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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
You think you’ve broken me down
that I’ll never stand again,
you think with hateful words
you’ve landed the big win.
So you think you know me…
I’m a pushover because I’m kind
don’t underestimate,
I actually have a powerful mind!
You don’t know the whole of it
and never, you truly will,
unlike you, I could never hurt another
out of hatefulness or thrill!
You are powerful with judgment
and you think you give a great show,
so go ahead, pick up that rock
give it a good hard throw!
But, remember this sweetheart
actually, it’s something you should know,
karma pays back in triple
YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!
I’d tread a little more lightly
if I were YOU,
all that hatefulness you put out
well, eventually darlin,
that bills gonna come due!
~
This Is Dedicated To My Troll With Love!
Merry Christmas!!
A Lopez Sep 2015
A thirteenth century Aztec temple
Stood where i once did travel,
My newness was better
My heart was young.
I remember going into
The main square
Known
As
The
Zócalo,
Where the people were festive
Musically
Invested,
Now no one sing's
Once where they did
Now no one Laugh's
Its the sound
Of hatefulness.
Maggie Emmett Nov 2016
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
From And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.
Having seen the dreadful remarks made on Social Media about USA President's wife, Michelle Obama I think this poem is worth re-reading
T'is silence leaps from one self to another. Betrayal, o betrayal, doth greet it-so violently and startlingly, along th' entirety of its journey! Undelightful as 'tis, but made worse by t'at hostile dubiousness. Another fact aside from its ambivalent hatefulness: recognisable to every questioning eye-is t'is downright scary on its own, with unmolested quietude, and ******, but involuntary, unspokenness. Resolutions made within undesirable ambiences! Sacrifice t'at outwardly suggests th' presence of glam profuse in rich elaboration-but bland enough! And on top of all, t'is brimming immovability, and 'tis pool of doubts is causing me but to commence feeling weary about 'tis raising thorn. How didst I send myself into ferocious wanders-about t'is airless rooms, heated like sunflowers bathing themselves to death on th' giggling surface of raging snow. Battle of nature-and war of its childlike beings! Like a stoical plant in th' midst of 'tis glittering forest; vacant and idyllic-passive and unquestioning towards th' blades of farmers t'at come to exploit 'em: with morbid and futile, savage desires for rebellious treasures-unbecoming in t'eir temporariness, and unavoidability of sincere devotion as t'ey wilt soon leave t'eir offspring bereft of t'eir provisions once more. Yet look, look how red t'eir eyes are in t'eir hunger-eccentric vivacity gloweth in t'eir eyes, but mockery governs 'em-as ruptured t'eir weak souls are, by loathsome uncertainty and severe senses of greed. How t'is consideration made aggravated; agitated my soul is-o, seriously agitated! Yes, indeed! No longer doth vanity boast away about being my pride, but th' sultry pointlessness of my power of self-esteem. How melancholy t'is life is! O, and th' raising thorn itself, th' one aforementioned so discreetly within my fourth phrase up t'ere-growing dominantly and selfishly-aye! every day, is unlikely to be abashed by any remorseful incarceration, or stony suicidal attempts hurled by t'ose disgraceful beings out t'ere; but in t'is case, yon disgracefulness is comprised of grateful swarms of exquisite laughter, divine in its own roots, like th' sacred nook of a moonlit river. And how t'ere, on its most godlike slice of rock-so dearly scented by nature and innocent greenness-a sight be so dear to my longing eyes, shalt thou dwell with thy poems, and heart trembling with thy fullness of passion. For me, yes, for me, selfishly! O, my love! Cannot help I uttering thy name-thy very name, whom I am undeniably besotted with, like a feverish storm mooning over its lifelike sea, and whose eager cruelty so invincibly blanched by 'tis romantic tides-gone as it is, in just a seeming couple of cordial seconds! My love, whose name is so unmistakably dear to my heart, and indisputably belongs to 'tis greedy layers-ambitious, my love, desirous of,  and bland to solely th' dormant rains of thy love! O, t'ose pristine tears of blessings t'at are volatile but decorative to my half life-for thou art unarguably th' other half of me! And splendid in t'is very breath, t'at recognition t'en beats furiously along with t'is frail voyage of my humanness-grounded inevitably by unremarkable velocity are my wheels, and sometimes imprisoned in helplessness amidst th' pursuit of my fierce dreaming. But I admire 'tis core-as it is but thy warm, genial slumber; and 'tis skin is but th' very depths wherein I conceal my very whole love for thee. My love, my darling! If only thou wert here-yes, here, querida, to indulge t'is pr'saic quietude, shalt I shrink into nothing but a piece of thy fallen star; and t'ese feeble hands shalt t'en thou own, just as thy heart I should'th won.
ChubbehMonkey Feb 2014
I may only be seventeen years old, but I can already tell you this
that I am sick and tired
I am sick of the people who are judgmental and the people who are unkind
The people who tell Atheists they are going to hell and the people who mock Christians for wanting something to believe in
I’m sick of the hateful way people speak to each other and how everyone tries to form some kind of negative opinion about one another
I’m sick of the bullies in school who drive kids to suicide
and the parents who never taught them to be kind
I’m sick of macho boys thinking its cool to hate and easy girls with zero self-esteem
but more than that I'm sick of the society that made them feel this way
I’m tired of the snobs who turn up their noses at self-expression and of the hipsters frowning upon the so called conformist squares
I’m tired of making my own life choices based on a fear of someone else’s negative reaction I’m tired of people who look for the flaws in my life instead of basking in the beauty of their own.
I am fed up with people who complain about the clinically depressed and the people who spitefully use their own  rain cloud to block out the sun
I’m fed up with people who don't know how share and people who take advantage of their friends
I’m fed up with cheaters, liars and the inconsiderate
All in all I am fed up with cruelty itself
It serves no purpose other than to blind people from the beautiful reality of our lives
Hatefulness needs only to be replaced by love and acceptance and then perhaps there will be an overall higher level of happiness
Mohit Kalwadia Jul 2012
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Myriah Mar 2015
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. By maya angelou
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing interesting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during peak-info preservation history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story
that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall
of this bubble we be in.
At the moment,
on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's
at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Arcassin B Jan 2016
By Arcassin Burnham

Don't want this fling to end,
Lay your head on my chest with a silent voice,
Boiling blood and painted feelings
Fill the void oooooh,
Skin touching feeling your indulgences,
My condolences
R.I.p to all the hatefulness,
I cherish you life itself in
Hopes to have you here again,
Miss ***** blonde,
With freckles and an mild attitude,
I want to be a jokster,
I didn't want to be rude,
I didn't mean to lead you on,
I know that might have been cruel.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/01/*****-blonde.html
Waverly Feb 2012
She says I have a ness
about me,
a sadness,
an angriness,
a hatefulness,
a loch ness.

I haven't washed my hoodie
in a week, the toothpaste splatter
on my shoulder
looks like come,
maybe it's laziness.
Harry Lamba Apr 2014
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Muyiwa Williams Aug 2016
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I riseup from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise
by Maya Angelou
hlynnn Oct 2017
you may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies,
you may tread me in the very dirt,
but still, like dust, I’ll rise

does my clumsiness upset you?
why are you beset with gloom?
‘cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
pumping in my living room.

just like moons and like suns,
with the certainty of tides,
just like hopes springing high,
still I’ll rise

did you want to see me broken?
bowed head and lowered eyes?
shoulders falling down like teardrops
weakened by my soulful cries.

does my haughtiness offend you?
don’t take it awful hard
‘cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
diggin’ in my own backyard.

you may shoot me with your words,
you may cut me with your eyes,
you may **** me with your hatefulness,
but still, like air, I’ll rise.

does my hotness upset you?
does it come as a surprise?
that I dance like I’ve got diamonds
at the meething of my thighs?

out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
up from a past that’s been rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
i am the dream and hope of the slave.
i rise
i rise
i rise
— A.P.
i want to wish for revenge
but i can't
because i want to be everything
you are not

so i cannot be vengeful
and i cannot be driven by hatefulness
or the intent
to cause others misery, because i hate you
and that's what you'd do
and that's what you've done
and that's what fueled this disease
to begin with

i want you to hurt
i want you to bleed the same way as i
with blood that's thin
with skepticism at the pain that refuses
to see itself physically

i want you to wake up one day
and see how alone you are
i want you to wake up
and see how miserable you are
i want you to wake up
and see your paper castle
disappear
Marisia Delafuga Mar 2015
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Those multitudes of sin are
variations on a theme -
A reflection of the heart's wickedness
and all the evil that Satan deems.

He himself, suffering from hatefulness and hurt,
does exploit physicality's weakness in Man.
For Satan's attacks continue from his being -
Eternally condemned and forever ******.

In a false semblance of our God,
the count of unique sins is three
in a twisted parallel of...
The sacred number of Trinity.

Opposing the Christ in wilderness' testing
he perceived the Lord's flesh failing,
but not the Spirit's strength in handling
a confrontation with the Kingdom without ending.

These concepts -the Earthly Pride of Life
coupled with the Lust of the Flesh and of the Eyes-
maintain our separation from God
as the Devil manipulates, through deceiving lies.

The boldness of the Savior's Truth
and the Christ's everlasting victory
(as demonstrated by Him at Calvary)
provide True Life, when you just believe.



Author Notes:

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Luna Lynn Jan 2015
my mind is constantly going
going and going and going
worried about the day head
and still trapped in yesterday
i'm always dreaming about the future
but hardly do I sleep
even though i walk this earth in a visibly awoken state
subconsciously unknowingly
my sanity is weak
trust a higher power is what they say
but even that we cannot see or touch
who's to say god is real anyway?

walk with me

let me show what it is i speak
because to explain in spoken word is something not of my expertise
so i will paint you a picture in poetry
place yourself in cloth sneakers
standing in the middle of the rain
arms open wide head tilted back
and when the lightening strikes
you'll feel a wave of pain
you see the storm will let up, and you'll see a slight break in the clouds
but you'll never fully see the sun
that's what my life is like now

and in all this going and going and going
i must rest my weary head
while nightmares make the best of bad weather
planting the damnest of seed as slight as a feather

fear
worry
fright
anger
sadness
happiness
delight
sickne­ss
wellness
day
night
grief
loathing
pity
spite
jealousy
hatefuln­ess
weakness
fight
acceptance
willingness
wrong
right

if there's anything you haven't felt
at some moment you will feel
for the mind is a tricky being that may fascinate you into your very own doom
because in your waking life
you won't know what is and isn't real

walk with me

i think about life
i think about death
i think about time i've wasted
i think about time i have left
i think about my future
i think about my past
i think about my happiness
i think how long it may last
i think about god
i think about faith
i think about my love
i think how long will he stay
i think about who i am
i think of who i am to be
i think of my imprisonment
i think of being free
i think of my thoughts
i think of my fears
i think of leaving this place
i think as if i'm still here

who's to say i've succumb to my mind
i am well aware that what i search for
may be something i'll never find

peace

does it truly exist?
or is it a place in our imagination?
a place of harmonic endeavors
a place where our souls may finally
seek self proclamation
a place we may finally rest our hearts
in full adoration and acclamation

what's that you say?
peace?

walk with me
(C) Maxwell 2015
Ruby Cushla Nov 2013
i.
Ladies and Gentlemen
Could you please form a wide aisle
For our performers
As they pass by you
Admire these freaks of nature
Only here today

ii.
Bound to each other
For their own safety of course
They will not harm you
They have been trained well
Jumping through rings for your sick
Need to feel power
We keep them well fed
A diet of hatefulness
Discrimination

iii.
Can you believe it?
These freaks are barely human
Yet they think like that
We give it to them
What they want. A tiny taste
Of equality
Keep them satisfied
Shut them up for a short time
Filthy, greedy freaks

iv.
One step in the right direction does not a marathon make, my dear.
Some observations on gay marriage, all in haikus.
I yearn your touch the minute it's taken away.
But yet I stray
Emotions imprisoned - I've been torn before

Ripped apart into tiny pieces
The destruction of my paper ligaments
Seemed to be justice
I excreted nothing but hatefulness

You and I paint the perfect portrait
The embodiment of colliding souls
Yet I'm suffocating with this corset
I pull the strings tight till I'm cold -
Breathless. Filled with morbid
Thoughts

You brought me to life
My soul soars
To new heights containing no strife
Craving nothing but more
More of you till the afterlife
Does us part.

My past comes to haunt me
A constant reminder
Of the previous killing spree  
It tries to slaughter
My heart and the love we
Share - you and I - I and you.

I seek to show you
The passion encaged within me
But it's lost in the maze I fell into.
Each time I let go of the cowardice
My heart turns blue  
Sinking deeper - powerless.

Who's to say it won't be slain again - but this time
No potion to spare my grime.
FAIZ SAAD Jan 2015
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise
again and again.
Joe Adomavicia Mar 2016
I am retooling myself
Into the man, who honors integrity with daily exercise,
Into the words of a poem, a new stanza added daily,
Into the notes of a song, yet to be complete,
Into the symphony p, a theme that lifts, soaring above the commonplace,
Into the jewel multifaceted,  colors deep and husky,
Into the essences of love, always learning, dispensing hatefulness,
Into the fury of a great warrior ennobled with heroism,
Into the dexterity of fingers that dispense living kindness,
Into the vibrancy of an orchid, born from tiny seed and falls soil,
Into the vessel science and technology constantly reforms, evolute,
Into the words of a book before his eyes, before closing time, clutched with purebred pride.
Breanna Stockham Jun 2016
Extra! Extra!
This just in:
Hatefulness
Is the new trend.

Forget tolerance
Empathy and being kind,
Why burden ourselves
With an open mind?

So we keep our minds closed,
But we open our mouths,
Speaking of things
We know nothing about.

We're shouting hot air
With no substance to fill it.
We spread hate but preach love
Then point out hypocrites.

We blame everyone else
And claim innocence although
We're building walls
With the stones we throw.

We're so advanced
But so behind,
We've got 20/20
But we act like we're blind.
Swans drone and thrash filling every square inch of air in this room of solitary confinement
I've got feelings, need to get 'em out
To fall upon the deafness of every ear in this house, disbelieving
The cacophony soothes me somehow
But I fall asleep listening for phantoms trapped in white noise
Sometimes it's the only way
As the stress of the day won't let up and it stretches all the way into the lonely hours of night that are more accurately referred to as the early morning
That transition is usually lost with sleep and dreams
Unless sleep and dreams are playing hide and seek
The noise of Swans comes as close to anything in giving a sound to the stiffness of my mind and the heavy weight in my heart
The mean streak, can it be forgiven or forgotten?
I have something to blame
But integrity keeps me from pointing fingers
My greatest wish is to either be
Smart enough to grasp the worlds philosophies
Or so dumb they don't mean a freakin' thing to me
I'm tired of existing in the halfway point between the poles
Tired of courting hatefulness
Knowing it's not me
Hosting a wretched spirit with dark thoughts and self loathing
Knowing knowing knowing knowing knowing
My Father Who art in Heaven
Hold my cowardice not against me
Let there be justice in this one thing I ask
As I lay me down to sleep
Let not the morning sunrise stir my soul
Lost in deep unconsciousness I offer one final breath
Take it, Lord, and give me not another inhalation
Set my spirit free while my lanky body hardens 'neath the quilt my grandma made for me
Show me the mystery of all that lies ahead
And let not those I left behind cry that I am dead
May their mourning bring them peace and when it ends much joy
I'm not suggesting you made a mistake
But I just don't belong here
So when I close my eyes tonight
I will squint, hold the lids down hard and tight
And finally pray You'll make it all right
Please let my spirit drift listlessly into the night
In the name of your precious Son
                                                                  Amen
Bob B May 2017
Bowie State University
Student, Richard Collins III,
Commissioned as a second lieutenant,
Will not graduate. Have you heard?

On the path to serving his nation
In many more ways than one,
Collins' life was quickly ended.
Another mother lost her son.

Standing with friends, minding his business,
Collins--as witnesses will attest--
Was stabbed by a homegrown, racist terrorist--
Stabbed directly in the chest.

Who was the killer? Sean Urbanski,
A current student at UMD,
Also a member of Alt-*****: Nation,
A truth of a painful reality.

Emboldened by white supremacists
Working in the White House, no less,
Racist groups are on the rise,
Spreading their loathsome hatefulness.

They say that Collins was brutally murdered
Because of the color of his skin.
He was murdered because of hatred,
For hatred is racism's twin.

Resist the scourge of discrimination.
Mobilize--it's never too late--
To extirpate ALL forms
Of ugly, white-supremacist hate.

-by Bob B (5-23-17)
The Trumpoet Mar 2017
Did you support that Donald Trump in his campaign last year?
Why didn't all his hatefulness fill you with dread and fear?
Did you believe his B.S. or did you hate Hillary
so much that you preferred a **** who likes to grab pu--y?

At some point did you realize the truth he cannot tell,
when he fibbed about inaugural crowds and voter fraud as well?
When he misled you on healthcare, did you finally agree
that lying just like breathing; both come to him naturally?

And what about his henchmen, tangled up with Russian ties
to the Kremlin and the oligarchs, in cahoots with Putin's spies?
When Trump heaped praise on Vladimir, were you just too blind to see,
or did you hope that your leader would be Comrade Trumpsky?

Oh how could this have happened? What an awful, global mess!
A big buffoon's in power, do you finally confess?
Did your vote help to elect him? To the Whitehouse was he sent
because in a fit of madness, you said "Trump for President"?!

'cause in a fit of madness, you said TRUMP-FOR-PRESIDENT?!
This poem can also be sung to the tune of "The Hoedown Song", which was a common feature on Drew Carey's former improvisation show, "Whose Line is it Anyway?". You can see and hear this poem performed with the music on YouTube at https://youtu.be/TcBx_DKkiyo.

To see a variety of "trumpoems", take a look at www.trumpoet.com.
Spike Harper Feb 2016
The view is sure something.
It can bring happiness.
Hatefulness.
Blasphemous brooding souls.
And in this land that we thought was make believe.
Does standing your ground.
Seem so frivolous.
For nor only does the terrain shift.
In time so does the direction of your feet.
Every memory dropped into a specific mail slot.
Faces it's very own sandstorm.
Deteriorating.
As we try and look back on those ancient feelings.
Yet the TV is set to static.
And the remote lost in the forgotten cotton sea.
Dripping both wisdom and.
Stupidity..
For there is not a single conscious organism.
That will forge and cater the very destruction.
Of its own distorted existence.
Like us.
Tatiana Mar 2019
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies
You may tres me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I am waking like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room

Just like moons and like stars
With the certainty of tides
Just like hopes springing high
Still I rise

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling like teardrops
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness upset you?
Don’t take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my backyard

You may shoot me with your words
You may cut me with your eyes
You may **** me with your hatefulness
But still, like air, I rise

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I Rise
Out from a past that’s rooted in pain
I Rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide
Welling and swelling I bear the tide

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I Rise
Into daybreak that’s wonderfully clear
I Rise
Bringing the gifts my ancestors gave
I am the dream and the hope of the slave

I Rise
I Rise
I Rise
I did not pen this poem. It is one I’m studying I my advanced literature class, and it touched me deeply because so many people in my life, myself included, can relate to it one way or another.
Jacob Giggey Oct 2014
God, all this hatefulness inside of me,
I smile everyday,
So no one can see.
But it's clawing and tearing away,
until I'm gone and there's nothing left to me.
I don't know why I feel this way,
or what this is,
but I'm telling you now,
That I'm at the end and don't know how,
to stop these thoughts
bouncing around inside my head,
Everyday I picture me dead.
No, this isn't a ******* cry for help,
I'm just letting you know,
that I ******* hate myself.
Now doesn't that sound a bit dramatic,
it's not like I'm an addict,
or ******, murderer or maniac,
I'm not a psychopath
who wants to turn his back,
on his past,
or to revel in the fact,
that his family's gone,
or he's lost his home,
it's none of that.
It's just,
that I'm at the point,
where every time I close my eyes,
it's no surprise,
that these thoughts arrive,
they hide,
deep inside, deep inside so no one knows,
this calm young guy is about to blow,
with no where to go,
how to deal with it,
I don't know.
But I know that one day when,
I finally get the strength to say
"**** it all" and open up,
then they'll see,
what's been hiding here,
within my head,
they'll see this beast rip its way,
through my heart,
And any little bit that's left of me will go away.
Then I'll be,
the real true me,
don't you see that I'm on the edge
of the abyss,
that faces me.
And I'm not scared of the things that I could do,
though I should and so should you,
because locked inside,
behind a cage of seemingly innocent eyes
there truly is a beast inside,
waiting for the day
when this crazy ****** snaps the bars,
and let's him play.
That will be the day that I will disappear,
and that's the day that you should fear,
no I will not shed a tear,
because I will be done and gone,
down and out,
but it's the here and now that makes me cry out,
swelling up inside of me,
I pour fourth all these emotions,
behind closed doors for no one else to see.
Distracting myself from the shaking bars inside my chest,
is the only way to get some rest,
but it's no use,
I'm like a bomb with an invisible fuse,
And though I'm used to being used,
and can't picture myself doing those things to you,
so before I break,
before I loose,
an inner battle between me and me,
I need to go,
and free myself from the ones I love,
before it's all too late.
Here as a last act which isn't hate,
I will take myself away,
far away,
from you so that you won't suffer through,
this thing that latches on,
and keeps its grip with icy claws,
you don't need to see my flaws,
I want you to remember me as the kid I was,
so here I go,
I'm out the door,
I need to leave and start again, somewhere new,
maybe then my beast,
I will learn,
to subdue,
but until that day when you're safe
for me to be me,
I will stay away,
far, far away.
Dr Zik Apr 2020
Smoke suffocating, screams letting deaf
babies’, moms’ and, old ones are helpless

Blood spreads everywhere, from the bodies.
Stop lynching, and give up hatefulness

look at world from Warsak Road, O man
Palestine, Kabul, Iraq, leave them

spirit is one, dialect is not same
His devotee doesn't accept defeat

think in hurry, when you find, morn, eve
your slaughterhouse, tactics are useless

they will not be able to withstand
and will welcome as the Berlin wall
Dr Zik's Poetry
Book: Thirsty Words
Poet: Dr Zik
It is a translation of a poem written in Urdu, " JAZBAT" from the poetic book "Rah Takti Ankh  راہ تکتی آنکھ" of the poet Dr Zik.
16 دسمبر 2014 ء میں پشاور کے المناک واقعہ، اورمعصوم شہداء کی یاد میں
In remembrance of tragic event occurred by the cruel terrorist's attack in
Peshawar Pakistan since 2014. There were blood splashes, dead bodies of innocent children, sounds of crying persons everywhere in school in Peshawar on Warsak Road.
٭
جذبات
16 دسمبر 2014 ء میں پشاور کے المناک واقعہ، اورمعصوم شہداء کی یاد میں

متھے اَکھاں، بے حِس مُورَت، پتھر دل وِچکار۔۔
نفرت بھانبھڑ ورگی بھڑکے، لالچ دے بازار۔۔۔
اَگاں بھڑکن، دھویں اُٹھن، مچے چیخ چکار۔۔
بچے بِلکن، ماواں تڑپن، بُڈھے نے لاچار۔۔
ہر پاسے رَت ڈُلدی ویکھی، لاشاں دے وِچکار۔۔
من جا جنگلی، شہری دی گل، نفرت چھوڑ دے یار
وارسک روڈ توں پوری دنیا، ویکھ لے دنیا دار
فلسطین، عراق ہووئے یا ہووئے کابل کہار۔
لکھاں بولیاں بولدے تد وی اِکو جئے جذبات۔۔
اُس دے رستے چلن والے مندے نئیں اُو ہار۔۔

اَج کل چھیتی شام سویرے کر لے سوچ وچار
تیرے سارے حَربے، ناکے، مَقتل نے بیکار۔
ٹُٹ جاوَن گے جَھل نئیں سکدے عشق دی اِکو وار
منہ دی کھادی جیویں شوہدی برلن دی دیوار۔۔۔۔
۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔۔
شاعر: ڈاکٹر ظفر اقبال کھوکھر
کتاب: راہ تکتی آنکھ
dr_zik@yahoo.com
Clovina Sep 2013
Something we can't see,
Something we all need,
Something we can feel,
Yet can't believe.

A Scar within our Soul,
A Nightmare within our Mind,
A feeling that can't be Ignored,
Gnawing you away.

The Tears I can Feel,
The Anger Burning Deep,
Blood streaming Down,
What's Wrong with Me?

A Smile I Fake,
A Laughter I Hear,
Darkness Inside,
Light I See.

Shoot me with your Words,
Cut me with your Eyes,
**** me with your Hatefulness,
But still like Air I'll Rise.
Alon Calinao Dy Apr 2013
People may look bad on you,
Stand up tall and be good.

If you are caring and kind,
People will never mind.

If you tell them the truth,
People will speak about lies.

If you are generous to them,
People won't remember it anyway.

If you pray for peace and happiness,
People will hurt you with their hatefulness.

If you become successful in life,
People will tarnish your good name.

If you forgive your enemies,
People will say you're weak.

If you have done your best,
Some will still laugh at you.

Nevertheless,
Follow the footsteps of our Lord Jesus.

Because in the end,
It's only you and God.
Jenni Littzi Apr 2019
Oxymorons, because I’m not that easy, so don’t stereotype me
I hate what I love and love creating what I hate
I even hate love itself, but need it more than anything else

Complicated is what makes us, individuality is what teaches us
Ignorance and what’s not know, drives us to stupidity and hatefulness
Communication and acceptance could build more bridges

Yin and yang, sun to moon, black and white, rain or shine
Destiny and choice, high to low, hot or cold, I am sold
I believes in them all, like a prism, from one side to the finish
Logan Robertson Aug 2019
Yesterday's fears
Are today's tears
As a gunman rears
On evil stairs
With evil stares
Taking flights of theirs
Three steps there
Racing here, and here
With madness 'tween his ears
He squeezes off any cares
Gunning the airs
For those lost in prayer
As cornered life's tears
At the face, his devil peers
Through a Walmart s lairs
To hells kin he endears
Twenty two pearls smears
Stranded for his wares
Such hatefulness, he bares
His manifest he cheers
Today El Paso spits his despairs
And the neverending nightmares
USA, and mass shootings spheres

Logan Robertson

8/04/2019
Once again my heart aches for the victims (22 slain). It's like we're running in circles from evil and it shouldn't be that way.
nabi 나비 Apr 2018
I have been born and raised in the midwest of the United States
And I have learned many things, some of which I have learned to hate
People here live the same **** lives as the people before them
People meet, they fall in love, they get married, they have kids
Their kids grow up and go to a tiny high school
They go to college, get a job, find someone and do what their parents did
But the thing is they never leave
They are never truly living
They live the same **** lives in a repetitive cycle and they never have a taste of unfamiliarity
And in my years of being alive, I have learned to hate this mentality
To live the same lives as everyone around me
I want something different
I want to have stories and scars from travels and years of being alive
I want something more than this town and this segment of a country could ever give me
With its familiarity and hatefulness towards difference
I strive to leave and to actually be alive

— The End —