what I fear, and exactly what you hope. Are you happy?
The only person that makes me feel accepted and wanted just the way I am is someone you ridicule and dismiss, making me fear even more being who I am around you people. I feel that you hate me before you get to know me. Are you happy?
I always felt like a monster and in turn became a liar. My brother never feels safe to express so he is practically emotionally dead. My Grandmother showed who she was and tries to make up for her transgressions, and now is excommunicated regardless of her attempts. Everything different be something you squash and beg to hide away. Are you happy?
Now thinking of my past, my childhood only makes me sad and upset. I blocked out most of it until my head could handle it. The way you treated me wasn't acceptable. I shouldn't have been your secret, your emotional parent, your little monster. I was supposed to be a kid. That's something you can never give back to me. Are you happy?
I need space. You will feel me pulling away, and you won't be wrong. It breaks my heart but I need this. I need me. And I certainly can't spend my life cowering painfully beneath the height of my tremendous love for you or ultimately despising you for what you've done. I have to leave, at least for a little. Are you happy?
I never wanted this. I always wanted family, and I always loved you so strongly. But as I sit here and sob over the mere thought of trying to speak cheerfully about my childhood, I should not have to sob while asking myself questions. One keeps ringing in my ears. Are you happy?
I don't want to ever lose you. But I can't keep you right now either. The only way we can last is to part ways for awhile, and let me breathe and show you the things in my pocket and the heart I have grown. I can't love you when you love someone I only pretended to be. When I'm better, when you're better, then we can be a family. Then we can be happy.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Screaming
Into
Little
Empty
Nothings,
Completely
Excommunicated
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
the pope asked me what i really believed in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfect way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
I'll pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the roads we take and lines we cross just to hold each other near. and at the end of this congregation i promise i'll see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees making a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know it's a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see that's just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death there's nothing left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the priest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and every single holy ghost who was there, that i'm in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straight and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they believe will work on someone such as me.
and THAT'S how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
You said you’d call at 8. I watched the clock tick by from 7:55 to 7:56 counting down the four extra minutes there was in this hour before I got to hear your voice. I try to keep myself occupied but my head fills up with so much excitement knowing we’ll be able to share a conversation soon, ideas and opinions flooding each other’s brains with “well this is what I think” and “when I look at the stars I wish I could be sitting next to you.” But it’s 8:15 now and my phone still hasn’t rung. Waiting on your precious call made time slow down for me because I sat there and waited. And waited, and waited but I didn’t realize I was waiting for nothing. I text you to ask if something is wrong or try to refresh your memory knowing that we had this phone call appointment together. You text me back immediately explaining you couldn’t and that you would have told me but you are just so busy. But with what? I text you back explaining I under-stand but I have never been so confused. Three days later we schedule to see one another, as plans follow through I’m happy that you didn’t forget. I shrug off you missing our phone date and begin smiling at you pouring my rawest emotions into my grin. You tell the girl on the phone you just need five minutes. Those pass exactly as time does. She hadn’t experienced the 8:15 so why did I? You left accordingly touching me gently like a flower making me feel as if I were to be touched again by you. Two weeks later I get subtle messages from you and you continue to not find time for me. I can no longer take the abuse you are beating into my head with your words and excommunicated actions. Do you want to make love to me as we hear the rain fall from the skies or dig into my brain casting a tornado inside to scramble my thoughts every-where not knowing where to pick anything up. Either way your intentions cause an emotional disaster. You said you’d call at 11 to apologize for the way you’ve been behaving so I wait, once more. It hit midnight before rivers flew down my cheeks and then you called, but I gave you a 12:15 and you gave me a goodbye.
-S
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
not supposed to be used as a napkin
to be coated with red blood ketchup
or yellow mustard custard from a dead
dog's bun
though it is, and while flown at half staff for a fallen hero, some cool cat on a Harley has it between his legs,
the stars and stripes a candy coating for his gas tank
but that guy will sure let you know
he's a prideful pissin' part of the Patriot Guard,
trailing behind a casket and grieving mama, defending them against all enemies, fantasized and domestic
so get your ***** up when a $uperstar
sings the hymn--an anthem for ****** youth,
or an inspiration for further folly,
whether it be Khe Sanh or Fallujah,
all who fall get a banner folded in precise proportion
kneeling is for "sons of *******
or maybe a medic under fierce fire trying to save a buddy,
who didn't make it through the "perilous fight," and gives less than a **** who sits or stands
as for me, I no longer salute--long ago excommunicated from that proud command
but I guess I'll place a hand on my heart, not sure if I do so to follow the code,
or check to see if it's still beating in the land of the free, the home of the brave
so keep those flags a comin' and keep the cannon fodder drummin'
those who stand tall tomorrow, will do little to assuage the sorrow,
of those who paid for the privilege to take a knee, or sing songs mindlessly with thee or me
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
It isn't like I didn't try to forget you. God, I tried. I tried it all. I banned you from my thoughts only to dream of you endlessly, mourning your appearance in that suspended place while secretly praying for more. I cast you away every time you spoke but found myself listening harder than before, ******* in details like the color of your shirt, or how your lips molded to the words falling from your tongue looked as ****** as how you might someday kiss a lover, whom I always dreamed was me. I ached for your touch only to deny myself oxygen when we were in the same room, relying on a supply of imaginary wishes to fuel my laughter. Most of all, I let your voice crack me into shards, the scales and spikes successfully keeping out both you and everyone else, effectively leaving me to my own filthy disease. I tried to forget you, and push you away - all of it, only successful when you were far from sight, excommunicated from my tumultuous brain.
But it never quite worked how I needed it to, because some part of me is still ridiculously and foolishly drunk with the idea of you... of us.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
God threw me into the toilet
And flushed me down
Mix... mix in again
Get mixed to black and white presence
I smeared on yin-yang the blue.
Under the rainbow I challenged God's algorithm.
Then they excommunicated me outta blue planet.
i fell to Zoroastrian temple way.
is Ahura Mazda in my veins?
The gods of all religions wait for my falling with sin.
Purify... Purify with sincerely and pain
a stateless who is fired from every land.
A traveler who boiles her feet by walking.
I've been covered through presence itself.
Where is the presence?
Rebellious Kawa's tirade on the theater arena
Oh rebels get in my hell
- forgive me, my God! We are the fruit of evil as a part of your being!
She is fired from god's way
A voice which never been heard and a colour which never been saw
Goes up to sky by piercing her heart
black and white is painted by blue
Rebellion goes up to sky by winging
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC