"fet" poems
No. I don't hate you. I just pretend to be, it's easier I guess. No. I thought it would be easier.
No. I don't hate you. I'm just trying to. Or I guess I was prentending to. But I didn't.
No. I don't hate you for doing all these things. All those unnecessary emotions. I guess that love wasn't really for us.
No. I don't hate you. It's just that I can't love you anymore so I'm finding ways to stop this unnecessary feelings.
No. I don't hate you. I just thought you were that one but I guess I should still be looking for.
No. I don't hate you for doing this to me. I guess you were kinda right but if you still wanted to talk, I'm here. I'm always here.
No. I don't hate you. I just hate the fact that I can't look at you the sameway again. Cause I can't fall in love with you again.
No. i don't hate you. i just hate the circumstances that no matter what we do we can never talk to each other again.
No. I don't hate you. I just hate the fact that I can't even get near you. You feel like 10,000 fet away from me everytime.
No. I don't hate you. I just hate the way everyone looks at us that they wanted to tell something really insulting.
No. I don't hate you. I just wanted those few broken peices of myself that I can't find within me anymore. I just wanted those back.
No. I don't hate you. Because if I did. That wasn't love..
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
It's easy to select when you write a Fet profile
But a little more involved to explain
I live it 24/7 means that I can't escape
I live it 24/7 means it's a part of me
And I can't run from the things that hurt or give release
I don't do scenes
I don't have "play" partners
I don't seek out pain
I don't start unhealthy relationships
I don't even want to feel the ways I feel
But when you hurt me, I feel it
When you reject me, I feel it
When you accuse me, I feel it
When you mock me, I feel it
When you hate me, I feel it
I can hate your power over me
I can hate your abuse
I can hate your derision
I can hate myself
But I can't stop the delicious feeling of abject misery
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 10:32 AM UTC
~
*Jara sang undaunted,
Fet-Mats, turned to stone, dug deep,
—as if a silent prayer in Latin,
—as if the sacredness of wedding vows,
—demonstrative
as a water lily.
There's a perpetually simple elegance
to what water fallen words
kept in a tinderbox stir,
—bless the soft spoken
and the loud cry.
—bless the dead poet
and the buried miner.
—bless the nouns and verbs
of a crescent bride
about to receive her husband
inside of her.*
~
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 8:29 PM UTC
i feel like the world is too racist.
people say that racism doesnt exist anymore
explain to me why people make fun of gays.
people say gays got nothin on me
bigger people are afraid to show their stomach
people say theyre fat
transgender people are afraid to be who they really are and need to be.
people think theyre crazy
i just dont understand. white
policeman are killing black|hispanic|mexican|and all of the above
racism still exists.
EQUALITY needs to step in
gays are people too.
they like the same gender... um okay. they have a different personality.
bigger people are bigger. they eat more. okay.
mostly the world is the reason. they fet made fun of. the only answer is food.
transgender people dont feel comfortable in theyre own bodies. they want to feel comfortable. they want to be their own kind of beautiful
answer my prayers and love one another. gay or straight. black or white. big or skinney. girl or boy.
be equal and love
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
with apologies to WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
(from Henry V, spoken by King Henry)
Once more to the table, dear friends, once more;
Or close up our hungry mouths with supermarket staples.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of hunger blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Cut fine the sinews, simmer up the blood,
Disguise cheaper meats with hard-favour'd sage;
Then lend the stirring spoon a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the foccacia bread
Like the brass cannon; let the garlic o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled onion
O'erhang and jutty his confounded tomato base,
Swill'd with a wild and wasteful Cabernet Savignon.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose ragu is fet from Nonna's fail proof recipe!
Nonna's that, like so many Stephanie Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even, baked
And brewed their sauces and stews, for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest...
That those whom you call'd mothers did feed you well
Be copy now to men of larger appetites
And teach them how to eat.
And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your belt; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so hungry,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
now i fet it the broccoli exploding heads against me
put the wavering native american eyes in your mouth
chew and swallow
i see heaven now laid out on a dusty suburban street
with heavens light poking through holes in a dark dark liquor pool sky
all the little buggies like that
hovering
and then there you are
appearing out of stone green alabaster ladders
she comes now spewing hot sauce out of her mouth
winged lepars and polio stricken words out of dry ice sculpture
depends on what youre aiming at
when
backing up in reverse so many days
seconds
minutes
hours
time spent in an old logging camp
years wasted in fruitless retrieval
its been tackled now
the fearless writhing of my reckless sack of bones
the fibers tearing apart like a ghost projecting a soul
a stringy mess of plasma
days and days and years and years up out of this shamble
this poor excuse for a signal
duck shaped glyphs flickering on a radar screen
walking down the dusty grey broken pavement
back and forth to the neon green river
in and out towards the warm light of love undulating
my lunge for the final helpless fury
and then
we let go
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
ja kā o Kánóka? ja Kánóka o kā?
ja kei got ba fo nok za tu zon zak de ska?
i sai pen ni je ben ni je tet ni po zbu.
ju na lok ni no tok ni nãu qok ni de tsu.
ju no vol ni so dol ni qo don de so klu.
je qeu tet ni põ fet ni e sol ze e plu.
juja kā nia Kánóka ki vei ni sai blu?
i zon go deu sat qe deu lup qe deu dqu.
Where is Paradise? And Paradise is where?
Can you stand in the land where all colors are fair?
I wonder, I wander, I try to discover,
But I guess I am less than untouchable other.
But I don't like complaining all day without fail,
So I try to enjoy both the head and the tail.
So then, where is my Paradise that I find so fair?
With love, and with friendship and help. It is there.
May 20, 2024
May 20, 2024 at 12:00 AM UTC