"foster" poems
Really? Well, don’t be, because it doesn’t help to be sorry. Sorry doesn’t change it. Sorry doesn’t make it go away. Sorry doesn’t “undo” what’s already been done. Sorry doesn’t erase my memory. Sorry doesn’t take away the searing pain in my chest. Sorry ***** I don't want your pity or to hear that no child should ever have to endure what I did. Because **** happens. It happened to me …it happens to millions of other kids. Shoulda…woulda…coulda…
You’re right – I do have so much going for me. I have an education, a career, financial security – the beautiful house w/the picket fence, the 2 kids and the dogs. And it’s all a huge sham! You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. And that’s what I’m to be commended for??? That doesn’t make me special. I should be commended because I have an education? Things could sure be a lot worse, huh? I could be a crack ***** living on the street with 10 kids in foster care, unable to afford therapy even if I wanted to go. I could be like “them”.
Wow! I’m so awesome. Yay for me! Kudos to the smart chick that spent years being molested by her father and ACTUALLY made something of her life. It’s a miracle!
It’s all such a sham – a dog and pony show. Smoke and Mirrors, my dear! Put on a stylish outfit, and paste on a cheerful smile, and everyone thinks you have it all together….. No one would ever know different. You wouldn’t have known. If I’d have kept my big fat mouth shut!!!!! I should have known better….I should have sat down and weighed the risks, possible opportunities, the roadblocks the problems, and definitely a cost analysis of plan A – trying to work through the ******** of the past, B – continue to live in denial, C – **** myself. …. That’s what a smart business woman would have done. And after all, I’m super smart, huh? A real genius!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
I. The Mermaid
I am six years old,
and I am obsessed with Ariel
from The Little Mermaid--
she is, by far,
my favourite Disney Princess.
I want to be exactly like her--
hair billowing in red swirls
around a heart-shaped face
and eyes so blue they put the very
ocean to shame
(my sister has blue eyes too, you know,
and, to this day, I still envy her,
for her eyes are the loveliest
characteristic of her Beauty--
and believe me, there are many);
purple clam shells vibrant
against porcelain-doll skin
and fully blossomed *******
(in three years from now,
I will begin
to grow *****
elementary-school style,
over-ripe.
B Cups going on C cups
fated to become D Cups,
plum-sized
in comparison to the
budding mosquito bites of
my fellow classmates.
Barely a child,
womanhood threatens
to sexualize my girlish body
before I truly know
what sexualization is);
fins cutting through the water
gracefully in all their
green, iridescent glory
(little did I know that,
as I grew older,
"cutting" would adopt
a far more sinister meaning
in the context of my life).
But,
despite my admiration for Ariel,
I fail to understand her desire
to abandon her
under-sea rendezvous,
sunken treasures,
oceanic melodies to
"be where the people are."
This lack of approval I foster
exists due to the fact that I am
a firm believer of the magic
the aquatic realm (and Disney)
has to offer.
To this day,
I continue to maintain my stance--
that Ariel had been terribly wrong
in the choices she made--
but I have become cognizant of
different (and better) reasons
to argue my position;
after all,
and as a cartoon crab
had so wisely declared once,
"The human world--
it's a mess."
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
I feel like a friend-- a true friend,
is more than a profile on a website.
And peace is more than a handshake agreement
brought by the outcome of a gruesome fight.
I know that self worth is more than someone's opinion,
and in no other dominion but mine own to foster and care for.
And I can see that happiness is more than having money, sure,
cause most of us laugh everyday here, and come on, we're dirt poor.
And I pray the human soul is more than Casper's counterpart,
somewhere between the heart and the pancreas.
And God, faith is so much more than cryin' and dyin'
over spilt milk between religions.
And in case you were confused, "I love you", is more than
pet names, bed games, and ***
Music is more than pimps, hoes, and MTV Shows, and T-Pain singin through a computer.
Believe that life is more than grades and degrees,
or drugs and disease,
or the 'ABCs' of success that some old man wrote a thousand years ago.
This poem has to be more than words strewn together
to voice my discontent at the status-quo..
Hell, the word "more" itself is more than a one-syllable statment
that what we lack in the present
is just a larger quantity of the **** "we already have",
and no!
The power of your silent agreement is more than that
of my voice alone, so...
What is "more"?
In many ways, "more" is the friend you never had.
More peace in the world would end all the mindless bloodshed.
More respect and selfworth would bring beauty back to youth,
especially to the women in the world,
that sell their unique souls to look like the cover of Cosmo.
More faith, that grants serenity in the times of hardship,
will be the soothing hand of an Angel on our shoulders as
we say, "I love you" to our enemies, martyrs for a better world.
More positive music will inspire us,
to be the change we want to see in the world, today,
instead of, "Waitin' on the World to Change "♫ ♪ ♫♪
So ladies and gentlemen, make a decision: if you want to be
critics and vipers,
war mongers and hope-snipers,
ignore my intention, and live with more division.
But, if any of you are artists starving for meaning and inspiration,
if you envision a world of more than... THIS...
Then let a word change a feeling,
change a thought, change a meaning,
change your mind...
And get more out of life.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
When children are abused I cant help but feel so bad and cry for them. When children are abused they dont know what is happening especially if its your own parents or parent. They dont know because of the shock and **** they are going through. All they know at that moment is that they are getting yelled or or getting charged at and they know they are going to be beaten with something. They have the shock and there heart is racing very fast. They dont know whats going to happen next they dont know if they are going be in horrific pain to the piont they cant move or not. All they know what to do is do exactly do what the person is doing to them what they say with out answer anything but yes and do it. If they dont there will be more horrific pain. With all this happening to them knowing that right then all they feel is physical pain. Later in life they figure out that it wasn't just physical it was emotional and mental to. How was it mental and emotional by knowing that there own parent or parents did that to them. It haunts them for the rest of their lifes more so if it happens more then once. It makes them feel like they can never trust anybody in there lifes ever again. They build a wall up and dont let alot of people in because they are afraid of getting hurt again. Most kids end up in fostercare for what there parents did to them. So when they are there in the fostercare home do you think they feel safe and happy? If you thought yes you are wrong they are more scared then ever because they have strangers around them and no one they know. The foster parents may say your safe and hug you but you still dont feel safe and loved because they dont have people around them that they know love them. Most of the time they just want there parents although they just got abused and but through all that pain. Its becuase most of the time they are not themselves. They are either drunk or high. The kids know that and they know that there parents must be nice when they are sober becuase they have seen there friends parents nice to them. When children are being abused when they are young they most likely dont ever wanna go home they want to be at school or somewhere they are happy. When all that is taken away from them all they want to be is home in the abusive place becuase thats where they realized was the most comforting safest place is at home in there room. Most of the time its either friends or a sibling that calls the police becuase thats all they know what to do. Usally its a sibling that is either scared and wants help or is treated better then the one that is getting abused. If the child that goes away to a foster home with out a sibling. She is more likely to get scared and put a shield up towards anybody that she doesnt know and trust. She most likely wont talk to anybody. She will cry most of the day because she feels like she is alone and doesn't have anyone around her. Even when the other foster kids and parents are there and willing to calm her down and comfort her. She wont let them because she wants someone she can trust and she knows to calm her down and comfort her and hold her. The simple words coming out of someone they knows mouth "Its going to be ok I am here for you to hold you comfort you to calm you down when you are upset." Those simple words to a child meen the world to them when they got abused and are taken away from the situation. Those words may seem nothing to you but to that child it meens everything more then you can imagine unless you went through it. You went through it like me I wrote this because I know people that have got abused just like me. I wrote this because I know how it feels to be be abused by your parents and then feel like you have no one until those words are said then you feel like you have someone. That its going to be ok and someone is finally going to treat you the you deserved to be treated loved cared for and supported no matter what you do in life. When you have the right people in your life you dont realize what your life was like back then until you have the right people in your life and they show you the true meening of life happiness and love and trust. Although you have the happiness love and trust your past abuse or abuses still are there for the rest of your life. Its ok though because you know what not to do to your children and what to do to your children. You can raise them right by showing them you care love and want happiness for them and they can always trust you for anything. If its for those special words of if its for adivce. They will always know you are there for them no matter what. even if you think they dont because they are doing something you dont like they still love care and want happiness for you. So what you can do is stop child abuse from happening with your kids!!!!
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things
A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings
I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,
At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'
A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of their wings flapping in my subconscious.
Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light, I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.
A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
A drop of Aussie poetry (guess from where):
The liquid amber is a nice drop.
I especially like the sherbert on top.
It caresses my taste buds with flavour
And I enjoy its savour.
An Australian man’s home is his Castlemaine XXXX
Full of Foster Children
Drinking nectar.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
*I foster a monster
Of my own creating;
"Self-defeating" he slithers
As his skin festers into smiling,
Unrelenting and repeating;
So I slit my throat
With the cold knife of self-loathing,
Coating my skin
With a red dress
Of the life I've been wasting.*
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
People are all equal,
but
is it completely true?
Homosexuality
remain marginalized.
They are normal
people;
they want to
have normal lives.
Children are in foster cares.
Homosexual couples
would love to have kids,
but it is still illegal.
We all need a family
that teach
us
about
equality.
Gay
couples value having
children.
They
can
bring them
love,
education, and
security
for
the happiness of
children.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
(And Reasons Why I Have It Pretty Good)
2. Starving people in Africa who have nothing that even resembles a stable govermnent to keep them safe and fed and alive.
3. Couples going through divorce or recovering from divorce, and their poor children. =\
4. Drug addicts living on the streets without a family or a hope.
5. Women and children caught up in human trafficking and slavery who have no one to save them.
6. Would-be-mothers who cannot have children. This is heartbreaking for many women.
7. Children abused by their own parents who then have to go through foster care and withstand the constant reminder that they do not have parents that love and care for them.
8. People who have no hope and who believe a bottle of pills is the only way to take away their pain. Life is never a curse, and it is not one's responsibility to take when it becomes unbearable.
9. Fathers who can't find a job in our economy and who feel like a failure because they can't support their family's needs.
10. People who sit in a church and believe they are being good enough to go to heaven, when they've never heard the true gospel spoken to them before.
1. And most importantly...the great number of individuals who have not heard and those who have rejected the Good News of Jesus Christ. It's nothing that I have done that makes me any different than them, but only the grace of God that I took hold of. I won't stand by while my fellow man lives on less than I do every day. I am blessed with food, a better government than many in this world, and parents who love each other and the Lord. I have a life of hope that sustains me better than drugs, a life worth living, and the financial support that only God could supply. And I have a church that preaches the gospel each Sunday and reminds me of how much I need Him.
Lord, never let me forget Your many blessings. Self-pity, worry, and depression keep me from my true potential as Your daughter and servant. Show me how to share my blessings with others, so that I can spread Your Word to everyone I meet.
Amen.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Karma?
I don't adhere to it
But I do believe
We reap what we sow
One cannot expect to have peace
When one has sown nothing but discord
Anymore than one can expect a golden crop of corn
When the planter has actually sown beans
And roots of bitterness will sure grow deep and destructive
When not thoroughly torn out of the ground
For a thriving garden must be rid of invading seedlings
Of anything that does not foster, but fights its growth
To reap an abundant harvest
Sometimes, it is starting all over from scratch
For we've all been guilty of poor gardening
Have failed as farmers to one degree or another
You wanted succulent peaches
But you got shriveled prunes
You wanted wheat
But you got weeds
To produce a healthy garden
The fruit of forgiveness must grow as freely
As wildflowers in a field
Row upon row of compassion and love
An orchard of plenty for the desperate in need
Is the most rewarding harvest to reap
It will quench the terrible thirst
And satisfy the yearning soul
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
“Each broken promise is a blackout star” said he
“The light goes on” said she
“Too many, too close, to who?” Thought he
Tuesday came unannounced and declared its importance
ushering hours, sweeping boredom
Tuesday left unnoticed
“Letter by letter, what good your words have done?” said she
“I lie to protect, to protect from sheer ignorance” said he
“Acceptance, For the highest bidder!” said she
O Foster child of infinite dreams
The mind shivers
This is water, and that’s a stream
Certainty, but up to a degree
“Dictate the mind, and the heart will flee” said he
“I reside in paintings and leave hints in old ink” said she
“Seek shelter at the nearest heart” thought he
the rhymes dwell,
between two red cheeks
And the name is spelled
so the face can melt
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
Should I long that dark were fair? Say, O song.
Lacks my love aught that I should long?
Dark the night with breath all flow'rs
And tender broken voice that fills
With ravishment the list'ning hours.
Whis'prings, wooings,
Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings,
in low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills.
Dark the night, yet is she bright,
For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
Trembling yet strong as is the voice of love
From some unknown afar.
O radiant dark, O darkly foster'd ray,
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow day.
4.8k
You’ll never see me again. Who’s going to cry for you? This pen writes in black, but its green. I want to dance under a silly disco ball. I want to feel the earth on my skin. dig in the dirt, bury myself in the sand, climb a tree and swim in the sea. looking over me. I want to paint my nails with every color in those kindergarten classrooms, every pattern we learn in geometry. I want to no longer feel the need to look this color (arrow pointing to the color of the paper: red). I want to do yoga when I can and go for runs and eat healthy. I want to starve and feel hungry and weightless 24/7. I want to make a decision. I want to make music. I want to dance with a stranger, hands held, eyes close and sweaty bodys. I want to get their number and fall in love. I want a movie moment. I want to kiss everyone. I want to be wanted. I want to apologize to everyone. I want to stare into someones eyes; not longingly, but lovingly. I want them to look back just the same. I want them to make me things and work for me and only me. “make sure to write a poem about my prettiness”. I want to have a higher self esteem than her. I want people to come when not directly called. I want to look **** I want to hold someone **** I want *** to be my celebration for (arrow for where my self esteem is better). I want to think rationally always. I want to stop disappointing people I care about. I want to know the difference between a good impulse and a bad impulse. I want people to be okay with what I want. I want to sleep. I want to kiss. I want to give up smoking. I want to give up on my quest for the perfection every one speaks of. I want to foster dogs.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
from
On the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(DE L'INFINITO UNIVERSO ET MONDI)
by GIORDANO BRUNO
1548 – 17 February 1600
burned at the stake in Rome's Campo de' Fiori
THREE SONNETS
Passing alone to those realms
The object erst of thine exalted thought,
I would rise to infinity: then I would compass the skill
Of industries and arts equal to the objects.
There would I be reborn: there on high I would foster for thee
Thy fair offspring, now that at length cruel
Destiny hath run her whole course
Against the enterprise whereby I was wont to withdraw to thee.
Fly not from me, for I yearn for a nobler refuge
That I may rejoice in thee. And I shall have as guide
A god called blind by the unseeing.
May Heaven deliver thee, and every emanation
Of the great Architect be ever gracious unto thee:
But turn thou not to me unless thou art mine.
Escaped from the narrow murky prison
Where for so many years error held me straitly,
Here I leave the chain that bound me
And the shadow of my fiercely malicious foe
Who can force me no longer to the gloomy dusk of night.
For he who hath overcome the great Python
With whose blood he hath dyed the waters of the sea
Hath put to flight the Fury that pursued me.
To thee I turn, I soar, O my sustaining Voice;
I render thanks to thee, my Sun, my divine Light,
For thou hast summoned me from that horrible torture,
Thou hast led me to a goodlier tabernacle;
Thou hast brought healing to my bruised heart.
Thou art my delight and the warmth of my heart;
Thou makest me without fear of Fate or of Death;
Thou breakest the chains and bars
Whence few come forth free.
Seasons, years, months, days and hours --
The children and weapons of Time -- and that Court
Where neither steel nor treasure avail
Have secured me from the fury [of the foe].
Henceforth I spread confident wings to space;
I fear no barrier of crystal or of glass;
I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite.
And while I rise from my own globe to others
And penetrate ever further through the eternal field,
That which others saw from afar, I leave far behind me
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
With the onset of the sun in the horizon, the little creatures awake
And dance and sing melodies tantamount to a group of chortling people
Oh, how i wish such convival sights be captured
And played back on repeat everytime you feel low
As vagabonds they fly in search of food and shelter
And when the sun does set, off they disappear in their nests
Robbing the nature of its beauty
For every day they have to give a survival test(from their carnivore counterparts)
The broke pigeon was no different, her eyes gleamed better than Cindrella's did
The vicissitudes of life had rendered it to be a mendicant.
But she was a resilient creature and she continued her fight everyday
Her condition started to exacerbate when she laid 4 snow like eggs
Gathering twig by twig and working for an entire afternoon meticulously
She made a perfect home for her babies which were about to hatch
Be it a human or a bird, mothers always foster the children
Off she slipped into a reverie of a bright future with her kids
But the evil nature had its own sinister plans
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cacophony of sounds of other birds
She knew the sound was ominous
Peeping out of the nest she saw a dozen eagles encircling the tree
Her blood ran cold, she wrapped the eggs around her and a teardrop made its way from her eye
The leader of the eagles stoop towards her and hit her with a beak
The broke pigeon pleaded for its life saying-"I will offer myself to you as soon as my kids learn to fly"
The Machiavillian eagle agreed at first, flew up high,leaving the broke pigeon to heave a sigh of relief
The sigh was a short lived one as it swoop down with two other eagles on the broke pigeon
Performing an act of utter perfidy, there was a sly smile on its face
Turn by turn they devoured the broke pigeon
And kicked the eggs down the nest
It was a brutal ****** much more heinous than the ones we see
But there was none to witness the fate of the broke pigeon
And even if there were, they'd never know the events that transpired
Never know.. never know.. never know..
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
**Fight to make your presence known
Fight to make something your own
Fight to stand up to the wrong
Fight to sing one more song
Fight to end up at the top
Fight to make bad **** stop
Fight because it’s what you’re told
Fight, be fierce, strong and bold
Fight for rights you think we need
Fight to stay awake and read
Fight to always give your all
Fight back every time you fall
Fight from looking in too deep
Fight depressions need for sleep
Fight for children in foster homes
Fight the fear you’ll die alone
Fight as if today’s your last
Fight to persevere your past
Fight to see your grandkids birth
Fight to the death for mother Earth
Fight back tears and wear a smile
Fight the urgency and stay awhile
Fight for fun or relieving stress
Fight for whatever you think is best
Fight because they struck you first
Fighting your best friends the worst
Fight to improve yourself bit by bit
Fight belifs that you'll fail at it
Fight for you and all you are
Fight the darkness; brilliant star
Fight thoughts that you’re not enough
Fight their hatred with undying love
Heidi Shavill 2013
**
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Benevolent Krishna blessed
Gandhari saw the dead.
Shattered stingy bodies lay
Scattered, smeared with blood.
Oh! Krishna! You are the cause
Cause of all these loss”
Sobbing Gandhari babbled, but
Krishna stood- mute and smiling
Krishna was duty conscious
What Gamdhari failed to do.
Neither a good other was nor a queen
Inpartial , she stood for justice.
Audacious Duriyodhana was brought up,
Reckless Dussasana belittled Panchali;
But ,Gandhari remained blind and dumb.
As our modernist mummy does
Justified her sons ‘nd blamed others rude.
Test-tube babies and Hostel wards
Grow up sans love in them.
Crying mummy cry thy lot; else…
Properly, morally, foster thy progeny.
Gandhari doomed the life of Panchali
Woman are foes of women-folk
No law can save, unless themselves
Do their destined duty fairly.
(A poem based on MahaBharatha story.)
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
"I'm sorry if your dad left you .
I'm sorry if your dad hit you .
I'm sorry if your dad passed away .
I'm sorry if your mom left you .
I'm sorry if your mom hit you or got hit by your dad .
I'm sorry if your mom passed away .
I'm sorry if you get bullied .
I'm sorry if you cut your wrists .
I'm sorry if you can never get sleep at night .
I'm sorry if you throw up after you eat because you don't want to gain weight .
I'm sorry if you cry in your room for hours .
I'm sorry if you get called a ****** for being gay .
I'm sorry if your boyfriend or girlfriend hits you .
I'm sorry if you feel like you're not good enough .
I'm sorry if someone broke your heart .
I'm sorry if you got cheated on .
I'm sorry if you're in foster care .
I'm sorry if you're homeless .
I'm sorry if you would rather be homeless because being at home is torture .
I'm sorry if you rake your nails down your arms .
I'm sorry if you feel like nobody cares .
I'm sorry if you feel invisible .
I'm sorry if you feel you won't be as " pretty " or " handsome " as someone else . But guess what ? You are beautiful .
I'm sorry if you don't want to be saved .
I'm sorry if you do want to be saved , but nobody is around to help you .
I'm sorry if you lost a loved one .
I'm sorry if your brother or sister has a mental illness .
I'm sorry if I've hurt you .
I'm sorry if you've been sexually harassed .
I'm sorry I've not always been there when you've needed me .
I'm sorry if you have to sell drugs or do them because you hate reality .
I'm sorry for all the pain you kept inside for so long .
I'm sorry if your heart is broken .
I'm sorry if you feel this way .
But I know that with everything that is going wrong , one day it will go right .
I care about you , I want to give my all to show you how worth it you are .
I want you to live , I want you to fight this .
I need you here .
All your pain is something that probably followed you everywhere .
I know that things are hard , and nobody understands what you're going through .
You fake a smile , but I can see it .
You think you're unloved , but I love you so much . I promise you're loved .
If you think it's time for you to go , it's honestly not , this isn't worth it.
I know you want to die , nobody would miss you right ? Those thoughts are all a lie , those demons in your head are lying to you . All those people telling you to **** yourself aren't there when you need a hug , they aren't there when you're punching walls .
They assume you won't do anything, they aren't there when you're breaking down , and crying , but I promise you'll feel better soon , don't do this .
Don't leave me .
I need you .
You're worth it .
I know you're enough .
I love you .
I'm always just a message away .
Stay strong ."
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
sit down, pen and paper scrape together,
come up with something clever.
blank mind
stare at the paper-don't doodle!
holding your head in your hand is not writing-
supposed to be writing
all of these skillfully woven thoughts that should be
bursting forth, but aren't.
stop spell checking, do it later. maybe that's the answer:
automatic writing
OK go into trance let the pen and hand dance.
don't think, let the ink flow from the inside to the surface,
you're thinking on purpose...stop it! OK this is obviously not working,
it's just jerking off and it doesn't even feel good, although it should.
Come up with a subject, not abstract thought...wait...thought has no
place here. where is the Muse? I'll blow a fuse if I don't get to use a
clever phrase I turned today. what about childhood walks in the woods,
first love, real love, not in-puppy-love with Jody Foster!
during the day all the stuff that's enough to fill a book gets wasted
and lambasted. I'm mad as hell and here I sit
broken hearted did my time and only started three hours ago.
could have taken a tour by now and, holy cow!, the Tao probably took
less time to write than this night of the living dead man
with two pinky and the brains.
where the hell am I going with this clap trap? this is out of hand, out
of mind-otherworldly. is this all that i am:
meaningless gobbeldy-gook
I'm getting spooked. it's time to stop and drop the needle on a different track,
stop the attack sit back relax choose to lose my senses, dulled and lulled into
false pretenses, mend some fences with myself, or else.
Or else, what? Not contemplate, deliberate, speculate, ruminate, investigate,
radiate...KNOCK IT OFF! Just put the pen down, get up, walk out of the room.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
She might laugh if she read this
at the flat little version of her
that lives in my mind.
She may laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but hear me out
it could be touching.
David Foster Wallace wrote:
*“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience
we do not have direct access
to anyone or anything’s pain but our own;
and even just the principles
by which we can infer that others experience pain
and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain
involve ******** philosophy—
metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”
*"[Lobsters] do have an exquisite tactile sense,
one facilitated by hundreds of thousands of tiny hairs
that protrude through their carapace.
Although encased
in what seems a solid, impenetrable armour,
the lobster can receive stimuli and impressions from without
as readily as if it possessed a soft and delicate skin.”*
and so
“We lift lobsters out of the bag
or whatever retail container they came home in
…whereupon some uncomfortable things start to happen.
However stuporous the lobster is from the trip home, for instance,
it tends to come alarmingly to life when placed in boiling water."*
As much as I cannot comprehend the pain
of the exquisitely tactile lobster
in a *** of boiling water,
I wonder if I could
walk a mile in a lobster’s 8 minuscule shoes
and I wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
with her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to be back at home with her father.
They might try to butter you up
or snap elastic bands
around your oversized claws
and use a wooden spoon
to try and nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***
but remember:
lobsters can live to be over 100 years old
and grow to over 20 pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and remember that they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae, characterized by five pairs of jointed legs, the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws.
And DFW famously said,
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”
and he's not a lobster either
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC