"hyde" poems
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities
Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes
Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *********
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry
Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!
What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?
Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies
Younger and younger people falling to HIV/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
War kills
not just bodies
but souls
while in its wake
leaving hearts emptied
with holes
The spirit of men
ruined by trauma
it's clear
they look to tomorrow
and tremble
from fear
For what it will bring
these men
never know
often like Jekyll
and Hyde
which one will now show
War
is pure hell
for all that it touches
and there's no hiding it
with a million
airbrushes
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
12 in the dark, I sit awake by the window,
Across from Hyde Park, and the feel of the wind oh,
Sparking a bark, Nana's remarking from below,
Canine matriarch against the boy with no shadow,
Time's flickering by and I begin to rust,
Consumed, I'm high with lust just for pixie dust,
But to fly you must be robust and adjust,
And I can't, though I try, I just look with disgust,
Sitting on the sill, I think of him mournfully,
Hard as I try, I can't think of him scornfully,
Despite the fact that he talks so informally,
He says my name and I know I was born to be,
Part of the family, I think of them nightly,
Tootles, the twins, Curly, Nibs and Slightly,
Second star to the right, it shines so brightly,
Hope he might come back if I ask politely,
He doesn't apologize, he's immature and he's cold,
Lives in a land without rules so he can't be controlled,
But as soon as I saw him I knew I'd struck green-gold,
Peter Pan is a joke that just never gets old,
Don't smile at crocodiles down in Neverland,
And if you hear a ticking clock, hope the ships are manned,
Because there's a high demand for the taste of pirate band,
And if you're not hooked by now then Hook'll tell you first hand,
I flew here like a bird in a night-dress, frilly,
Scared, trying to fight stress, skin like Chantilly,
Found Peter and I confess that the boy's my Achilles,
Now I'm a lost girl treading on Tiger Lillies,
Acorns and thimbles are my idea of 'bases',
And sword fights with pirates are my ***** chasers,
Watching the boys as they fly and admiring Peter Pan,
But he's the boy who can't love here in Neverland,
I wanted devotion, to marry men who were charming,
So I repressed, left my emotion, I left Peter Pan snarling,
My own species no longer, just a common starling,
Caged by age at my window, I'm Wendy Darling.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Dear Mentor Hyde:
Upon the morgue room table he looked like he had some Frankenstein fame
Like a two sided ten thousand piece puzzle, we started with his fragile frame
Racing to find the four corners I found three shaped, kinda like the same
Good, now he knows, when were done today we will win this insane game
On a first name basis I want to know them all, and by it their first name
Witnessing weeping children gets me every time I get all sensitive like a dame
It makes me happy to know I’m tucking you in and you’re not going to the flame
Sewing him back together he couldn’t move for he had a case of being lame
When he comes back to life he will forever be our friend and also be very tame
From far off distance places they all will come and from far they all came
Looking to see how we done, I’ll admit it for I have no shame
If anything goes wrong, look to me and I will take the total blame.
Sincerely,
Dr. Jackal
(SirCARSr 2-3-13)
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
I have a third ******
That doesn't mean I'm *******
It's on the left side.
Some people think its weird like Jekyll and Hyde.
But there really actually wrong.
Because my ****** just makes me a lot more strong.
People either love it or they hate it.
Either way they wish they had one and usually throw a fit.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
His ambition
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC
Two faced
Many minds
Shifter of shapes
Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde
Past lives
Intertwined
Most mean
Few kind
All vie for equal time
All determine to shine
The writer
The fighter
Drama king
*** machine
The revolution ignite-r
The brave slave
One with
Passion and fire
The singer
Dead ringer
One who points the finger
Conspiracy theorist
Lyricist
Soulful swagger
Hip Hop demeanor
The teacher and student
The dude with attitude
And no one can refute it
A brother and a son
The one that has been shunned
One who leaves them stunned
With the selfish things
I’ve done
The secret me
The enemy
The one whose heart is numb
There are a lot of us
No stopping us
And yes there’s more to come
I’ll never alter
My alter selves
Incarcerate them
In individual cells
Even when they scream and yell
All are a part of me
And they refuse to be veiled
You ask me
Is there a pill?
A remedy…?
Because this has to
be
Insanity
Did you disrespect
My dissociative identities?
Do you really want
to make all of us
your #1 enemy?
We’re laughing
Its killing me
We flip the script easily
Me- and all of my
inner entities
Chillingly
You’re triggering
A very sad memory
Oh, what a tragedy
You’re just another casualty
Unfortunate fatality
Of my Multiple Personalities…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
I am on a journey
and where it leads, I do not know
the bends and twists within my soul
leave my words and deeds feeling hollow
Am I the man I reflect
or a monster laying in wait
conflicting reports have come
and the doubt never abates
I try so hard to
be the best I know how to be
childish remnants stripped away
I'm left to navigate these canals of misery
Am I victim or villain
a product of an earlier fate
or is that just an excuse to unleash the demons
and become the thing I truly hate
this battle never ends....
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
I am
both
Dr. Jekyll
and
Mr. Hyde
at the
same
time.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
second sight alternate mind
sliding down the slippery slope
chasing a rabbit into fantasyland
the world is the same but changed
this drink is full of laughter
this drink makes everything strange
and why am I here you may ask
as I refill my already refilled glass
to find myself of course
I've looked everywhere else
and this is the only place I exist
at the bottom of a bottle
recycling the abyss
I am alive tingling inside
and I know he is waiting
on the hangover side, but
I'll let him deal with it **** it up
while I just crawl away to Hyde
until he is again enticed
to walk away from his Jekyllite life
we're all inmates so what's your poison
prisoners here in alcoholism
Jan 16, 2022
Jan 16, 2022 at 8:47 AM UTC
Men of the Twenty-first
Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,
Weak with our wounds and our thirst,
Wanting our sleep and our food,
After a day and a night --
God, shall we ever forget!
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Trying to hold the line,
Fainting and spent and done,
Always the thud and the whine,
Always the yell of the ***
Northumerland, Lancaster, York,
Durham and Somerset,
Fighting alone, worn to the bone,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Never a message of hope!
Never a word of cheer!
Fronting Hill 70's shell-swept slope,
With the dull dead plain in our rear.
Always the whine of the shell,
Always the roar of its burst,
Always the tortures of hell,
As waiting and wincing we cursed
Our luck and the guns and the Boche,
When our Corporal shouted, "Stand to!"
And I heard some one cry, "Clear the front for the Guards!"
And the Guards came through.
Our throats they were parched and hot,
But Lord, if you'd heard the cheers!
Irish and Welsh and Scot,
Coldstream and Grenadiers.
Two brigades, if you please,
Dressing as straight as a hem,
We -- we were down on our knees,
Praying for us and for them!
Lord, I could speak for a week,
But how could you understand!
How should your cheeks be wet,
Such feelin's don't come to you.
But when can me or my mates forget,
When the Guards came through?
"Five yards left extend!"
It passed from rank to rank.
Line after line with never a bend,
And a touch of the London swank.
A trifle of swank and dash,
Cool as a home parade,
Twinkle and glitter and flash,
Flinching never a shade,
With the shrapnel right in their face
Doing their Hyde Park stunt,
Keeping their swing at an easy pace,
Arms at the trail, eyes front!
Man, it was great to see!
Man, it was fine to do!
It's a cot and a hospital ward for me,
But I'll tell'em in Blighty, whereever I be,
How the Guards came through.
3.1k
I try to stop and wonder why
Am I numb now?
Tears start to fall
Never wanting to stop
Just a minute ago
I was laughing
Now I’m depressed
Suicidal thoughts arise
How can I've been happy?
Then so upset in a blink of an eye
I remember their faces
And I feel nothing for them
Everything’s a distant memory
My own nightmares taking over
I try to find something joyful
All I found was even more terror
How can I tell the people who love
That when night comes
I’m no longer myself
Just like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
I’m a monster that does not feel
Alone and cold, immune to everything
What happened to me?
I want it to stop
But whenever I try to stop
Someone else barges in
I don’t know who it is
But they’re taking over
I try to control myself
Hoping to win the battle in my head
Whether I win or lose
I’m no longer the same
I've changed but not for the better
All the things I've pushed away
Have resurfaced and formed
Now it has personified into my nightmares
Gladly, it only happens at night
But it talks to me during the day
I push back the negativity
Or else it’ll swallow me whole
Who knew it would be like this
I didn't, but that’s what I get
I can never be truly happy
I’ve accepted this much
I’ll face the world with my burdens
Give everyone a smile
I’ll lie my way to my death
Knowing that no one knows the monster inside.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
It's London, all the time,
when at night I close my eyes,
it's when and where I get to roam and dwell,
in the city I know inside-out so well,
where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones,
teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones,
lend themselves into the misty English air,
of London's ancient, yet so modern flair,
of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box,
riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus,
evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack,
fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack;
then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham,
where native Cockney's and young mums with prams,
gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show;
but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow,
over the rolling raging river Thames of yore,
where ancient Roman armies marched to shore,
proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest,
of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests,
where lives and deaths would go and come,
yet The City despite all odds has lost and won,
in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take,
great London as their true hearth and home to stake,
and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days,
whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze;
and alas, London from my slumber dissipates,
to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake,
knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine:
in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time.
______
London:
http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
A touch of velvet, like angel
Feathers brushing against my
Face, I feel your fingers caress my
Features like an artist, you know the
Contours of my face.
I love you my
Darling, your love
I embrace.
Fists like barbed wire across my
Cheek, grazing my skin as a
Droplet like a tear falls from
My face.
You scratch at me like razors
On flesh, across my skin and face,
Your voice of rage distorts the
Beauty in your face, no love can
Be heard behind this rage.
I cant take this cold to hot
And in-between, I never
Know which person I'm speaking
to when I look at your face.
I love you, but I must leave, I
Cant take this Jade and heidi
Personallity, I dont know who
Is going to speak, know that
I love you, but now I must leave
This love. And you must face your
Demons before it is to late.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
The trees expand with my eyes, here in
this solace, this international scene.
Pigeons, rowboats, the water and a
solitary swan – each a gift or a
gift’s ribbon. Snaking off into the air,
a balloon is cradled by the bustle
of the restless London-summer’s landscape.
The ordinary habitation is
so releasing: a miniature smile
scooters by; slow sweeps of saxophone
notes clear the sky; two bodies blended
in shin-height grass release a single sigh.
Abstractions felt but failed by my speech
take root here. Like semi-singed threads or strings,
they slide upward from the dirt to grow leaves.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
Do you know
how your body is fed?
Do you truly see
how we make the bread?
Do you wonder the ingredients
concealed like a bedspread?
Well, I heard a fact
That's got me seeing red
About artificial flavors
that 'bout made me drop dead.
Now, it may not be visible
You might see it in a museum
In a petri dish, in a *****
It's called
CASTOREUM.
It's not very pretty,
You wouldn't want to see 'em
Big business would tell you
If they were to take the veritaserum.
I apologize for the nastiness
but someone must be told
Its not on the nutrition label
Though it should be written in BOLD
I'm not sure how to phrase it
But it comes from the ***** hole
Of a dead ****** then
into your coffee, cold.
Once you realize
What's truly inside,
Coffee creamer goes from
Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.
Now, I have been scarred
I don't want it cold, I don't want it fried.
I don't want it at all, I'm mortified
That they would put in the food I tried.
So fear the vanilla
And eat the chicken
And never forget that ******
was kickin'
Before it was deprived of its ***** matter
and stay away from things you don't know what they stick in.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
Split mind. Split soul. Half of him loves his family. His intelligent daughter, energetic son, and beautiful wife. The other half loves nothing at all. Not himself, not his immorality, not even the toxins that he constantly ejects into his body. A modern day Jekyll and Hyde. To have a split personality is no easy taking. How does one love a single being with two men trapped inside. Knowing you will only be thought about with half the effort. Only known half of the time. Only loved with half the heart. Knowing this could drive a woman equally as crazy. While his careless half went out for another night of binge drinking and fornication, she was left at home. Well honestly, doing the same. One day it all became to much. In one of her drunken rants she grabs a pair off kitchen sheers. "Honey, where are you going?" she asked, not haven made up her mind on her next step. "Who the hell are you?" He replied. In a fit of drunken rage she charges after him. Determined that she could sheer away his lesser half. She screamed. He ran. She followed. Cornered, he had no where to flee. He snapped back. "Baby, what are you doing with the scissors?" , he asked frightened. He saw the look in her eyes. She was no longer there. The rage and fury had taken over her. "Babe, put the scissors down." He pleaded. She didn't understand what he was asking. Whether she couldn't comprehend that it was her husband back in control of his body, or if she just didn't care anymore, fed up with it all, no one knows. She lunged at him with the sheers in hand. When the officer arrived they saw the women curled in the corner smiling. "Did it work? Is he my husband again?" The mans body was mutilated. His skull was open. Half his brain was gone. His chest was open as well. Only half a heart. The women was taken away, convinced she did it all out of love. The children were placed in foster care. Both scarred for life from the events that they witnessed. And the man, well let's just say his partying days are over as well. Half hearted love kills.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
Saint or sinner?
Jekyll or Hyde?
I gotta choose one.
iamthe_avatar ©2017
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
We've heard of a woman's grace,
And romantic fables of her charm.
But delve beneath the surface,
And stir waters outwardly calm.
A woman, if pleased is divine
And will do plenty to prove her grace.
when angry she'll turn serpentine
And descend like a meteor from space.
She’ll be sarcasm personified,
Every sentence riddled with a taunt.
You’ll be slandered and vilified,
And derided as shabby & gaunt.
When pleased she’ll be friendly and chatty
And lure you to reveal your fears.
But soon she’ll turn vile and catty,
And delight in your failures.
She won't leave a chance to ridicule
And bring up things you’d rather forget.
She will attack with every feminine tool,
And force you to mull and regret.
And when you've had enough of her satire
And try to give her a piece of your mind,
She will breathe out tons of fire,
And to crisp she'll burn your behind.
So don't **** a woman to show
Her ****** and vindictive side
Be a gentleman if you don't want to know
That Far from being Jekyll, she's Mr. Hyde
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
We are fluffy
not stuffy,
we are bright,
not dull,
we can be
the lull,
before the storm.
More on that later, after the news.
Reflecting white light and we become bright,
pile us on one another a collective of light,
and airy, we don't take our selves serious,
we are much lower to the ground than cirrus.
Please don't let what I have to say cloud your judgement in anyway!
We are piling up to be the top of the heap
want recognition for the sunny day, around noon
living it large looking the part too,
we are the flat bottomed cotton *****
We are the fairest of the fair, but beware as the day advances,
we may get bigger, darker taller and you take your chances,
to be about and about, there may be a change in the atmosphere,
how is that anxiety about thunder and lightening dear?
From cotton to solid rock tall,
from mole hill to mountain,
thirty thousand feet is all,
hope you don't mind if we take turns
blowing through, easy to find us
no fuss, look for the Jekyll and Hyde
you know the Cumulus Stuff.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Oh, what a sweet child I'd Hannah Hyde ,
Oh, how thoughtful,oh, how nice,
To buy a hat with brim so wide,
It gives shade to the frogs
And the worms and the mice.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
I am Dr. Jekyll, and I am Mr. Hyde.
I cannot look in to a mirror in fear of that my eyes;
Will give away the years I put in to my thin disguise.
Inside this face you see is the man I try to hide.
Beneath this broken smile is the man I hide behind.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC
It was a perfect sunny day in June
the day our fourteen-year-old fingers met,
our palms lined with a thin barrier of sweat,
under the Hyde Creek Bridge that afternoon.
After skipping rocks, we sat on the ridge
and Bobby granted my most desired wish
when he offered me my very first kiss
that afternoon under the Hyde Creek Bridge.
With his tender hand just under my chin,
(and my heart doing cartwheels in my chest)
he pressed his lips against mine and I sighed.
His tongue flicked my tongue, like an expert, he grinned.
"Was that your first kiss?" He accurately guessed.
"Of course that wasn't my first time," I lied.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
After 6 PM,
four glasses of Chardonnay;
Jekyll turns to Hyde.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC