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*** trafficking – the trafficking and debasement of souls; Drug trafficking – the trafficking of substances that debase the body.  Here compared you will find the prevalence, impact, and rehabilitation processes associated with *** and shrug trafficking.  Respective clientele, demographics, and locales that these types of trafficking touch will be revealed in order enlighten you to their world-wide prevalence. The physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological impact of lifestyles that result from these two types of trafficking will be detailed to etch vividly an image of just how far-reaching the impact of these two activities is. Light will be shed upon the rehab processes that lead to recovery from each.
                 According to UnoDC.org, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the use of illicit drugs has remained in a stable trend, with approximately the same number of people using illicit drugs each year. This trend has continued for a number of years. Upon examining the world drug report, written by UnoDC.org, production of several drugs exhibit particularly interesting trends. ***** production for example fell and spiked in a somewhat predictable patter from 1990 until 2010. When this data is graphed a reasonable medium appears for all the years, revealing that ***** production has stayed around an average production of roughly 200,000 hectares annually. Likewise, coca cultivation pictures an interesting trend. From 1990 to 2010 coca production appeared to be almost identical each year, and with little to no rise or fall in production, there is a similar trend in its being trafficked.  
Nefarious: Merchant of Souls is a documentary that was released in 2012 by Exodus Cry Its producers and researchers saw firsthand the atrocities of the *** trafficking industry. The film crew interviewed former pimps and prostitutes, spoke to traffickers, the families of the trafficked and to individuals still actively engaged in three sides of the *** trade referring to currently employed pimps and prostitutes as well as those who purchased ***. The researchers and producers interviewed eastern European gang members and took a trip to Amsterdam’s red-light district – home of legal prostitution. They journeyed to Los Angeles and saw the glamorized side of the dark issue of *** trade.
According to Nefarious, the number of humans trafficked for the purpose of providing ****** services is on a shockingly steep rise. In a matter of a few years, *** trafficking rose from the third largest criminal enterprise to the second. It is second only to drug trafficking and is vying for the position as top criminal enterprise in the world. It is encroaching upon that position far more speedily than any authority or decent human being would care to acknowledge.  A survey taken in 2010 by DART (the drug awareness resistance training program) revealed that 21.8 million people aged 12 and older had taken an illicit drug in the previous month. In 2010 it was estimated that between 153 and 300 million people had used an illicit drug at least once in the previous year. These statistics fail to take into account the impact that this usage has on the lives of the families of drug users. Neither do these statistics reveal the extent to which drug users lifestyles are impacted by drugs. However, nearly  every single human trafficked for ****** purposes is completely and utterly enveloped in the lifestyle of prostitution and the violent world of being prostituted. In Nefarious a shocking statistic is revealed. Approximately ten percent of the entire human population of earth has been trafficked. Both human and drug trafficking are prevalent across the globe. Human trafficking occurs in 161 of 192 countries. Illicit drugs are trafficked in every country that has laws that deem substances unlawful. There are little to no race, religion, ethnicity, or age restrictions on who can and is trafficked for use of ***, but drugs are far more limited by age and ethnicity in their use.
Drug trafficking, though similar to *** trafficking in many ways, is in no way as substantial a damaging force to the mind, soul, and spirit as the world of *** trafficking  is in terms of the critical and dangerous force it exhibits in the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual  impact it has on young girls. Both drugs and *** trafficking have some influence in all of these respective areas. The primary area in which people are affected by drug use is the physical. Drug users’ health declines, they become physically or psychologically dependent, and they may develop diseases from sharing of needles or lack of inhibitions that lead to *** with an infected individual. Drugs may, in some rare cases, lead to psychoses and mental disorders. They may cause brain damage, which is both physically and mentally damaging. Drugs may even set one’s heart and soul in a place that they are more susceptible to lies or truth. They alter spiritual state for some individuals, but only mildly. However, *** trafficking victims are impacted majorly and in their entirety as a person. In all aspects of the physical, mental, and spiritual, *** trafficking victims are consumed by *** trafficking. In Nefarious it is revealed that In order to “break” *** trafficking victims they are profusely beaten, and are psychologically toyed with to create a twisted trust and dependence on their various handlers. They are repeatedly *****, and are examined like cattle by those who wish to buy women. They are imprisoned in dark rooms and not allowed to leave unless told to do so. They are bedridden and forced to ******* themselves. After being broken in ways described above and sold to a ****, girls are forced every day to meet certain quotas of customers and cash flow. If they do not meet these they are beaten even more. They lay in bed sometimes a week at a time to recover physically enough to usefully return to their “job”.  Through this hellish ordeal, their soul, self-worth and identity are being attacked by circumstances that devalue them. They become like animals.
*** trafficking victims become dependent on their environment for normalcy. This is so true for some individuals that even though they have been rescued from the lifestyle, they return.  This is not because the *** trafficking victims enjoys the lifestyle of prostitution, and it is not because they want to. Instead, it is because they think they can be nothing more than a *******. The *** trafficking victim, in this case, believes that they need to settle into the numb and thoughtless mind state that they develop when broken. Returning to prostitution does not evidence an addiction. In contrast, it is the cry of a soul that is desperately trying to cope. They do this in order to feel as if they can survive.  
The rehab processes for *** and drug trafficking differ greatly in commitment and length, but are similar in that they both require physical and psychological rehabilitation.  Drug rehabilitation programs typically consist of twelve-step programs or something similar. They last a number of months, or occasionally a few years. They allow individuals counsel and encouragement, and they attempt to, by abstinence, exorcise an addicted individual’s addiction. *** trafficking rehabilitation requires the re-creation of an individual. Self-worth must be reconstructed. The spirit must be healed in order to allow for psychological healing. Prostitutes are not addicted to prostitution, but prostitution produces dependence in that the prostituted crave normalcy. This dependence must be killed. Successfully rehabilitating women from this forced lifestyle requires lifelong commitment and endless resources. It requires passionate fanatics, people who will pour their life into changing the lives of others, because only the incurable fanatic can wreak havoc on the tragedy of human trafficking. Any short-term effort to rehabilitate a *** trafficking victim is doomed to failure. The degree to which the brokenness of *** trafficking victims becomes ingrained in them is so extreme that it takes a lifetime to reshape their lives.
While researching *** trafficking in order to accurately produce Nefarious, the researchers and producers of Nefarious became convicted by facts that they collected. The evidence they collected speaks to the fact that *** trafficking does not just attack the body; it attacks the entire being, and in far worse ways than drugs ever could. Varied races and ages are prostituted and / or consume drugs. The impact of both of *** and drug trafficking is severe, but much more so severe in the case of human trafficking. The rehab process for human trafficking is much more in depth and is testament to the horror and degree of psychological, mental, and emotional disfigurement, as well as acclimation to a horrible situation to the point that horror becomes normal – a new definition of addiction. Human trafficking is an atrocity that is far more horrendous and prevalent than imaginable. It is far more destructive than drug trafficking. Drug trafficking is one of the most destructive forces in this generation.  Surely consuming drugs is one of the most horrid things we can do to our bodies, but what about consuming souls? *** trafficking consumes souls, hearts, minds and bodies. It splits, fragments, debases, brutalizes, obliterates, murders, rapes, molests, destroys, and dehumanizes the prostituted.  Drug trafficking attacks the body the soul, and sometimes the mind, but in much milder ways.
kat Jan 2014
the only lines that are blurred are the ones that you're crossing
close your ***** lips, time for us girls to do the talking
you say you want a good girl
and the alcohol is your weapon
Acting like an animal
but self respect is my blessing
yes I got the power of resistance
as soon as you grab me, I've made my decision
keep ya distance
I've got my own pride
girls by my side
run together like felines
I dont want
and I don't need to be domesticated
if I say no you feel emasculated,
but I'm not your wifey
I'm not your mid life crisis
much more than plastic, my love is priceless

you’re quick to assume my dimensions
but the desire is 1 sided
my potential can’t be contained
by someone so small minded
i’m not going to lie,
there are times i did sing along
but there was always a part of me
that knew that it was wrong
degrading myself through the words in this song
i’m my own savior, dancing on my own
keep your striped pants away from me
and your fancy cologne
never impressed me anyways
cuz who’s gonna want you
when you’re long past your glory days
maybe you’ll actually have to start
remembering her name

if incoherence is a turn on
you can leave with whatever you got from Jamaica
you write a song talkin bout liberating me
read between the lines, verbally date ****** me
talkin bout gettin blasted, blurring judgement slurring words
you've supplied enough nastiness for the night, you don't need help from the girls
this song glamorized by the women it defeats
it doesn't count as seduction when you're invading our sheets
don't belittle me when your restraint is as small as your comprehension
I never said wanted you so drop the pretension
I don't wanna get nasty, I wanna get away
good looks and a catchy chorus doesn't make misogyny okay

I heard this song on the radio about 5 times a day
the world couldn't stay away
never listening to the words
singing along with no shame
maybe it's empowering to the girls that sing along
in the heat of the moment it doesn't feel wrong
but you're 100x classier than words in this song
worth so much more than ***** sheets
you wanna feel loved, so you slip into a dress and he slips into your drink
this is all a release, but you don't have to be the dizzy slam piece
just remember who you are
and what the world is saying
growing up,
they wanna invade your innocence
take your impressionable mind for granted
*** on the radio
violence on the tv
models in the magazine
but you're gonna have to tune it out
live on your own
live for yourself,
remember what your mama told you
keep your chin up because they're gonna try to break you

what rhymes with hug me
babe, you could never love me
cuz first you gotta respect me
accept no because maybe she’s just not ready
i’m not a piece of meat
you get to use, abuse
for your own personal grinder
be the one by her side
not the one lurking behind her
music is power
you’re adding fuel to the fire
women in music nowadays
yeah, we’re the survivors
against the cheaters and the liars
contributing to a mindset holding us back
so we gotta rise up keep
their pants up, and their minds on track
sincerely, every blurred line that never went back
You never fail to mystify me
Love out of reach
A devastating fallacy
I wish you the very best
But only feel sorry partially
There’s a smile on your face again
No use for thinking so logically
A hidden curriculum so easy to mask
I’d love to know you but hate to ask
You are all I dream about
-And there you were-
A love aptitude that’s entirely illiterate
Your pearly smile stays stretched continuously illuminate
Save the feelings for the archive
So foreign and entirely glamorized
They fail to represent what reality is waiting impatiently
Your looks are intense
They compliment your insanity
But in the mean time I’m failing miserably
I can’t even look you in the eye
I’m too shy
Kyra Woods Dec 2016
Y'all tell em' to focus on school, keep ya head the books
and stay out of these streets.
But what is He supposed to do, when the Streets have him tripping over his own feet?

lurking around every corner,
confronted daily with His own eyes,
that's where He is meant to be.

The glamorized life of the Hustle,
You'll never know pain unless you the Struggle.
The same pain that causes them to shoot, but never aim.
what is He supposed to do when the streets are calling His name?

Y'all hold His hand and guide Him in the wrong direction, but then tell Him to do the right thing.
does this even make sense or is He confused by the bullet's sting.

Did you forget that He loves you,
that He wants to be accepted,
Gotta be just like You, even though you never said.
what are you supposed to do when the streets are coming after you?

Hiding in every shadow,
lurking in every crevasse.
Not a single OG could ever prepare us.

3 bullets to the chest. ringing in his ears.
blood gushing out black,
his mama screaming through her tears.

the Streets will watch you your whole life,
****** you up from home.
Do you how they Do you.
til most of You is gone.

Yea, times are tough
and this mentality is rough.
But what are you supposed to do, when the streets are after you?
those looking from the outside looking in.
These young black men aren't choosing a life that'll lead them down the road of despair.
they do not choose these situations, the situations choose them.
The battle between the streets and Young Souls is gruesome.
this is a battle of a nation.
Kaitlyn V Mcnay May 2016
Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine
Blossom Jan 2017
In a world full of
Glamorized french fries
I am nothing more
Than an organic potato
TW Nov 2018
I am a writer who hates whiskey.

I feel that I should love it like a writer's only friend,
Like I should sip it from a glass while I scribe with broken pens,
Like I should clink the ice against the sides and swirl it, deep in thought,
And take it neat and raw, in admiration of its steely course.
It should lubricate the mind and guide the flow of words to page,
And since a nervous age I've yearned to say I love the way it burns and maims,
And maybe on a certain day, I'll glug it without choking, breathless,
But for now it hurts my brain to even think about its... smokey wetness.

I've idolized an archetype, a writer with a harmful life,
Sit alone in bars at night, lament the fact that art is strife,
But recently I'm thinking more, and honestly, this can't be right,
I love the pen and paper, and I love the fact it's hard to write.
It's the way that I've romanticized it, fantasized and glamorized it,
Like I could just forget about a novel, let Jack Daniel's write it,
While I sat and focused on my magnum opus, penning parts of it in prose,
I viewed my present like it's hindsight, through glasses tinted rose.
Emma Potter Apr 2015
"No no I don't hate really thank u for this I just want you to know I really dont believe in putting optimistic twists on unhappy things. I honor and respect agony despite loathing it and I find pain in change so I just dont like it to be glamorized thats all. And then, you know, the best friends thing but I talked with u about that already privately"

Ember lashes out on tiffany on comments on a peom of hers i say this is so meanly harsh enber is not a dying out burning flame but we wish she was then she wouldn't get bad sided with tiff

Another thing is ember was downright discouraged tiffany kust want wanted a person to go too.I think you let er down Ember E. Diwnright harsh
Owwi feel tiffanys painnnn
Jared Van May 2013
I kno you all to well,
Makin' the wrong decision, with men, and start to dwell,
Livin' blendin' collisions within hearts you tail,
In the endin' you forgive him and say it's hard to bail,
I don't know why you let men beat you,
And mistreat you,
Go back and get mad that they had deceived you,
Now you only see the worst in people,
It's rare you see good, 'cause it's common you see evil,
I see through,
This obsession to be loved,
Need a lot now, because before you didn't get enough,
Start to talk to me when things are getting tough,
Your life feels like you are putting through the rough,
In the end all of these boogies make you feel lonely,
Treatin' you just like a piece of pepperoni,
Feelin' hella sad 'cause every girl just wants a pony,
Thinkin' everyday ferry tails are a little more phony,
If only,
Ya prince charming would arrive,
A man who would stand out from all these bad guys,
Someone to focus on what you need in ya life,
A pleasure, to take away all the plight,
I'd fight, and try,
To be a friend,
But the more we time spend,
The more I'm vibin,
Want more than to slide in,
You were someone that I confide in,
I'm fightin'
An inner battle,
To be the raft or the paddle,
Havin' trouble being the queen to you own castle,
Askin' me to be the shepherd to your cattle,
Findin' where I fit seems to be such a hassle,
Problem is I could never even try to trust you,
Known for betraying any man who tried to love you,
Foolin' my self believing I was strictly lustful,
But knew it was somethin' more every time that I touched you,
And it kills me,
The only time you get to see the real me,
Is when liquor fills me,
And I drunk text you all my feelings,
Spillin' my heart out,
Tryin' to negate a fall out,
Conflicted, wishin' your what I envision without a small doubt,
I'm there for you,
I care for you,
When he put his hands on ya, Where were you?
The man behind the scenes,
Hands inside his jeans,
Glamorized in dreams,
You I fantasize with me,
But in the end, I'm just a friend, with you watching Mean Girls and Anastasia,
Answer any call from my dream girl, "How can I save ya?"
All I want is you, I don't wanna be a playa,
I kno you all to well so we'll never be nothin' greater...
Lyra Brown May 2013
you made me so sick
you made me so sick i made myself sick
with the intention of ending up in the hospital
or better yet, dead
all in hopes that i could give you a taste
of your own medicine:
layers and layers and layers of pain.

