"formality" poems
A proud man,
Upright and unshakable
In belief and morals,
Once only I did I see him
Without a tie.
A child of Edwardian England,
The links Of his watch chain
Glinted
As they hung
With formality and elegance
From his waistcoat pocket,
Yes, even as he worked.
And work he did.
Patiently,
Brilliantly and tirelessly
With ingenuity and imagination.
A craftsman from a bygone age.
A master of his tools.
Grandfathers are soft,
Playful, bear-like in their
Gruff-whiskered familiarity.
Not Poppy.
Unwittingly aloof from his grandchildren,
We avoided the need for directly addressing him,
Unsure of where we stood.
He’d probably have secretly
Loved the informality
Of our secret nickname.
I hope he knew.
The chapel piano did for him.
Too much weight for his work-weary ticker.
Grandma gave me his pocket watch to keep,
And for a time I treasured it,
Measuring its weight
Like a smooth round pebble
In my palm.
A workman’s watch;
Practical.
A yellowing face
Behind a scratched
And hazy glass.
But accurate,
And precise.
Reliable as the man.
Detached in life,
I liked to hope that
Gazing down,
Watching,
He just might have
Laughed
In loving acknowledgement of his
Grandson’s curiosity
And foolishness
Sitting cross-legged on the carpet,
With heart-thumping nausea
Adrift in a sea of springs.
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
Who is mad?
Is it I?
But if I am mad then how aren't you?
Perhaps you are mad and I am sane
How does one know if one is sane?
How does one know if one is insane?
But is insanity a luxury?
Or is the luxury sanity?
What if one was sane but recognised the sanity as insanity?
Would one be insane then?
Or perhaps one was insane but to the eye insanity was sanity?
Would one be sane then?
What if sanity was insanity and insanity sanity?
Would the lack of clarity over insanity and sanity be but a normality?
Or is the true clarity that insanity is a normality?
For who is sane?
Is it I?
I, who dreams dreams and inner thoughts are most shy?
Who wakes when she sleeps
And sleep when she wakes?
Perhaps we are all in subdued insanity
If so isn't insanity a normality and sanity out clarity?
Or insanity is our clarity?
And sanity is a dreamed up notion for normality?
Who is mad?
Is it I?
Or the world in which there is no clarity over insanity and sanity?
And there is nothing but a formality which is normality which should or should not be insanity?
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
Hometown boys today aren’t like the ones my grandmother remembers.
Back then they looked like decent folk.
Hair combed, pants the right size,
always greeting with “Excuse me, miss.”
But today, most of them ain’t worth your while.
Standing in shadows, lurking by the train stations.
Looking like criminals.
There’s no formality or decency with these boys.
“Hey, girl! Where you goin’?”
M’ name ain’t girl. You aren’t supposed to answer these kind.
“Hey! You hear me talkin’a you?”
These are the kind of men who you’re supposed to run from.
So relaxed and limp
like snakes.
Not a care in the world.
Up on their high horses when they can’t even find the **** saddle.
Who the hell do they think they are?
Hometown boys ain’t nothing like they were
decades ago.
The kind you bring home to meet your mama and your sister.
The kind that bring sunflowers on Sundays.
The kind that call you late at night
just to see if you made it home safe and sound.
The kind that sadly go unnoticed today.
So few of them left.
So few of the sweet old-fashioned boys.
The kind that never call you ‘gull’.
They don’t come out much these days.
Probably looked at all the other hometown boys
and decided to throw in the towel and stay home.
Pity.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
To my dear sister,
Since you can't read it
And I know I couldn't say this
It's hard to open up at times
But now you should know that I miss,
I miss you.
I miss you
Even though you are so bossy
You always demand random things
When most of the time you are so haughty
And when you tell me to stop when I sing
We still share the same group of blood
And we still played on the same heap of mud.
I miss you,
Even though at times you are selfish
And you never listen to me
And I am not some other pond's fish
We both are kind of same, you see,
All these years, we shared the same room
Although not at the same time,
But we also shared the same womb.
I kind of miss you,
In case if you read this
You're not that special, Binni,
But still you are my sis.
I don't feel bad that you are gone
You're just a few miles away
More than missing you I was drawn
To get the whole room for myself for some days
But being happy doesn't mean
That a little cell of mine isn't aware
Of the absence there has been
Of your annoying shrill voice here.
So sister,
Don't be so high headed now
It's just a formality to miss siblings
You're still annoying somehow
I hope I am not fiddling
With your confidence
You're still not superior
You still have the annoying voice
The poem doesn't mean I am inferior
It's poetry which is my choice.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
Spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks,
Percy bows, in his blue peajacket, among the narcissi.
He is recuperating from something on the lung.
The narcissi, too, are bowing to some big thing :
It rattles their stars on the green hill where Percy
Nurses the hardship of his stitches, and walks and walks.
There is a dignity to this; there is a formality --
The flowers vivid as bandages, and the man mending.
They bow and stand : they suffer such attacks!
And the octogenarian loves the little flocks.
He is quite blue; the terrible wind tries his breathing.
The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely.
6.6k
Hey, I need your help.
Eager yellings have got me over-thinking,
linking what I think with pain,
I'm on the brink of breaking.
Each incision to my brain,
has never completely faded.
Onto reality, formality presents us to hide everything.
Wrongly suggesting,
we'd be better investing
imperfect perfections-
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
let's all revel in the duplicity
duplicate posts that lack authenticity
authentic thoughts fall to the simplicity
simple minds are guilty of complicity
a new origin of no originality
original thinking crushed by formality
formal rules lead to our commonality
common perspectives to lower our mentality
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Creeping up the steps of the building,
She holds her breath.
The building stares at her with massive, polished eyes,
Eyes of judgement,
Daring her to enter it's realm of formality,
It's realm of order and conduct.
She holds her breath.
A chill passes through her when she sees the others.
Dressed to impress,
Traveling in packs, like wolves of the wild.
And completely unaware of everything.
They have attended a private performance,
Put on by the people,
They immerse themselves with, surround themselves with.
She holds her breath.
The walls beckon her in, soak her in.
And she blends into them like a chameleon.
Invisible.
She holds her breath.
Traveling soundlessly, with soft footsteps that don't echo along the hallow halls,
Making her way to her destination,
She holds her breath.
The door moans as it opens to reveal what lays behind.
Disappointment, dismay, disillusions,
Dread.
She holds her breath.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
Sultry sleep, augmenting realty
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Flashes of translucent, magnified beams,
Lighting lingers in treacherous tonality
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
The water flows in upside-down streams,
Rivers rage in confused commonalities
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
The mechanic roar of howling screams,
Shrapnel shrieking in utter infinities.
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
Pulleys construct convoluted schemes
While pollution parades in notorious normality
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Awake. I go forth, my mind again seamed.
Awake. I go back, into a world of formality.
Near, near are my lucid dreams
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Relax the formality
But hang onto legality
While spreading the reality
Of being lonesome and humility
Showcase your ability
It won’t last for infinity
But don’t join the infantry
Unless you’re accustomed to calamity
un-wavered by insanity
and have the bravery to protect humanity
4/5/09
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC
So here we are, just you and me. On the edge of everything and nothing, we sit staring out into the ocean of things we wish we’d done.
We hold hands, it’s a formality. I’m scared. You soothed my anxiety, because even though I was scared of you, I knew everyone else was too.
I miss making you coffee in the morning, I wish I’d loved YOU more. You always had that massive mug with two teabags or two tablespoons of coffee.
I wish your family and I could have worked. Please don’t think for a second I didn’t try. Most of my time spent at yours was on eggshells, the ones they had placed.
I miss our first year, your second. Remember that? We were so silly and full of joy. Gimmick Puppets, Plants. You and your stupid trenchcoat that ended up smelling awful no matter how much you washed it. Your long hair was nice. I liked it. It framed your smile that was as bright as the Sun that set in the West over Zephyr’s strawberry field.
The light sank in your eyes the more you were with me. I drained you, I knew that. I stayed. I lied. You didn’t trust me anymore.
I’m happy, admittedly lonely. But I know you’re happy, scared but happy. It’s always been my job to appear, do what I must (whether I know what that is or not) and watch over. The bear finds another like him, and as I remember mentioning a few times, as we lounged lazily on the sofa with our cereal, playing every bit the monsters others cast us out to be;
What on Earth is a bear doing with an angel?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
Ever present life...
Ever present life...
3ver press a k̫͘ń͙ḭ̧̼̳̠͔f̢̺͙̥̣e̵̮̯̟̙̰ͅͅ
against the dying, glowing l̵i̎̓ͣ̚ghͦt͂͌ͧ͌̄ ̛ͣͧ͐̾ͦ̅ǒ̐ͩ͌̓̾͋f̡ͥͪ̑͆ ͝ļ̉̆̎ͮ͛ͪͩĭ̶̎̉̐f͑ͪ̓e͗̏͛ͥ͆̏͐?
W̡̠̘̭͛ͪ͋ͦͤa̘ͫ̆̒̈́͆i̗̳ͭͯ̾̇́̓ͫt̫̍ͭ ͈̠̯̻̖̪̹͌͑̽ͮ͛ͮ̃a̬̪ͫ̅̅ͯ́̈̓ͅ ̵͓̱̰͚̬͓̪̿͆M̞͍̤̤̱ͩ́̆̇i̪̬̟̪̹͍ͦ̓͗ͪ̐ͫ̐n̻͈̦̥͕͉̍͛͆̋̐͊u͍ͮ͌͛ͣ̀͘t̯̣̭̝̓͊̍̐̄ͧͦe̺͓̱͈̬̫̊ͯͥͨͯ͜ ̹͔̳̞̇͂͢this can't be me!̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕!!
CHECK MY FIELD, REALIZE!
Still Sun Tzu
hit my enemy first
in the verses
no physical damage
no trauma purses to manage
I already lived afflicted with curses
from savage researches
Till I learned to shift my boundaries around me,
...That there’s still power in !̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕category!̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕
But not enough to stop me !
I broke the two ton shell OF CULTURE
but I’ll never stop hearing this ocean swell
sailors fly by wave to the 9th sign
Hi.
Î̝͎̪̮̣͎͈̮͖͈̼͕̞̠ͭ̍̓́͛ͣ͠͝ͅn̫̭̹̼̰͇̱̠̠̭͉̲̱̙̼͎̐̾ͨͦͪ̓̎̅̌ͬ͌̀ͦ̚͟͢ͅfͫ̆̐̾̂̃ͯͯ͌͑̄̌̀̅͂̔̋̀͘͏͎͇̭͓̜i͈̮̞̙̭͖͇͇̝̗͈̜̗̤̞͈̽̓̾ͪ͛̿͂ͯ͂̇̌ͣ̓ͦ̿ͮ̈͘͘n̷̷̡̠̘̘̦̬̣̺̟͖͍ͮ̾͂̈́͟͜ĭ̙̳̩͓͕̍̃̌͂͋ͪ̂ͧ̓ͨ̉ͨ͌ͨͤ̈̚͟͜͝t̵̴͖̣̳̤̊̈̎ͥ͊́e̛̺̭͚̻̠̞̙͍̞͚͉̝ͨ͑̉ like a Shepard’s tone.
Passionate like a Shepard's SON.
Intricate like a l̀e͊ͧ̓͛̑ͦ̃͠o͐ͭp͒͢à͢r͒́ͬ̅ͣͤd̑̍̿ͤͮsͦ̋ ̊̈́̀ͯ͐̅́tongue.
[[God said to me]]:
Work under the light of e̴͏ff͠ort͞ SON
You cannot break the stone without the Wind and the Ocean.
So we wander back into the liquid crystaline vision
Waves wander and ponder up through and fill my being
We release the storm my drips speaking.
But I can't hear cause there's still Too Many Lights.
Easily distracted
by how others say
"stay away from illicit people ..."
Illicit people ...?
More like
people illicit
[!?meaning?!]
formed inͧ̒͂ͭ s͑͆͒ͯͪ͊̚tͩͩ̂ͬͬͬ̌e͆̏͗̽e̚ṕ͒l̅ͮͤͧ̉̈ẻ͋̈́ͨͪ̓sͤ̆̍ͥͮ ̉̓̚
Responses from the ghost markers
self-induced parasites better host dollars people!
FC*K that!
>NO MORE BEING SILENT MY LOVE <
-Just watch and listen-
Tectonic plates shift
when I talk back
Demonic cosmic rift silent
when I talk rap
people never seem to mind
unless you say I did that
But you better believe
This ***** not much more than a formality.
Fancy phantasm shorn from reality .
Never base your life in a fallacy.
No waste your life chasing the phallus see?
L̎̒i͐ͤv̡e̓ͪͪ̔̾ͤ ͥm̓̐ͨ̑̈̄҉a̎g̒̽̍͛̽iͩͩ͑͟c̎ͬ̏̕ ̡̂ͫ̒̊ͧͪ͆
Like Harry Potter,
I always catch the snitch
end the game break my fist͆̓̽..̔͌̓͏.̛̾ͩ̒ͣ
So few leave this life of crime
now I teach yoga
super stack your spine
till that ***** aligned
so try and find me
I’m in orbit right outside the mind b.
To look up my next move in the dictionary
doesn’t make it a **** move, this is :
"My **** is hairy, I let it out at night like Bigfoot
and its OH so scary!"
Now WHATEVER YOU believe .̔͌̓͏.̛̾ͩ̒ͣ
.͆͊̚҉̦̝̪͈̗̝.̜̭͔̖̲̓̍̈́͗̉̽
.͆͊̚҉̦̝̪͈̗̝.̜̭̓̍̈́͗̉̽
I’m married to my Wife,
my Diction,
God and Mary.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC
I wish to get this out in the open,
I wish to clarify something
I must confess something to those who care about my writing:
My sense of humour is... well...
If you know me in person, you know my sense of humour
or what could be errantly said
to be a sense of humour.
I draw heavily upon:
facetiousness, mythic interpretation, sarcasm, satire, excessive formality, irony, wordplay,
a somewhat predisposed tendency towards not taking most things entirely seriously
even and almost especially when I am 'supposed to',
resorting to profanity on rare occasions,
and quite simply and succinctly a ****** up world perspective*
amassed over many years of living in this society
and from living with my late, similarly minded, brutally honest alcoholic Father,
in this society, nonetheless,
who in fact was at least *quite ******* directly* responsible for my aforementioned errant sense of humour.
If you knew him, you might say that I'm a "chip off the ol' block" in some ways,
but I know I'm quite ******* deviant from it in others.
So, to those of you who simply know of my existence via this digital outlet/public-sketchpad for my new-found passion of writing down every ******* thing I think it worthwhile to ponder again later, or perhaps even share with similarly minded, or at least accepting people; I wish to convey my deepest and most sincere pity, not in that it is anything that was your doing, just in that you can't possibly know my sense of humour and tasteless applications of irony and satire, and as such; I've probably offended some people.
However, for some anomalous reason,
some of you seem to like this stuff
So I'm going to keep it up.
If you read this: thank you,
but if you did not, then **** you;
however, if you didn't initially read this but were later directed to it by me or by some other personage,
fictional or real,
or for some other reason happened across it,
I rescind the aforementioned **** you" in light of conveying my deepest and most sincere
"Thank you for putting up with my weird-ass ********
I appreciate anyone who finds any value in my works.
I also appreciate the improbable nature of anyone liking my brain-vomit.
I love creating and I love sharing my creations,
so when that all works out,
I'm ******* fit as a fiddle;
Giddy as a schoolgirl on Prozac;
Happier than a young necrophiliac who achieves his boyhood ambition of becoming coroner.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
With no expectation all's novelty
The new patterns don't astound us
We can stay in the middle of the river with our heads above the water
And safely watch the coastline pass us by
The outside world an ocean of television static
The signals painting pictures of entropic holograms
That interlock and correlate
Until the ghosts of time are churning out
Like geese into a a tiny hole
In an orange plastic fence
Fleeing mischievous youngsters
Who love to watch them funneled in
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
We too live in an hourglass
And the grains of sand empty out the bottom
Floating aimlessly through an unending void
And the ultimate improbability
Goes through the formality of actually occurring
When the grain of sand finds itself at the beginning
Passing once again through the hourglass
Undivided, indistinguishable
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
"Dear Sarah,"
Just this little word.
that puts me in agony
complete agony
I completely ache for you.
"Dear Sarah,"
a formality.
But you don't know how it makes me
weak
to read these words
(over and over)
If I could only be so dear to you
as precious as
white marble
I'd be porcelain, I swear
I would be a whisper,
an exhale
a saccharine goddess
how I have been so carved by you
"Dear Sarah,"
nothing and everything
to me.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Strangely timed
like a midnight rose
but this baby's breath breathes life
vibrant, visceral, vivacious
a requirement in this environment
for corporeal sustenance
maintaining and sustaining subsequent substances
and for which
no substitute exists.
nor should one.
for if this is that
without which
anguish persists permeating the vastness
clearly packing voidish absence
reminding that reciprocity not animosity
makes connectivity the activity
then why bother with formality?
or try to deny reality?
Grateful nostrils more easily discern
Scents that sting and scents that burn
Aided by proximity to incense intense senses
lives sweeten with flowers' presence
sweet airs and flowery essence
but there's hesitance in this instance
careful to engage or allow mental enrapture
one must gauge potential fracture
for roses have thorns
And I fear morning glory's scorn
despite wonders of its consumption born
that of which misgivings warn.
But know this
Golden lotus:
Let us lattice.
Let us, lotus,
Don't pass thus.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:40 PM UTC
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
If you don't mind it, love
I believe I must ask:
Why is it that
Even when Summer begins to die
This heat never seems to fade away, too?
Solstice is bleeding out in the streets every night
Those fallen leaves, shielding her body
And yet, here in September
I'm still drunk on that brand-new sunshine
That makes me want to lie down with you.
I wish you and I could find a cold place
A secret pathway into Autumn's sweetly perfumed arms
But, love, if that's not happening
Perhaps we should go where the sun shines brightest
And revel in a halo of blistering light.
Perhaps we could peel away
All the formality
Just to keep cool
Every layer of reserve
Long gone by the end of the day.
Of course
You'll see every imperfection
And I'll know it
But I won't mind
As long as each one gets attention from your fingertips.
I'll find Spring in your skin
And you'll taste Winter on my lips
And Summer and her fatal fever
Will be no match for us.
In fact, we'll barely feel her harsh kiss
Streaming through the window
Into our little room
Where everything feels just right.
So, if you don't mind it, love
I believe that you should follow me into this retreat
Where we can embrace this heatwave.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
I‘ve been a rebel all my life,
fighting against established formality.
Dreaming about adventure and other lands,
making plans inside my mind.
Trying to break free to be myself
searching to find me amidst the ruins of childhood.
Looking for that magic knife
to cut the tether that holds me.
Your grip no longer holds the person inside
I’ve cut the chain and broken the link that held me.
You’re but a memory now I hold to
As I have become my own.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 1:34 PM UTC
Forensic psychology is not an exact science, despite the lofty assertions of those who are deemed to have expertise in the face of non-empathic presumption.
Please, do not dismiss the wisdom of those who are seasoned in the metaphorical school of life. It is far too expensive, even though there is an apparent and mutual understanding between those on each side of the great divide.
Dazzling suits and coherent reports do not adequately represent intricate diversities in the docks of criminality where the laughter of the prosecution echoes throughout the beams of formality.
Therefore, sociopathy and psychopathy remain to be inadequately defined.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
I live in a place …
Where intelligence
Is dissed
And ignorance
Is bliss
Where refusing
To be forced into a box
Is taking a questionable risk
And if you
Step out of place
All eyes will shift
Where accepting the life
You’ve been assigned
Is just a formality
And you’re constantly being
Criticized for your individuality
I live in a place …
Where you have to
Play your role
The stage is set
So forget about
Your own goals
Do what you’ve been told
And you just might make it
But until you do
You’ll have to fake it
So secretly read up
Ingest all you can
The only way to
Escape ignorance
Is to devise an
Intelligent plan
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
Nightfall, through the door,
Bedsprawl, a ritualistic bore. Movements, they're oppressive. Actions, they're aggressive but his eyes, they're depressive.
Our synthetic connection and self-hatred is created with projection and misplaced indignation. There is no love in our heads, no lust in our beds. The fear of emasculation and eternal damnation hides all self-loathing with boasting and congruent clothing.
My Y was castrated. I'm a ****** from the womb. I'm Female, for unsated gloom my X is berated. I'm named a disgusting mutation as he projects his deveation onto the population.
When his shameful "pride" has diminished, I know our joyless formality has finished. He doesn't sit in the pew, yet he stands in the aisle, locked in a prison of denial. Tough and brisant, trying to be what he isn't. He walks out like a ragdoll, his steps aneurysmal with alcohol.
Beside myself, salty tears act as an anaesthetic, the antonym of emotion. An apathetic ocean.
I clutch my centre, the daunting tormentor. Impregnation is a STD, an infection, an infestation. Glue for our miseries to undo our joys. Merriment induced torment, fidelity induced gaiety
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
you told me fear was an illusion made by the devil
to impair our lives and blur our vision
now all i see are flames of fear and my body is burning in temperatures of hell.
i never thought i would use the topic of drowning in a poem
i would always complain about the girls who wrote they were drowning in depression
when their serotonin levels were doing just fine
or the girls who said someone drowned them after breaking the lifeboat of love,
when they can pick themselves up if they use their muscles
but you are the reason i am drowning for the first time,
the cliche, stupid, senseless drowning topic,
you are drowning me in security and structure and formality
i am asphyxiating with security up to my throat, almost vomiting up words of rebellion because of constant confinement
i would rather drown in the ocean because i know there are treasures and unmet species, no restrictions.
i would fill my lungs with the mistakes you don't want me to make because it would give me substance
i would refuse to cough them up just so i could stay underwater without you shoving your beliefs down my throat
you are drowning me in repeating stories about mistakes that are not even mine, you are drowning me with rules, brain washing my mind.
you are stuffing stereotypes into my ears, talking about races, outer images and superficiality.
yes i know genesis and revelation, yes i know matthew, mark, luke and john, maybe you forgot how Luke wrote we shouldn't judge,
and i don't know if you remember how often you **** plants by over watering them.
i told you those plants were teenagers, they had to be left alone, you're drowning everything around you while getting water in your brain too, you're forgetting what its like to float,
probably because you never learned how to properly since you were a little girl
please don't drown me any longer
i don't want to drown people too
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC