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I'm so lonely and it feels like there is nothing I can do about it.
How could I convince myself that it would be ok to find someone to be with in a physical way, knowing that I am just using them to make these miserable loneliness feelings go away?
What am I doing wrong to cause these feelings to relentlessly incinerate my mind every night?
Why does my desire to be close to someone else override my instincts, dull my sense of priority, and numb my enthusiasm for life?
What kind of person am I if I am ruled by pleasure-seeking cravings that probably can only be temporarily satisfied anyway?
When will the time come when these lustful alarms ringing in my mind calm down enough to disguise themselves, allowing me to pretend to not be a desperate love-starved clingy loser who can never escape the top of my own priority list, no matter how many other things compete with being close with women who I am attracted to?
When will I live and breathe through a day without thinking about ways to find myself in situations with women who I am attracted to, knowing all the while that my toxicity stands a more-than-fair chance of either running them away or misrepresenting myself to manipulate until I can no longer hide who I disgustingly am?
What will it take to quell my constant need for approval and attention?
How will I ever satisfy this desire, anyway, since I am consistently attracted to women who have no interest in approving of who I am and humoring or ignoring women who see me as a good person?
What am I doing chasing women who don't want to be with me?
Why do I think that if I keep texting, complimenting, or joking with girls who I am attracted to, they will suddenly find me completely attractive, even though they clearly don't?
How low would I have to go to be more interested in unraveling a girl physically instead of thinking about getting to know her, understanding her mind, and prioritizing her own interests and well-being above all else?
Why does my lustful and obsessive nature have to so strongly contradict my ability to behave in a way that makes me sexually attractive?
Why do I selfishly choose to express myself even though the only person who benefits from it is me and everyone else either laughs at me and thinks I'm a fool or decides to smile and walk away since I am not giving them any benefit?
What kind of person would be attracted to a passive reluctant caring individual such as myself, and then remain attracted to me when they learn that I am truly a passionate aggressive obsessive over-the-top unstable rambler?
What am I supposed to do if the years go by and I keep adding questions to my list of insecurities and my perseverance in this constantly losing battle fades away?
What am I supposed to tell my family and friends and grandparents when they ask me if I have been meeting any girls?
How can I try to sell myself to girls knowing what a toxic mess I am?
How can I try to sell myself to girls knowing how frequently girls who get close to me no longer want to spend time with me?
Why does everyone look at me with pity?
Why do I keep chasing girls who don't love me, or like me, or think I am sexually attractive, at all?
Why do I think I deserve that?
Why do I tumble around with fear in my head instead of getting up and doing something about the lust that I feel?
Why can't I participate in hook-up culture?
Who would really care if I did?
Why can't I go into it imagining that I will just ignore the person I hookup with and hope that they reciprocate and ignore me so that they don't have to realize how dumb I am?
Why can't I be charismatic enough to at least have some friends with whom I have ****** relationships with and not get carried away with?
Why do I take everything so seriously?
Why do I still feel like I did seven years ago?
Why do I still have the same obsessions?
How am I so mature in some ways and so stunted in others?
How come I excel in areas of my life that I don't care about at all and I can't even come close to being successful in the ones that I really do care about?
Why does being sexually attractive mean so much to me even though I already reject girls who find me attractive?
Why am I so shallow?
Why do I question and mourn the decisions girls who I am attracted to make when I hypocritically do the exact same thing to girls who are attracted to me?
When did I become such a hypocrite?
Why am I so happy and joyous and optimistic for the people I love when I don't have what I want?
If I got what I wanted, would I just take it for granted like I do everything else and then just want more, or want something else?
Why are we so greedy?
What am I going to do with my life when my lust declines and I no longer have a humongous problem to obsess over?
Why is this problem so consuming that I can't just ignore it and try to be normal like people do, and like I usually do?
Why do all of these thoughts form during the day and then explode all over my perception at night?
Will I ever be ready to love someone?
Will I ever be ready to love someone and not be selfish?
Will I ever love someone who loves me back?
Is love just mutual ****** attraction with linguistic agreements and complacency?
Will I ever love someone who doesn't eventually hate me?
Am I made to do everything but be a romantic partner?
Is there something absolutely wrong with me that I am in denial about?
Do I seriously need to become more self-aware? I doubt it.
Will I ever be enough for someone who I want to be enough for?
Could I maybe even be more than enough?
Can I increase my worth to make these problems go away?
Do I constantly put myself in these situations and relationships to torture myself?
Will I eventually give up?
Would that be good?
Will I ever learn?
Will I ever change?
Does doing stuff like this hurt me or help me?
Does it help you?
Hopefully.
I am on a roller-coaster of fear, insecurity, loneliness, lust, and depression and I can't believe how many emotions I have.
I'm so lonely and it feels like there is nothing I can do about it.
Viseract Oct 2018
People say I'm intense and aggressive
Not camping, just scampering, rampant
I'm too quick to take care and I'm helping
The message is hell bent on answering
All of your questions so let up the pressure!

Chat, chat, chat and you think you're all that
Talk some smack just so you can get back
Launch an attack on the boy in black
That boy so sad he makes me mad
That boy is trash have you seen his raps?
He's so **** suss I really wanna clap
Left right, goodnight, put him in the spotlight
And scrutinise like I have that right

Aye, I bet you think you know me
When all you've seen is nothing really
Yeah, bet it turns you green
To know that I'm better than what you carelessly,
Push away, in rage, that's cute, so sweet
When you stay, enraged, by your own heartbeat.
When you fake til you make and that's why you grin
Guess you don't know that to lie is to sin

Yeah I was the kid who got left out and yes I was the kid who'd always doubt
I was the kid who had no friends and I was the kid who'd get left til the end
Chosen for games as the last called name,
If I couldnt be avoided like I carried black plague,
But look at me now, I stand so proud, and if you try to take this from me I will knock you down!

I bring the rain and you brought pain
So I gave it back like, keep the change
Hate it when you take it
Hypocritically making
Bad choices lately, despise me for saying

So you sneak like a snake and talk behind my back
But it never really cut me so I wouldn't say backstabbed
You never really mattered so I'll be fine
You can drown in your ball pit of lies

While I raise the storm and I right the wrong
While I pave the way and still remain calm
The black dog follows and hounds at my feet
But I am electric you can't bite me!

Stormbringer,
Stormbringer

You could call me Zeus I'm lightning when I move

Stormbringer,
Stormbringer

I'm a Godlike youth that you dream to pursue

Bolt from the clouds comes crashing down
Charging the air like a love affair
Handle with care? I was kicked down the stairs
They called me Zaps so be aware!

That's spaz backwards! Ha! So funny
Now that I'm electric I guess it means something
Now that I write hectic I guess it means cunning
Yeah I'm spastic with my bars but I'm shocking and I'm stunning

You wish you had the talent to grasp words with magnets
And have the power to change the charge like its only magic
And link negative to its own, and vice versa
Take a slasher of a song and make verbal ******

Call out the curses, fill them with hurt and close all your curtains, the sunlight is burning

Go outside and raise your head to the sky
Dark clouds race to claim it all as mine!

Stormbringer,
Stormbringer

Was the reject now I'm relevant

Stormbringer,
Yeah, Stormbringer

It's no dead ringer I was always a winner

Call me a sinner, I eat y'all for dinner
Those who call me a quitter, make claims that I never
Will get any better, when I'm rising forever
When I'm using my head and I'm light as a feather

I told you my name, don't use it in vain,
I gave you my hand, you can't do the same
So trust is reversed and storms start to churn
When I raise my voice it's a third degree burn!

I gave it non-stop what more could you want
When voices persist I'm getting *******
Continual fights and TV highlights
It took me a while but now I realise

Now I realise,
Now I realise!

I'm the Stormbringer....

Stormbringer, your head's like a spinner
Gasping for air, I crushed your throat from a distance, so killer, killer, killer...

Killer, killer, killer...

I shout out and you twirl around
Rotating one-eighty like you're an owl
You look at me foul like a fowl out of bounds so
This is just something for which you're renowned
Back in the day when you used to clown
Now that I'm clowning you're the one running around
What have I done? This isn't fun!
Come at me strong, or come at me none

Back in your cage, the one that you made when you went insane and told me to stay,
Never have I ever followed in your ways
Never would I ever listen to you persuade

You'd need some skill, and not fumble your speech
I've seen examples, week after week
Calling me out saying that I'm a creep
When I used to feel to get by I must sneak

Now the tides turned, I'm friends with Poseidon
I'm a demigod and you're just a pirate
Plundering the ***** of your best mates
What? You don't like the **** I say?

Aww...

But I am no fraud
I am my own mob
I'm raising my head,
To inflict what I got!
Fritzi Melendez Oct 2017
You act as if you aren't the root of the statements you deliberately claim.
As if telling me my character is flawed and I am everything to blame.

As if stating that I can not form a sentence without shaking and stuttering is bound to take over my life, crash, and fail.
As if hypocritically saying that I'll end up pregnant with an abusive boyfriend flipping burgers to make ends meet is how my life will sail.

Granted that I'm not even able to make anyone stay with me.
A torment of words in the prison of my home, I feel I'll never be free.  

Let me tell you something, ******.
I was doing much better until you came into my life, stole my mother's heart and ****** her.

Grabbed my hair in the intention to afflict pain and make me cry
Threw us in a cardboard box and you demanded we don't question why.

Moved us into a house for the reason being you wanted to be closer to your workplace.
No consideration of us, you just expected us to put a smile on our face.

Stole the only memories, childhood, and friends I have ever made.
Left in this empty home with my sad thoughts and the pill cabinet to raid.

Only my razor blades and the silence and my head spinning in a whirl.
You talk so high and mighty for a 40 something year old always picking on a melancholic teenage girl.

Like your ***** of a mother, like a ***** of a son.
You can't even handle the consequences when your deed has been done.

You do what your mother does, and take what I hate and use it to hurt me.
It is me that I hate, and you know how much it stings more than a bee.

Brainwashed my mother to be a replica of you.
It's so sad when I see my own mom break my heart in two.

Always said that she'll protect us first.
Until you came along and made that ideation of hers burst.

The inequality of your ethics is completely noticeable.
I'm not a ******* animal, I'm a person you caged in a bubble.

You wonder why I'm the way I am: so emotional, so sad, so problematic.
Even though I'm far from the stereotypical high school teenager statistics.

As much as you've claimed you have done so much good for this family,
You've also broken me too many times for me to count, the irreversible cracks in my brain and heart's anatomy.

You need to stop attacking my very presence.
As much as I hate myself, I'm also my own essence.

Let me get better without tearing me down.
Grow the **** up and stop making yourself look like an immature clown.

I know you'll never see this or even try to listen.
Just know everything comes back around, but until then,

I hope you realize your words are damaging to my very soul.
I hope you fix your **** and bury your insensitivity 6 feet down a hole.
Wanted to vent out about the **** my mom's boyfriend does. I'm just tired of being hurt by the very people that are supposed to take care of me.
Kara Jean Dec 2016
26
Twenty-six
What a **** mess
Kisses hugs with grubby little hands
Manners and crayons
No sleep and working
Trying to follow the chase for something we all crave
Hypocritically misbehaving
The money seems disgusting
Yet makes others smile while holding it tightly
We breed we try to succeed
What does it all mean
Beats me
I'm only twenty-six
I know nothing
Paper and pen scrape up my hand
Bruises hidden and blended in
No words of admiration or advice
Just listen to the lost and pretend to be found
Isn't that what makes the world go around
Again life cycles to a clutter, ideas thought through

don't anymore seem as though,

even when expressed aloud and not within.



Maybe they're right,

my ignorance is only withholding wonders

I struggle to actually see.  



Hypocritically, I find importance in self enrichment

and observing from afar.

and yet even from a distance you feel so close.



Is this an evolution or is it just another mutation.

Obscure out of any cultural norm, I resonate

impairing those who hear my words.



This constant metamorphosis has left me staring in the mirror for

hours, searching for the presence of my subjected  form.



Yet,



while I peer into the interworkings of my reflection

to observe what I actually see...



With all truth, it holds a boy,

an awkwardly timid boy.



Insecurely gazing back into the pupils

of his reality.



He's bellowing inside his

submerged mind.



Subconsciously Blurting:



"Do not turn back,  

their are cyclones that await.



And all that is required

to overcome this task



is to go forth without

pondering times long gone...





So here I am, engaulphed

in tidal winds.



I must break loose;



grow, starting from

below.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
It's an unspoken rule that somewhere out there
there's a sea of ill tempered, cantankerous,
curmudgeonly men. These men are writers.
It would be both a lie,
and not even half the truth.
Today I tried to sell my dream,
and found it's worth roughly $14.50.
I wish about ninety percent of the world would
die in some type of plague or world war,
and just leave me in peace.
I could spare too many people I know.
My phone shut off abruptly.
The internet is out.
I'm roughly forty dollars in debt now,
and I couldn't pawn my life's work out of it.
Handed a gun I would promptly
shoot myself, because if I wanted to ****
everyone I don't care for, I'd run out of bullets.
My narrative isn't even especially unique.
It's summer and I'm trying to pawn an instrument,
and now ebay has killed the value of everything.
Harlan Ellison is complaining that writers
work for free, but he never had to pawn
a supposedly $700 bass to get told
it's worth $70 on ebay.
I want to fight most people I pass on the street, physically.
I want to choke them and try crushing in their faces.
Hypocritically, I'm a pacifist.
I live in a world where children starve to death,
and have been for centuries,
but you can pass an animal hospital and overhear
people saying they "care about animals more than people."
WW3 looks like an honestly
enjoyable prospect from here.
I want to collect my fifteen dollars and get very drunk.
Hypocritically, I don't drink.
It's summer and I want to wreck a stranger's car,
and flip off a police officer. Spit in someone's face.
Anyone's.
I want all those animal lovers to die of pancreatic cancer
while their lovers get shot in the throat in a ditch somewhere,
******* themselves and crying for their perspective gods,
or parents, or homes, or saints, or whatever.
I just want them to be crying.
I'll be rotting in a cell somewhere or dead too.
Hey, love, it gets darker from here too,
but at least I'm still alive, right?
Hey, sister, the will to live is a fire
that now engulfs me as I try
to ignite the atmosphere.
Hey, father, go **** yourself.
Hi mom!
No meter. Still no morals to these stories.
I'm alive in a generation that doesn't
even like talking about itself sincerely.
I'm writing to you via the public library,
a love letter to anybody who feels ashamed
for feeling desperate. Just remember, most
great writers didn't have the internet and
the ones who don't use it,
are just dinosaurs now.
Burn their bones for fuel.
Solidarity,
Austin Heath
dk Dec 2013
I can waste endless hours
staring into white screens
causing dystrophy
as sleep crosses my mind
I yearn to decide
not to entertain my eyes
but to entertain my soul
yet I find I keep filling
up with these same things until I'm full

reading complaints about the system
written by people staring into white screens
we all yearn to bring about change
without doing anything
all these screens we stare into
are staring into us
so we complain about this problem
and stare at screens while we discuss

I yearn to bring about change as I stare into a screen
I write a song, a complaint, hypocritically
after wasting endless hours
I can't take it anymore
I pray God help me
Pry away to fight this war
I am worn down, exhausted and depleted; tired of self.

I am torn down by the mediocrity of men and women that
cannot see the façade that blinds themselves and captures
their thinking, rendering them ineffective, therefore they lash out with
false perceptions, unwilling to embrace and acknowledge
the error that lies within their own garden of eden and deception locks
their tongues tightly choking out the very breath used to speak
hypocritically of others.

From the outside in I see myself standing in a crowded space
within “my being” and all of the chatter of endless voices critiquing
“the me inside of me” confuses and distorts my ability
to comprehend  the distance and direction I should be traveling in.

I keep “bumping into myself many times over”
because self will not move out of my way
to allow me to gauge the time and distance it will take
to straighten my path.
I am stuck in the creases of my frown,
it being sometimes dark inside,
yet striving “upward” to a place of stability,
knowing that my end is “far yet to come”.

With instruments of humility leading me,
“something” within the interior of my mind
sands the walls of my thoughts down to clarity,
assisting me in an uncomplicated manner.

This  allows me,
to perceive the portrait
of self,  I have created, and
this complex dilemma I live in
forces me to embrace the contents of the “self perceived” reality around me,
making it easy…. and freely…for me
to “escape the abrasiveness” of the way
“I” see, ‘I” think about…and the way “I” judge myself
when it is not necessary…

©2013
Nicole Feb 2014
People use faith to keep themselves from hating life
They say that lack of a following of a religion constitutes as "evil"
Yet life itself is evil.
Hatred seeds from prior hatred
Like dominos, everyone falls
But faith and religion act as a harness
And a suit of armor
Keeping everyone safe from the evils of life
Yet evil is truth
So they can remain in their world of lies and comfort
Hypocritically hating, just as they claim to detest
I'll live on the outside, in evil per say
You can fuel the fire, judge me forever
I'll let you be and go my own way.
Im not saying anything in religion is wrong, its just an opinion
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
poetry, oddly enough, falls the easiest as pray to that beast plagiarism; now all the more easier, like loving the sort of poetry that's not easily inspiring is to me what generic poetry, the sort of material for occasions and birthday cards and anniversary rhymes that's blatantly reproducible, is to invoking "inspiration." did anyone say the word peacock? no? good: here's a whiff of my skunk and sailors' socks lettering.*

what i know of poetry i use from the lack of knowledge i have of life,
so why would i suddenly follow suit with metaphor
and other tools so blatantly, so consciously, as to write
for an essayist or a critic? why? i have no need for that sort
of nit & pick approach, just so i can have someone say
something about it: easily recognise the alkalis and acids
and yeasts and the final product of dried brains and sugars stored
in liver. i heard a poet talk once about how drinking and
blasting music made him write the most terrible poetry,
a generational gap it would seem prompted me to say:
it's music, it hushes my thought to such a measure that i automate
my writing - hardly a thought concerns the writing - it's
impulse, instinct, impulse, instinct - the unknown river winding -
until i reach the other side of this styx - it's sometimes a sober
journey, but it's never a journey where the river is as if the hush
lullabying mute lake - and i even manage to strain music,
never allow it a completion, and thus the chaos of intro, a part,
no song entering its crescendo - sometimes just the mundane
bits of it, and that's it! i also heard the same poet talk about
the writing ethos: three hours in the morning, one at night...
why would i also do that, stand in the iron maiden of "professionalism"
and rigid matchstick packaging into specified slots of the everyday?
as i heard the same poet speak about practicing, comparing
the poet not to a composer, always adrift on the blanks with
spores against blinking and seeing blanks without inky caterpillar winding,
i'm not a ****** pianist, i'm chopin, there's a difference,
i'm not competing for laureate laurels, i'm competing for the
emperor's clothes: and in the realm of my ever expanding empirical
vocabulary, i'm the sole provider of such similarities to imagine
myself in toga and sandal drinking wine with bacchus and molesting
the nymphs with drunken song - as once in craze on a birthday,
making such cocktails and providing such crazy muses due from
music by cedric 'im' brooks that i swooned into lust and power,
taking a girl to my room and doing her all over in pitched pleasures
of darkness while the modest celebrations continued - the guests
didn't seem interested in helping themselves to barbecue or
the cocktails as much as this one girl - who noticed i was educated
in her own leather contrast with me: so let me tell you,
girls of such countenance enrage heaven with you and solomon and sheba,
for a girl who sees you take interest in her cultural output
is marked to take interest in anything else by you, esp. if it's
after a cosmopolitan, or that cocktail with galliano, or cointreau;
hmm, that last line about "cultural output" sounds hypocritically leftwing
stiff... well i know that something was... stiff... ah crap, now it
sounds all too very much carry on movie giggles; feet ashore!
Jeremy Duff Nov 2012
Rant like a pig.
Go ahead, I want to hear it.
You cry wolf, really, I'm interested.
Cry like a wolf. Cry like the wolf who is always at fault.
Cry like the wolf who is alone and who is scared and who is not sacred at all.
Rant like the pig who is constantly threatened by wolves. Who cannot leave the watchful eye of the Sheppard.
Cry.
Cry some more.
Smoke a cigarette.
Smoke until your stomach is upset, please.
Smoke until your pack is all gone and your painful stomach is replaced by a piercing headache.

Be hypocritical. Trust me, you can.
Do exactly to me what you'd hate for me to do.
What you hated me for doing.
Treat others the way you want to be treated or else treat others the way you were treated; hypocritically.
Datore Fargo Jul 2022
Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Because,
truth is,
I,
really don’t.
When the news says,
someone’s dead,
I look for,
your name,
instead.
Is that,
bad?
Possibly,
just sad?
It probably is,
but truth is,
I don’t care.
The scars you left,
wont wither,
until you taste,
the poison you,
hypocritically,
made for me.
Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Probably,
not.
Guilt is a one way street
It’s as heavy as the cross he keeps
Chained to his neck
So it won’t leave him, not even
When death comes to collect

Ever since I could remember I been trying to dismember
This member I endeavor that seems to bond me to my mistakes forever
I will feel the butterflies where my stomachs gutters lies
the nerves causing bleeding ulcers to symbolize my gut implies

That my guilt can't be killed
its got a bagpipe and a kilt
A Plutonium powered monster guilt that turns profit til a church was built

And I know guilt in small doses only exposes what closes in the truth
And its noted but I know this

Would be loaded until I was bloated
And eventually it exploded,
Misogynistic? homophobic?
Maybe the bibles misquoted

And that's only a part, before we start on the hypocritically dark
Holy priests who's frozen heart
Let's him say homosexuality is stark

Sin, and then take part
Helping to alter a boys life
after his faltered toy of an alter boy substitutes for the wife

The church deprives him of despite The history, so Im left feeling low like a low life Grinning while I'm sinning, like Charlie winning til karma bites

My *** With spite, but when I speak to the light wanting to do right
My confessions of guilt woe were not only guilt full but blatantly willful

So when I confess my common told, sins, like common Colds
appetizers and often flow, almost comical, kept falling like dominoes

Or added as if it was an abocist
Counting&Accountin; each which are
causing an apology to sound bizarre that now folds like a house of cards

So I find myself in doubt surrounded
by myths in fables told
To give solace without knowledge,
facts or evolution,just how to scold

Bur I do not blame them.
I too have sought refuge in the eyes of a stranger.

But this place does not feel holy guilt
echoes and hangs from the walls, the choir voices, rejoices, but
Guilt whispers to the mass and calls

For them to empty their wallets in collection baskets for sin
&fre;; the incarceration built by guilt
to fester like tumors under the skin

Like a disease of brainwash passed down for generations
since the dawn of mankind.

I do not know what forgiveness is
But I know it is not to be found in the book from which he is reading.

There is nothing sacred here
Every belief that climbs the rafters is tainted.....
Even the windows are stained.

And I swear one day
I will crawl under these floor boards
And dig a hole as deep as my guilt
And bury myself alive.
Wuji Nov 2012
I'm the worst ******* human being in the world.
****** and taking,
All that I don't deserve.
Stepping on friends' hands,
To boost me up.
Hypocritically shouting,
At those who have had enough.  

He is all that is evil,
In every ****** up way.
The actor who stars in ever single play.
He plays the lines so beautifully,
So fall for his trap,
He'll tempt you in bed,
While you are trying to take a nap.

Do on to you as have been done to him,
But he'll do it harder,
And bruise your skin.
His shackles are breaking,
But he locked himself down,
Holds his sanity with a tight grip,
Until the next time you come around.
He is me, and I am him.
Jane Doe Dec 2013
This is not about you. This is about the demon who lives inside your mind. The one who is starving alongside you, so he gobbles up the good thoughts, the positive reinforcements we try to tell you.
He poisons your food, which is why you won’t eat.
Its the only explanation I can fathom, unless there is another.
Then PLEASE, tell me. I am begging.
This is not about you “habit”. This is about being scared to complement you on your good days. And holding you on your bad ones.
This is about telling you, you can come to me if you need it.
But never knowing how to fix it when you do.
This is seeing a mold infested wound.
By not having the guts to sever it before it grows.
This is not about the food. It is about the ashes you inhale with every drag of the *** between your pale pink fingertips.
This is isn’t killing you, this is suicide.
This is not about the help offered, but the impossibility of accepting it.
This is not about how well you understand yourself.
Rather, how well you understand the world.
Every starving woman I have ever talked to have the kindest hearts.
They see the world with wide eyes and hungry minds, hungry bellies too, but they cannot see to that. So they feed their minds with the sore sights of their over sized bodies in the mirror. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT HE’S LYING.
I’m lying, I love you, more than you love yourself, and it’s hypocritically because you look so paper thin that I look up to you, not just because you’re taller than me.
I stopped.
This is not about me.
This is about you, and loosing you.
To him.
This is about you.
About helping you,
“you’re beautiful, my broken mess”
this is a response to It's not about Food, a poem I found on tumblr.
Strings are attached to each of my joints
All you have to do is tilt your wrist
and I am propelled into action
I surrender all control to you
And you are happy to commandeer
and play the puppeteer

You move my body to the beat
Leading me wherever we go like a herd of sheep
Time inclement of fluid movement
Synchronize perfectly to the dramatic music
the ****** always sends my heart rate into a frenzy
like a series of erratic stab attacks
I anticipate the end
as my feet are raise farther from the ground

You make me leap like a deer
running with such fear
from the cruel inventions of man
there's no time to think or hesitate
the dread begins to crescendo
with the power behind every violin
as I succumb to your whims
and dance like a sylph
weightless and wanton

Manipulation is a game you relish in
and you always put on the best show
You use my body better than I know how to
and you write out the script of my destiny
putting force in my step
and stretching me to express love
in order to vanquish the demolition of empathy
when humanity can no longer feel much of anything
but the anger and guilt and the emptiness of apathy

Hypocritically, you pay no heed to me
The things I abide as you paint your vision
Never cross your mind
I am simply a prop you molded in the image of your lover
the one that rejected you after years of chase
the moment you had her went to waste
and the longing never quite went away

My body was a product of your creation
but I still like to call my soul my own
you chipped away at me with such determination
and I shed curled wood instead of tears
as you carved my features with haste
making me into the form you wanted me to be
but you left nothing but a blank slate for my face
so you could put others in my place

I let you play with my limp legs
Finding disgust in every touch
but I find no reason to reject it
No energy of my own to deflect it
My arms bend to hold you the way she never wanted to
but these encounters are merely sets of occurrences
that have been written off in your script
as being scant of any meaning

I am your prototype but never the real thing
And in this cage of fibers I can rarely call my own
I begin to hate the matter that made me
and you, my creator, for having the gall to maim me
into a very disposable little trinket
because that's all that you see in me
and your influence is hard to shake

I feel weak with my self-inflicted derision
and the cultural mess we've attached to gender and labor division
creates a self-fulfilling prophecy of limitation
that I can't seem to burn from my mind
so your direction and guiding hand
helps me feel like less of an ignorant swine
as you introduce me to the art of feeling
I put up with your demeaning ways
so long as I remain the star of your play  

These sets of scenarios give me depth
and I embody all the roles you throw at me
but there is such emptiness in playing pretend
and experiencing and expressing beauty
when I am devoid of my own free will  

I have some comfort in mild mindlessness
because the infinite possibilities cannot intimidate me
and my inhibition cannot confine me
to a small fraction of what I have the potential to be
when you are there to steer me

I let you color the world for me
and put words in my mouth
but they are never able to pass through my lips
and you pay little mind to what I feel
when emotions are reduced to signs of hysteria
I attempt to articulate the fear through my body
As you manipulated me to express
lust, unrest, distress

Matter collides with the power of your inflections
the vibrations of your voice
sets in motion uncustomary emotions
that you awkwardly subject me to
as you pull me into situations of speculation and scrutiny
and turn dancing and passion
into a practiced routine

You view me as a rag doll
a petty squirrel
whose job is to be seen not heard
who suffers in silence
and takes it like a girl
If being wooden is a curse
being a woman is worse
because I never quite compare as far as intellect
and I long to prove myself wrong
but I am still like Pinocchio
trying to turn myself into a real boy

Hedonistically I wake up wondering what the world will do for me
Rather than what I can do for it
I have no ambition for greater things
I don't wait for my hour upon the stage
But you prop me up on your knee
And force me back into the light
Showing the world what you have done
Boasting of my blessed life

I am introduced as a product of you
A thing of delight
but never worthy in my own right
I never move until you force me to
I stay in the same place just in case
you need me for a new performance
a means of entertainment


In your crazed state
you gyrate the axis
sending me dancing at a violent pace
the sweet sentiments overlooked
and your fanaticism fuels a fire of fear and fury
a furnace that brings light to my indifference
and I feel my eyes are open now

You have been bottled up just as I have
in this dreadful dynamic of reliance
you used me to release your repressed ideas
your rejected love and your animosity
But no matter how much sympathy I have for your cruel art
When you try to rest your head on my wooden chest
My body rises with a need for revenge
And I snap my lid shut and decapitate you
So I can finally breathe on my own again
And detach these strings that bound us
as slaves to infatuation
Aslam M Oct 2018
Many years pass By
A Special Friend am I
When I am needed I am always there.
Busy or Free Everywhere.  
When you need me
I am there.  
When I need you someday
You are always busy
Tired of this Hypocircy
Denied of the Honesty.
Met a few so called Friends who want you to listen and want your time but when it comes to them , they are always busy.  Sorry it works both ways.
Emma Azura Jan 2014
drugs never touched my life until you did
you hypocritically denied me the right to take a little orange pill
while your pupils shone wide
bright black discs
you can't tell me what to do
down the hatch and away into wonderland
I wore the pink glasses timidly
so you wouldn't be able to tell that now
my pupils matched yours in size
*I love you
Whitavius Jul 2020
Happy and content -> Nudged out of wack.
On the right path -> Diverted off-track.
Whole and complete -> convinced of lack.

Laughing imbicility -> Fatalistic and sad.
Understandingly forgiving -> impossibly mad.
Totally good -> enjoyable bad.

Zest for life -> inviting suicide.
No remorse -> regretfully tried.
Never always -> honestly lied.

Timid fear -> Daring and bold.
Genuine character -> hypocritically cold.
Religiously devout -> soul's been sold.

Musically inclined -> can't keep a beat.
Social butterfly -> never want to meet.
Sour face -> smiling so sweet.

Always the same -> subject to change.
Seeking normality -> incredibly strange.
Demandingly certain -> just to re-arrange

… Remind you of anyone?...
Follow me on Instagram @whitavius
Devon Apr 2013
I support you hypocritically
call you handsome
tell you you are wonderful
apologize for the pain I can't stop

I love you so much
it hurts when you break
for reasons so pointless
the same reasons that make me cry

I say the cuts on your arm
are okay this time
but please don't do it again
I can taste the urge we both feel

I hold you so close
scared to let go
In vain I try to fix you
by holding you even tighter

It kills me when you cry
when your arms bleed
when you hurt
because you and I broke the same

I love you so much
I know you will never read this
but I wish you knew
how much I love you
I.
I contemplate nom de plume (a).
The nomenclator (b) pax (c) kiss of peace (d) .
Coddle (e) the dowry (f) , the dowsables (g) pas de deux (h) .
Fill the kyack (i) with tidytips (j) from California , that land lease (k) .
No irrational number (l) , reality two (m) .

Definitions:
(a) non de plume - pen name.

(b) nomenclator - a book containing a ciollection of lists of words or names .

(c) pax - from Latin pax vobis (peace to you) or pax vobiscum (peace with you). A pax is a liturgical object used in the Middle Ages and Renaissance for the Kiss of Peace in the Catholic mass . It began to replace the actual Kiss of Peace in the 13th century .

(d) Kiss of Peace - An ancient traditional Christian greeting.

(e) coddle - treat in an indulgent or overprotective way .

(f) dowry - property or money brought by a bride to her husband on their marriage .

(g) dowsables - obsolete word for sweetheart or lady love .

(h) pas de deux - a dance for two people , typically a man and woman . A duet in ballet.

(i) Kyack - a packsack to be swung on either side of a packsaddle . Two connecting sacks .

(j) tidytips - an annual wildflower native to western North America .

(k) land lease - leasing the land upon which a tenant may own the home but not the land .

(l) irrational number - is a real number that cannot be expressed as a ratio of two integers . A number with an infinite number of digits .

(m) reality two - Jen Oliver Meiert - two realities . One is the physical reality . And the other is psychical reality .


II.
Fatten on krass (a) and farina (b) , fanfaronade (c) , mordancy (d) , honey and beurre noir (e) on toast .
Nothing to ambsace (f) !
The guidon (g) carried by a guidon betraying the one ,
"one's fancy" only to be crushed by a juggernaut (h) . . . promace (i) .


(a) Krass - German for gross or coarse .

(b) Farina - name in the U.S. for milled wheat .

(c) fanfaronade - arrogant or boastful talk .

(d) mordancy - a biting or caustic criticism .

(e) beurre noir - French for black butter .

(f) ambsace - the lowest throw of the dice .
Something worthless or unlucky .

(g) guidon - a pennant typically attached a pole that narrows to a point or fork at the end . A standard for light calvary .

(h) juggernaut - huge and overpowering force .

(i) promace - animal tranquilizer .


III.
Could I quintuplicate (a) the subdebutante (b) becoming tag end (c) ?
Would I cozen (d) the bulblet (e) from the branch Circe (f) ?
The Elaine (g) of long ago evanescent (h) my Hesperus (i) friend .
To Hesperides (j) especially , the Jinni (k), lowball comedy (l) .


(a) quintuplicate - fivefold . To multiply by five .

(b) subdebutante - a girl in her mid teens about to become a debutante .

(c) tag end - the last remaining part of something .

(d) cozen - to trick or deceive . Obtain by deception .

(e) bulblet - small bulb produced on a larger bulb .

(f) Circe - Goddess , nymph , enchantress or sorceress of magic . Daughter of Helios and either Oceania or Hecate . Able to change people into animals with potions or incantations .

(g) Elaine - the women of Arthurian legend who died of unrequited love for Lancelot . From Greek , a girls name meaning "sun's rays or shining light" .

(h) evanescent - soon passing out of sight , memory , or existence . Quickly fading or disappearing .

(i) Hesperus - the planet Venus . Evening star .

(j) Hesperides - legendary garden found at the western extremity of the world that produces golden apples . The nymphs that with the aid of a dragon guard the garden that grows the golden apples .


(k) - Jinni - also Genni . In Arabian and Muslim mythology the intelligent spirit with less ranking than an Angel that can appear in human or animal form for the purpose of possessing humans .

(l) lowball comedy - a deceptively crude comedy with underlying meanings .


IV.
My Maginot Line (a) , my Magen David (b) . . . before you board mae west (c) .
The squirting sea cucumber .
The Sammum Bonum (d) goes .
It's Watch Night (e) like a watch pocket (f) .
Zombism (g) we have digressed (h)
The incunable (i) mickle (j) , the  micawberish (k) pentagram (l)
exposed .


(a) Maginot Line - weaponized concrete fortifications built by France in the 1930's to keep Germany out .

(b) Magan David - originating from Medieval
Arabic literature . A hexagram (overlapping equivalent triangles) that was used as a talisman on protective amulets and was known as the Seal of Solomon . In the 18th century it was adopted by Jewish interest as the Star of David .

(c) Mae West - Personal flotation device (PFD) , life preserver . First inflatable life preserver created by Peter Markas in 1928 .

(d) sammum bonum - Latin . From Rome's greatest orator meaning 'The highest good' . Virtue .

(e) Watchnight - a service also called Watchnight Mass is a late night Christian church service . Held on late New Year's Eve . Also called Freedom's Eve service , a celebration and remembrance of the Emancipation Proclamation (enacted January 1 , 1863) which freed the slaves in the Confederate States during the American Civil War .

(e) watch pocket - extra fifth pocket on the right side of blue jeans made for a size 16 pocket watch .

(f) Zombism - the Kongo and Kimbundu system of religious rites . Characterized by worship of a snake diety during Voodoo rites .

(g) digressed - leave the main subject temporaryly in speech or writing .

(h) incunable - a book , pamphlet , or broadside ( a critical response) printed in Europe before the year 1501 .

(i) mickle - a very large amount .

(j) Micawberish - resembling the character of Wilkins Micawber in the Charles Dickens novel
David Copperfield . Especially optimistic to the point of being irrisponsible .

(k) Pentagram - five pointed star used in ancient Greece  and Bablyonia . Which is used today as a symbol of faith by many Wicans and said to have magical powers and associations .


V.
While the rabalo (a) swims the tropical seas
succes de scandale (b) .
While the Exmoor (c) ponies exert , ****** (d) in-and-out (e) .
And the Langur (f) from Laos
lies lethargic , drinking meadowsweet (g) ale .
The Nereids (h) tease and pase (i) in polyrthym (j) .


(a) Rabalo - common snook or sergeant fish .

(b) succès de scandale - a success due to notoriety or things of a scandalous nature . Public controversy .

(c) Exmoor - an area of hilly open moorland in west Somerset and north Devon in South Wales England named after the river Exe . Ancient royal hunting grounds .

(d) ****** -  Queen of Asgard and wife of Odin . Stepmother of Thor and adoptive mother of Loki .

(e) in-and-out - copulation

(f) Langur - long tailed aboreal monkey with a characteristicly loud call .

(g) meadowsweet - or mead wort is a perennial herb that grows  in damp meadows in Europe used to make medicine .

(h) Nereids - In Greek mythology the Nereids are sea nymphs , daughters of Nercus and Doris and known to be friendly and helpful to sailors .

(i) pase - a maneuver with a cape used in bullfighting meant to get the attention of the bull .

(j) polyrthym - a rthym which makes use of two or more different rthyms simultaneously .



VI .
The enchantress in a jaded jodhpur (a) .
So kitsch (b) with the live stream (c) mouth .
A menu (d) with folded mantis hands , a Nazarene (e) .
An à outrance (f) , an abstraction (g) .
***** envy (h) , reach-me-down (i) , rest house (j) south .
The simoon's (k) coming , simon pure (l) in simony (m) .


(a) Jodhpur - also called riding breeches . Tight fitting trousers that reach the ankles ending in a snug cuff worn primarily for horse riding .

(b) kitsch - German meaning ****** art . Excessively garish or sentimemental art usually considered in bad taste or lowbrow .

(c) live stream - to stream digital data . Data that is delivered continuously and is usually intended for immediate processing or playback .

(d) manu - (Sanskrit) is a term found in Hinduism . In early texts it refers to the first men , (progenitor of humanity) .

(e) Nazarene - native of Nazareth . A member of a group of German painters
working mainly in Rome who from 1809 sought to revive the art of Medieval Germany and early Renaissance Italy .

(f) à outrance - exorbitance .To the limit .

(g) abstraction - freedom from representational art . Dealing with ideas rather than events .

(h) - ***** envy - the supposed coveting  of the male ***** by a young female according to Sigmund Freud .

(i) reach-me-down - second hand clothing

(j) rest house - shelter for travelers especially when there are no hotels available .

(k) simoon - a hot dry dust-laden wind blowing in the desert , especially in Arabia .

(l) simon pure - untainted purity or integrity . Absolute pure , genuine or authentic . Also used negatively as pretentiously or hypocritically pure .

(m) simony - the buying or selling of ecclesiastical privileges . Such as something spiritual . Taken from Simon Magus
(Act 8:18) who endeavored to buy from the Apostles the power of conferring the gifts of the Holy Spirit .



VII .
Come Nisus (a), Lord of misuse.
With your Ibizan (b) hounds
and ewer (c) .
Your ebulient (d) ectomorphic (e)
mentality .
Board a carrack (f) to Chad breastbeating (g).
Put your thoughts on skewer (h) .
While seeking an essoin (i) , flannel-mouthed (j) idyllic (k) .


(a) Nisus - Greek mythology , King of Megara , son of Pandion of Athens . When King Minos of Crete beseiged Megara , Nisus's daughter Scylla fell in love with Minos . She betrayed her city by cutting off her father's purple lock . The purple lock of hair held magical powers if preserved . Nisus was killed and became a sea eagle . Scylla later drowned , said by the hands of Minos and was changed into a sea bird pursued by the sea eagle .

(b) Ibizan hound - named for an island off the coast of Spain . Ancient breed of hounds once kept by the Pharoahs around 3400 B.C.

(c) ewer - a large jug or pitcher with a wide mouth used for carrying water for someone to wash in .

(d) ebulient - cheerful and full of energy . Archaic - of liquid or matter boiling or agitated as if boiling . From Latin ebullire - to bubble out which is the stem of the word Bullire which is the ancestor of the word boil .

(e) ectomorphic - body having a build with little fat or muscle and long limbs .

(f) - Chad - a landlocked country in north central Africa . One of the poorest and most corrupt nations in the world .

(g) breastbeating - a loud emotional expression of remorse , grief , anger , or self recrimination .

(h) Skewer - stick or metal pin used to hold meat .

(i) essoin - old English . An excuse for nonappearance in court .

(j) flannel-mouthed - smooth and persuasive in speech in order to deceive or manipulate .

(k) idyllic - extremely happy , peaceful , or picturesque .



VIII .
Through the eyes of yashmak (a) ,
below the eyes of  yarmulke (b) .
Whey-faced (c) tunneled half-caste (d)  in a white haik (e) .
Genuflection (f) to Baal (g) , Jehovah (h) .
A docudrama (i) , carbunckled (j) .
As the cross hair sweeps
across professed
liturgist (k) .


(a) yashmak - veil concealing all of the face except the eyes . Worn by some Muslim women in public .

(b) yarmulke - a skull cap worn by orthodox Jewish men or during prayer by other Jewish men .

(c) whey-faced - pale , especially as a result of ill health , shock , or fear .

(d) half-caste - a person whose parents are of different races in particular a European father and an Indian mother .

(e) Haik - a large outer garment or wrap typically white and worn by people from North Africa's Maghreb region .


(f) genuflection - lowering of one's body briefly by bending one knee to the ground . Typically in worship or as as sign of respect .

(g) Baal - was a title honorific meaning "owner" , "Lord" in the Northwest Semitic languages spoken in the Levant during antiquity . From its use among people it became to be applied to Gods of fertility , weather , rain , wind , lightning , seasons , war , and patron of sailors .

(h) Jehovah - a form of the Hebrew name  of God . Means  "I am that I am" or "I am the one who is".

(i) docudrama - a dramatized TV movie based on real life events .

(j) carbunckled - to make painful , sore , or irritated .

(k) liturgist - one who practices liturgy . A form to which public religious worship is conducted . In ancient Greece a public office or duty performed voluntaryly by a rich Athenian .
The bottom the bottle of whiskey
Bashes my insides and face with wrinkles
Strewn about my eyes and smile,
Wildly grown from the child I  seek inside
myself
So hypocritically
That innocence I contemplate
As I **** and pillage my morals with
Actions so contemptible and occasionally
Outrageous I want to repeat
HYPOCRITICAL
I yell as that innocence beckons me
My simpler thoughts distorted by mad, mad
silly behaviors of an actor I’ve acted to be
Because this actor
Others will act like
This mad, silly rampage has left for me
nothing but ink on paper, napkin paper,
carbon paper, construction paper, rolling        
paper, paper for later and notebook paper
This paper my savior allowing me to finalize
and analyze my actor’s mad, mad , silly
behavior.
S Smoothie Jan 2014
**** I've got writers block, but -
Oh no! It's gone...
**** I've got writers block, I -
Oh no it's gone...
**** I've got writers block, still -
Oh no it's gone...
**** I've got writers block, manage -
Oh no it's gone...
**** I've got writers block, to -
Oh no it's gone!...
**** I've got writers block, write, write -
Oh no it's gone...
**** I've got writers block, something -
Oh no it's gone...
**** I've got writers block, hypocritically -
Oh **** it's done!
I am hoping you all see the hidden message here... let me know if you find it! cheers smarties!
jas Feb 2018
let me tell you a joke..

about my words,
about self worth
loving yourself , enjoying the perks
of being happy
its been brought up a lot in hopes of
speaking things into existence
so a million and plus times a day
'realize your self worth' is what I say
and I say it so bravely, confidently,
inspiring not only me but others as well.

and there comes a time I can no longer bear the words that I have uttered..
actions are to follow words yet I make no sudden movements
frozen in time itself, or realizing that although I speak of such things I cannot bring myself to comply.
no matter how much I try.

actions > words
words < actions

hypocritically funny.
try self worth unknowing
Mindy Belgard Jan 2018
As I glanced over my shoulder trying to decipher whether or not I'm awake or asleep
I noticed out of the corner of my eye a puddle just inches from my feet
But when I tried to unsee what I had now seen
my reflection staring back at me whispers sound
And as I stared down at the insignificant puddle on the ground
I started to see how Cracks in the wet asfault helped depict the broken parts of me
In my reflection appearing shattered on the street
Broken hearts I grieve
Still staring back at me I wonder why I care about people when all they do is deceive
I look away from me for a moment
My sins are burning what soul is left in me
Prayin God can you hear me
not knowing if I even believe
God I'm trying to have faith in you but id like to know that you'd have faith in me too
Weight of your world but you put it all on my shoulders tired of this constant war when half the time I don't know what I'm fighting for don t really care if i win or loose
Well God if your real I'd like to tell you all I think is wrong with you
If I were in your shoes
God if I were you
This would not be the life id choose
If I had constructed humanity
I'd erase all the misery the hunger n greed
See your a lot to need you made me hypocritically
To be a decent human being strive to live selflessly while your getting off on a world of failure and pain our species suffering
their only hope is knowing your name taking their praise selfishly
My torn reflection from the puddle on the ground between my feet
Glances back at me
And although I see it's me it feels cold and empty soulless
like my hope it lays dying there on the street
If God is real then i attest he is ******* weak
Does the thought of him still bothers you?
Does his presence still haunts you?
Does your call logs still have tons of his missed calls?
Even though he's been friend zoned?
Out of empathy do you still comfort him?
Do you lend your musical ears to hear bittersweet lies from him?
Is it still tough to act up your courage?
Even though you know this is a phase?
Even though he makes you see it clearly?
Does he still make your creative eyes see the nature of his friendship hypocritically?
Does he try to control your carefree world?
Does he still try to ruin the happy moments with his deliberate gloominess?
Does he still linger in your fantastical dreams woven for you to amaze?
And does he still try to fill your innocent sky with that hateful color of anger?
Does he still try to make you feel guilty of the things you would never imagine to do?
But in his virtual self-created world which suits him better is he still hurting you by leaving small but hurtful scars?
Does your scars of unknowings still hurt?
Have I failed to help you?
But can you please try to help yourself every now and then?
That if you feel void I'm one call away?
Does it still happen?
Don't let someone change who you are, to become what they need.
-Unknown
EmotionalWreck Mar 2018
A horrible mess masterfully created and critiqued by the people
The very same people that hypocritically blame society for everything that is wrong with the world, for everything that is wrong with the people
But the crazy thing is that we, the people are the ones who deemed the world to be a certain way
The “right” way if you will
You see, we all paint this picture in our imagination of what we feel is perfect
What we feel everyone should be
What we feel we should be
And since we all have different minds, we all portray our “perfect” in different ways
Thus causing everyone’s confidence to drain cuz we cannot become this picture no matter how hard we try
There is no completing it there is only coming close to it
So we sit here trying to become this way we think one should be
And us as a society are causing strict guidelines and rules on ourselves
On everyone
But what we don’t know is that we are continuously causing these rules to change
And as they change the people try to do the same
But frankly not all of us can and the ones who can’t, are automatically deemed as different  and in our world different is “invalid” or the “incorrect” way
[What we don’t know is that]
It is not this world that is so wrong on it’s own, but rather the treacherous people who have caused it to be so wrong
So in the end, it is not society who created the people
It is simply the people who created society
I will not take credit for this poem. It is my bestfriends and I thought it was really good.
All the iron clad wisdom of man---
All the lessons learned out of sorrows
Unredeemable by time and history yet
Never by youth are learned  Still God
Laughs with them at their foolishness
Knowing all the while that He will be
Needed .  For Who  else is able  to make
Whole our 'brokenness of life's lessons
Oh ancient grief who can we turn to-
Sage advice cannot help; science does
Not have the remedy; natures laws are
Just but without their Master's words
Show not their  charity.  Ah it is the
God of all your yesterdays who knew
You  when and laughed with you then .
He is not their's  of this world  without
Love, who would hypocritically be judge
But ah again they too are still too young  
To know they are only playing the fool
Soon the game will be over and the
Lord shall hear his tears too  Oh most
Foolish God we will need you as long
As we live. Only you can understand; and  
Restore our lives to us from deepest sorrow
As Job was so shall we be for we also are innocent.
And must be made so again knowing ever more
How great iyour Love  so  is our joy magnified---
help?t help
Oh many call themselves Aussiepoet
But theres only ever been one
Registered started writing at 16
Now 76 and more to write be done

Of life as it was is and mostly will be
Has more on file than any ever written
Not just of aussie humor it goes on
Or a bushy on a log and got bitten

Of life the lonely our planet nature
Of this life being a class in a school
Of those that learn as lifes candles burn
Of many today still greed hearts of a fool

Of all the little things that matter so
Of being able to look deeply ever within
Of endless religions politics shallow minds
Who hypocritically invented a word called sin

Of country & outback of oringinal Aussies too
Who had it for thousands of years blood & tears
A **** site worst than many today ever knew

The first mostly un-known still Aussiepoet
Writing has been his entire life to date
Of love making love giving love hand in glove
The endless who'll all should know never too late

And despite all his own have labeled him so often
He has all a man could ask for in any form
To be loved by one who loves him endlessly
As he realizes there will be yet anoth dawn

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Oh many call themselves Aussiepoet
But theres only ever been one
Registered started writing at 16
Now 76 and more to write be done

Of life as it was is and mostly will be
Has more on file than any ever written
Not just of aussie humor it goes on
Or a bushy on a log and got bitten

Of life the lonely our planet nature
Of this life being a class in a school
Of those that learn as lifes candles burn
Of many today still greed hearts of a fool

Of all the little things that matter so
Of being able to look deeply ever within
Of endless religions politics shallow minds
Who hypocritically invented a word called sin

Of country & outback of oringinal Aussies too
Who had it for thousands of years blood & tears
A **** site worst than many today ever knew

The first mostly un-known still Aussiepoet
Writing has been his entire life to date
Of love making love giving love hand in glove
The endless who'll all should know never too late

And despite all his own have labeled him so often
He has all a man could ask for in any form
To be loved by one who loves him endlessly
As he realizes there will be yet anoth dawn

There's only one ....

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Alfredo Ron Sep 2018
Smoke and ash, your soul is gone.
Your last days here are far too long.
You're sick, you cry, you pray to die.
When shadows fall, go greet the sky.

A world of shame covers our names
when all things sacred are profaned.
Perhaps because they're not explained
in simple terms to cure our pain.

May God forgive what we don't know
having to do with self control.
May he bring peace we've not yet found
and help us lay our weapons down.

Smoke and ash, our souls are gone.
There's nothing innocent we've done.
I've torn through you, you've torn through me.
We've done it hypocritically.

With friendship's laughter in the day
and anguished frowns on bitter nights,
we drank the cup of poisoned wine
and then complained when we went blind.

When for a moment we've relaxed
enough to let our guard fall down,
we've learned the Earth is angry flat,
we've plunged knives in each other's backs.

Smoke and ash, we're smoke and ash.
Silently we'll sleep at last.
No more to gain, no more to lack.
Except the sky profaned and black.
Oh many call themselves Aussiepoet
But theres only ever been one
Registered started writing at 16
Now 76 and more to write be done

Of life as it was is and mostly will be
Has more on file than any ever written
Not just of aussie humor it goes on
Or a bushy on a log and got bitten

Of life the lonely our planet nature
Of this life being a class in a school
Of those that learn as lifes candles burn
Of many today still greed hearts of a fool

Of all the little things that matter so
Of being able to look deeply ever within
Of endless religions politics shallow minds
Who hypocritically invented a word called sin

Of country & outback of oringinal Aussies too
Who had it for thousands of years blood & tears
A **** site worst than many today ever knew

The first mostly un-known still Aussiepoet
Writing has been his entire life to date
Of love making love giving love hand in glove
The endless who'll all should know never too late

And despite all his own have labeled him so often
He has all a man could ask for in any form
To be loved by one who loves him endlessly
As he realizes there will be yet anoth dawn

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Andrea Apr 2018
There's knowledge and there's wisdom,
There's logic and there's vision,
Do you hear me? Or will you listen?
Nobody grows up to be a ******, a druggie, somebody frowned on by a society
that grew up just like me, and grew down hypocritically, frowned upon brown nosed and rebelled,
Excelled or failed,
Both propelled by figuring out everything your around.
I didn't get here compelled to take leaps and bounds into places I was never curious about.
And all the things your furious about, aren't things i found,
They're just things I found out
Gently bending the minds of the malleable,
Persuasion is powerful, when you back your words with a good enough reason
To be.
Or not to be.
Either way it must've piqued my curiosity.
Don't feel like a failure for you or for me.
Its unfulfilling to feel that much sympathy, when no ones at fault for the capacity a brain has for learning.
when a mind can process ten things from the eye, but only identify three knowingly.
Amazing the way your mind stays at work subconsciously
Don't get me wrong,
The path I'm on is my fault.
Just try to understand, that if you've ever worried that I would be just like you, then I was around a reason that triggered those worries that one day fell into my hands.
And I shouldn't have said yes,
But I did so willingly.
And honestly,
I wouldn't be me without getting where I've gotten me.
But I will learn from my mistakes,
No mistake, despite what I used to say.
I'm saying now I'm sorry lets move on into this brand new mindset
I don't expect you to believe me, just reread these words one day and know I must've meant that.
Time to stop saying I'll fix that and start fixing,
Start paying attention to the way I'm living.
I'm fixated on what's next, and my fixation on it makes me miss the old me
And everyone that knows me knows its so me to make my mind up like this,
So I'm folding it up and taking it with me.
I'll relive it,
But just as memories to remind myself that I finally did it.
I'll be proud of the way I'm living
and where I'm going,
Because thank God for showing me I'd never find the missing piece of a puzzle that would never bring me peace.
Thank God I didn't miss the point of the journey
The day I decided not to be the old me.

— The End —