but that was one long drawn out evil endeavour
and i'm glad i didn't succeed
because life shouldn't be spent with the intention
of trying to die
just to prove something to someone else
because no matter how much death
is glamorized in this ******* society
there is nothing glamorous
about it
and in the end you will prove
nothing

there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your head in an oven
or drinking yourself into a stupor every single night
only to forget what you did or said or felt the next morning
there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your fingers down your throat
or carving poetic words into your inner thigh
just so you can feel or un-feel something

trying to die
does not make you
a tortured artist
it makes you
a miserable soul

yes, pain is useful
to create
without it i probably would not be writing this
but it does not define you
**** them all
**** society
stop trying to die to prove yourself to someone
dying proves nothing

take a hammer to the mirror
it's only a piece of glass
run into an open field and scream your lungs out
cry all of your fears out of your system like you did when you were five years old
stop being ashamed for feeling things
write down what kind of person you were this time last year
then next to it,
write down what kind of person you are right now
look at how far you've come
look at how far you've yet to go
be proud of yourself
think of the people who have left you
think of how good it will feel when you forgive them
think of someone who has left their footprint on your heart
now go tell them you love them
now leave your footprint on someone else's heart
make sure you tell them you love them

you matter
you matter
you matter
you matter
i swear to God i'm not joking
i don't ******* care if you don't believe me
and it isn't going to be easy
be terrified.
be brave.

you matter
you matter
you matter

**you matter.
Allania Berkey Mar 2016
The fear of rejection haunts my taunting soul
The eyes of god illuminate through the illusion of hope
Silence
Misery creeps among the stars
Honesty lingers mindlessly around the moon
Anxious
Reality twists and turns
Insecurity starts to flow
Outbursts and thoughts dance with one another
Thoughts travel
From the mind
Through the guileless heart
Midnight skies thunder in contemplation
Omitted while resigning from solitude
Lighting beams impressions
And strikes unforgettably
Remorse
Rose are quandary veiled in thorns
Glamorized secrets
Planted with tulips in the Spring
Vibrations spirit forth the branches of trees
Fog
Masks the anthropomorphic perception
Triggers instinct of intuition
Rationality halts, wills relish
The eyes of god forsake hope
Fear taunts thoughts
Rejection haunts souls
Misfortunes recollect the bitter anima
Lightly, the amity surrenders in the panicked streams of night
Soundly,
Charitably,
And Sincerely,
Tongue tied she scrupulously riveted
Across the room she neglectfully obscured the chair that supported his back
Togging on strands of denigrated comfort
Grains of sand that endless lay the shore
Mindless their eyes gravitated in contact
thirty seconds of encrypted reflections
Breathless laid rejection
She consigned to oblivion
Gathered by curiosity he sternly attends the strength
“What’s wrong?”
Admiration beams from the brims of his eyes
Grim of Frustration leak from her ****** expression
Hesitated
Continuously and distract she roamed away from him his thoughts
And admiration
Paralyzed by fear
Silence drives her composer
deeply and thoughtfully she inhaled
Breathlessly
— “A cup of coffee would sound nice, wouldn’t it?”
wordvango Nov 2017
which period shall I resound the four
verses one, the rhyme?  shall I use parentheses
or just write free, might I space
or italicize or leave this un-glamorized?

I walk down the long six-story concrete steps
a step at a time divining
the barren apartment
the govt spends
its money on above hovering

You think I want to live here
in this danger rat infestation
its free but that don't make me happy
I have a baby
and the world calls me a freeloader

obviously, I have decided to
write this in stanzas
it doesn't flow like the steps
this woman walks down daily
I do my best

sometimes I sleep with men when the cupboards bare
I decided to break the flow up

for why
I don't know

I have gone two weeks without diapers before and my baby
I would do anything for her so don't judge me. I
am not a *****.

I am trying to survive.  

Again I interrupt her story to inject-
poetry has to make a difference, it often doesn't rhyme, it
isn't made to be  syllables and meters.
It is to make a difference. Let me shut up.
let her speak.

I didn't mean to bring a child into this hell. But I gave in
to one night of weakness, Now I am stuck  on the sixth floor here in this bleak *** building with no hope no
idea how I might make her life better.
I have tried god.

All I have now are the streets.

The streets are brutal.
kenye Dec 2013
Your past
has constantly got you
trigger
finger itchin'
pulling
at the stitches

Tempting you to spill
your insides out
To re-write love on your arms
Like you meant the cuts
To cut the conversation short

Capitalizing
a blood loss
in a blog
of glamorized
self-inflicted
battle scars

Some masochistic pride
pulled you into the abyss
Where do you draw the line?
Between exploitation
and raising awareness?
goddess Feb 2016
no equality, no justice
just racism and sin
another man murdered?
pray for him!
we live in a world where its rare to be comfortable in your own skin.
everyday is a fight trying to discover who you really are within.
money rules everything, and for some of us it takes over
greed, drugs, lust, in control completely.
the only thing we ever see is *** and a glamorized version of reality.
our minds are consumed by the idea of a perfect world
yet the only thing all humans long for is love.
most of us never find it, or when we do we have no idea how to handle it
and the one person who genuinely loves us ends up leaving with no intention of returning.
we live our lives to work.
we follow this routine.
there are those of us who slave for little wages.
those of us who cannot afford a luxurious holiday or birthday.
those of us who can't provide for our children and loved ones,
and those of us who are ignored, and awaiting justice.
we struggle.
some of us never overcome our battles.
that's life,  
that's truth.
just a little something written on a late night in my iphone's notes. enjoy?
Luminescent screen
oh how you constantly shift subtly.

Your shiny frame grows heavier
with every passing picture.

Images appear on repeat
a reminder of the grim we occupy.

Do not desire to witness
cruelty on display, depravity glamorized.

I will let you live
so the others know what happened


Pages copied and pasted,
channels twisting the same story.

What a dull situation;
why glorify what's poised to divide us?

We all see the attack on faith's establishment
so who shall be the ones to prevail?

Can the faith in each other overcome
or shall we be infected by what's cruel
and hateful?
In light of the Charleston church shooting, here's what I have to say about the entire situation.
Seven Jan 2015
Sitting on the dining table
resting my head on my cold hands
listening to the bantering voices and the soap opera on the screen
how ironic it seems
to look at something ordinary being glamorized
by lights , costumes, scripts and actors
the reflection of the scene
taking over my vision of what is in front of me
is this really reality?
K G May 2016
Your burst was clear as a bell
We're perpetually quarreling among ourselves
To feel straightened out, yet so violently compelled
I am afraid that you are not only blind, sick
Attempt to hide things which cannot be hid
Though you've starved from your amends
All your mother's money blisteringly spent
Leave those dancing rings to spite the dawn
Such a blunder of fits, upon the gray cement
Its glamorized that you're an awoken slattern
Ridiculed the idea of me ever being able to help you
Without needs of a tavern
There is no believing a liar
I don't see whats behind the shower curtain
Now carried on our back, a double burden
Pluck Sep 2015
Motivation & ambition will lead you to ascend to levels where you're put around guys that are handed things you earn & the women are far to pretentious.

False salvation, better circumstances often lead to worse people, more obstacles, & being enveloped by spirits heavily tainted by blood of the innocent & the witness.

Oil simply doesn't mix with water, in this same concept genuine and artificial will never blend.

So your mind don't lose, everyone hates to lose, but it's a disguised victory if you ever lose a pretend friend with impertinent ends.

Tell the young boys flaws equate to reality & organic Love. Beware the Barbie dolls with perfect smiles that aquire happiness by spitting on and walking over the less fortunate.

But who am I to stop them from seeing for themselves? Who am I to stop them from seeing these girls on TV, working hard to get here, to get them, & realize their values you just can't override & soon your unconsciously forcing it

Perfection by definition is irrational to exist in the flesh but yet that's what she fancies herself, from physical appearance, intellect, to how she Loves.

All these "perfections" glamorized to hide the flaws she knows exist. Ms. Perfect Is that perfect Trust?

Tell me Ms. Perfect, Ms. Mommy's money, how are you so much better than us?

The value of a person runs much deeper than attractions, far beyond the material things, & I feel by now you've seen this, your last man cheated on you, probably with someone who embraces their imperfections, guess you weren't  "perfect" enough.

Ouch, I know you felt that just now. Low blow I know & you have the audacity to ask "why?"

In your mind someone like myself is so below you, it's kind of impossible for me to hit you up high.
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Presence finds itself least expected, yet underscored
Anywhen, somewhere, a bus rolls into aurora, at wee hours
Though not on oceans
That's the place where cargo ships do
Together with airplanes, these larger escorting
tempos and times, clock shifts
Pulling sun along with them
in motion intrinsic as sustenance
Workday begins for some pre light
Bakers and bus drivers know this best
Two noble professions perhaps glamorized, perversely
by this poet
but not without recognition of
their elemental indwelling of us all
kenye Mar 2021
You’re no Harley Quinn
But you romanticize mental illness
Like a comic book villain-
It’s comedically tragic
To play with the full deck
Devoid the Joker

The worst part about mental health
Isn’t keeping it a secret
It’s just the revolution glamorized
To sell you more ****;
Maddy Feb 2018
Constant cold becomes comforting
Even when you know it's because
Your body is dying

Hunger pains make you smile
In fact
They become glamorized in your mind

Tea is good
But when it fills your stomach with 0 calorie goodness
It tastes great

Standing up always makes you dizzy
So instead of eating
You learn how to keep walking even when walls turn into floors

You beg for help
From someone who is just as sick as you
To become more successfully sick

Meals turn into binges
Food is just a number
And so are you

You constantly think about
If the way you are sitting makes you look
Even worse than normal

Words like dainty, starved, light
Make you feel
More powerful than gods

There are nightmares where
All you do
Is eat ******* fries

When even the people you love the most
Become annoying
Because of how often they say you're perfect

The saying
"You're not fat, but, you're not skinny."
Becomes your most hated string of language

When you know exactly what the risks are
You repeat them in your mind everyday
But it just doesn't matter anymore

You have already accepted your death
Because it's either get skinny
Or die trying
I'm having a day.
Kirsten Oct 2015
Back of the room, wallflower, seeing all desires.
A longing look, no, a platonic peek,
an alliterated sonnet generalised as a hello,
pining in clasped hands to avoid burning crimson.
Possibly unrequited, is one totally conceded?
Adolescent secrets in academic stature, controversy is afoot;
Never yours, always mine, promises drawn in the sand.

A rejected invitation, too scared to speak out;
Escapes, unequivocally, with flaming purples ebbing on electric blues.
Tells you no, I’m fine, though there is a fine line
between silently pleading and inwardly bleeding.
How can one be a listener when white noise is the focal?
The walls scream ****** ******, the tiles ooze secrets,
what happens between the first and last, well that is the question,
lay the roses and fly the flag, for he was not to blame.

Starting to break through, or so we thought;
Dazzling disorders glamorized wholly through the eyes of misconception.

The poor boy, they say, he should have known better,
Than to play with fire when he was already scarred,
So much affection with so little comeuppance.
Late nights with no calls,
Strangers turning into dust.

He wondered how he could look okay,
The one he once so dearly loved,
Crying his name in the dark of the night.
Not tonight my love, I have a date with the stars.
Brianca Kreeger Nov 2021
I’m thrilled you’ve never been told this before
Less so that you couldn’t figure it out
You are so bland there is nothing to mourn
You’re not human if all you do is pout

I understand now that you are reverb
You are the last conversation you had
With no solid base your life stays splintered
Project onto me then ask why I’m mad

I was the only thing real in your life
Glamorized a red pill only to choke
Say I introduced you to real strife
Karma’s sense of humor made you the joke

I only helped you become more yourself
You’re welcome, enjoy your personal Hell
K Paige Mar 2018
there are bodies on the street
with alleyway homes and crooked teeth
their itchy stares cut through rain and stick on me
they are wavering somewhere between desperation and apathy
and i’m out of my head because i see their disruption in me

there is a crisis of coldness flooding big cities
there is a crisis of avoidance and a crisis of indulgence
and it’s typing people to anchors and making them sink

i must confess that i’ve glamorized my sadness
and look where that’s gotten me
the death drive has a hold
on the rich, the poor, and the in-between
fixated on an after-life that will never be
or crazed by a substance to bring them to their knees
this city is an ocean of people divided

but dying from the same ******* thing

-k.p.-
absinthe Feb 2017
they mistake me
often.
their heads lead them astray.
they judge books.
and covers.
and they correlate us
together
much too often.
although
they’re aware.
and they know
all too well;
better than ever to engage
in such cliches.
classic traps.

they call me
beautiful
often
they show me their sketches
of isolated circles.
i later come to find
are so enamored
they've merged into
one
vastly overlapping
ven diagram
each individually labeled
me
and
purity

how i wish they’d stop seeing
                      and start hearing
the words
my much too often
hyper-glamorized lips
try uttering
forewarnings
of appearances
and deception
before their whims
begin interrupting
the inevitable
is the contempt
their ignorant hearts
will build
and ultimately
i will suffer and so will
my will
power--

more so than will power
they don't know
possesses the ability
to observe me
through truly
objective
optic nerves  

ever will.
MidnightOdyssey Sep 2019
I thought everyone loves music,
So, I arrange my name in a perfectly harmonized chord.
But it occurs to me that you don’t like music at all.  
So, my name dissolved in the whisperings.

It appears that you like architecture,
So, I brought the bricks for you to build a bridge at leisure.
But the bridge was not built on the foundation of mutualism,
So, I stood at my side dwelling in escapism.

One day the bridge blew up and I ran towards you at the speed of light.
Only to realize that I succumbed to despair,
Because all you did was waving goodbye,
As if this was a card game for a solitaire.

I’ve always wondered how distance grows,
Maybe from the constant construction of a burrow.
Sometimes, the thought of you sleeps so well there
Yet sometimes it rises and escapes and I feel so close to you.

Like piano tiles that almost touch, yet always a semitone apart.
Like a flower that aches for the bee, yet from her it flees.
It reminds me of how you’ve always hated growing flowers,
Only to witness how they wilt and die.


So at last you never gave us a try,
Lest the capacity of our heart may flop like the leaves.
To avoid a series of endings, you’d rather
Keep away from all beginnings.

Sometimes, the thought of you is like the sun to me,
Yet sometimes it freezes and you feel like a glacier from afar.
I thought the sweetest radiation could melt you.
Only to realize the wind would never make our currents converge.

Perhaps I should just put this in simpler words.
I have glamorized every centimeter between you and me,
Not realizing how many marathons I’ve scampered
In attempt to call a stranger my lover.
Diana Jul 2019
Pain.
Does.
Not.
Sell.
Unless.
It’s.
Glamorized.
Surprised3ye Apr 2020
War is glamorized in every way that
peace is a delusion. We wake
up prepared to be agitated.
So much so we're upset before
any thing negative occurs. Lets
fight for peace. Arm ourselves
for battle! were losing the Earth,
but hope isn't lost.
Solace Dec 2020
We like to talk about
The parts of depression
That we can make beautiful
The tortured artist
The rainy day tears
But we don't talk about
The uglier, dirtier parts
The recklessness
And lack of care
For your safety
Because being alive
Is not worth the effort
Hell, even the scars
Can be glamorized
But there is nothing pretty
About walking, drunk
To a gas station
In the middle of the night
For cigarettes though
You know you shouldn't
"Those things'll **** you," they say
"Only if I'm lucky" you mutter
Under your breath
As you walk away
i feel so good
i feel loose
i feel ready
i feel the need to be used
i feel like satin
wrapped into a noose
i feel like death
glamorized and seduced
i feel a lot
yet i feel reduced
but i feel it can be fixed
if i could feel you
essentially ***** but alone
Travis Green Aug 2021
The greatest thing about being me
Is that I never have to be bothered
About accommodating my gay lifestyle
With what society conceives to be acceptable
In their glamorized, normalized world
Advising me that I am not me
That what I presume is conclusive
Is, in fact, inconclusive, that in time
I will become aware of the fact that
Being with another man is not the place I need to be

I can’t go back to where I was before
I never want to feel like freezing
In heavy, slippery snowstorms
Feeling deformed, stormed, forlorn
Adorned in descending dreams
Chilled beats beneath my feet
Peerless tears drizzling like raindrops
Down my shadowed face, and they won’t stop

I will never be damaged, hopelessly rolling drunk
In distressed, compressed circumstances
Listening to what the world has to say
About my homosexual temperament
I am a graceful and glowing pearl
A resplendent, stellar trinket
Poeticizing the diction that intrigues my system
More like exemplifying the life
I lead that has freed me

— The End —