"incriminate" poems
So I'm a "fly" white guy,
with "Jet" black tendencies,
Try to be a nice guy,
But somehow end up the enemy.
I'll treat you like a princess,
But I'm a fort,
You can't get into me.
It makes no sense to me.
How did this knight in shining armor,
Get slain by the dragon?
So once upon a time,
I was a hero,
Now I'm a has-been.
Last in the castle for I belong with the Pagans,
Slaying distressed damsels,
Giving hell to the angels
With strangers wrapped in mangers,
Destined for greatness.
Trapped within this labyrinth of my cranium.
But when it comes to blame,
My pigmentation begins to change,
But this time it's not my shame.
'Cause you play the same game
That the dames did before you.
You're no different.
You're not worth a fortune.
Fortunately, you revealed your horns for me.
It's torturing how for me it ended horribly,
and you moved on to the same dude you ******* before me.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
You say it's false,
that nice guys finish last?
Well clarify why I'm starin',
At taillights from my past.
They say when you have everything,
You give nothing back.
So I guess that explains
Why your feelings for me lack.
You're like "You're a white guy,
That tends to be black.
Well how in the hell
Can I get used to that?"
That's ********
You're afraid of commitment.
That's why you had to end it,
Before it could begin with.
You're a cynical, sinister,
Hypocritical minister,
Angelic sinner sent to incriminate innocence.
Evil's equivalent,
Yet as sweet as carcinogens.
If heartbreak were a game,
Girl, you would be winnin' it.
If my soul were a food,
You would've finished it.
I had a confident conscience,
but girl you diminished it.
Listen kid,
I get you're immature and ****
But don't go and slander my name
When you used to worship it.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
Louder than Monsters
By: Calla Fuqua
I can’t unhear your ignorance, I can’t unsee your belligerence,
The potential difference you swore you’d make, and the carnivorous path
You chose to take.
You are louder than monsters.
Heaven must scare you and your desire to dissipate,
Your chance to incriminate, the problems you exacerbate,
I can’t articulate your need to intoxicate.
Your laughter is louder than monsters.
You fabricat your pity you pretend to give, as you wait for me to forgive,
That night I have to relive when I dream, of our short lived view of how happiness seemed.
Back then how could I have known that you were louder than monsters.
Your grip on me becomes tighter, the more your desire for me expires,
The more you secretly become a liar, and the more I ask myself why her?
Her voicemails are louder than monsters.
I end up on the floor, after you hit me and you swore,
You don’t say I love you anymore, the way you used to before,
And now I’m just your little ***** you pretend to love as if it’s a chore.
Your silence is louder than monsters.
I pray for you and the guilt you must feel, screaming out our window,
frantic to appeal, for the pain you caused solely so you could heal.
Your lies are louder than monsters.
You laugh when I say no, giving me a messed up world you pretend to know,
Now it’s my turn to outgrow you and your plateau, the one you promised
To let go. While I undergo the pain you overflow.
My screams are louder than monsters.
I still tell myself you love me after you throw your fists, holding tight to my wrists,
As I keep allowing the crimes you commit, to become imprints from the pain you inflict.
This pain is louder than monsters.
Now, nobody seems sincere, every scar is like a souvenir, You leave me speechless, when you sip your beer, like you didn’t just make my whole world disappear,
You say you are not louder than monsters.
All I can do now is reminisce, look back on moments like our first kiss,
Before you led me into this abyss, before I was unable to dismiss the thought,
“What kind of monster does this?”
Someone who doesn’t know he is louder than monsters.
I dream about the day I can throw out your ashtray, The day
I can cast away you whole, no more arms to control my body’s soul,
A day where I no longer have to be your wife,
A day where I can play a character in my own life.
A day where love is louder than monsters
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 2:01 PM UTC
From creation ill forever stay in rotation,
Feeling temptations, which slowly turn into frustrations,
Switch feelings, anger turns to rage, which burns to hate,
Words change to actions, fuels opportunities to incriminate
Blunts begin and go clockwise person to person, thoughts get lifted and minds worsen
Mentalities bend, back around the start becomes the end,
I forever stay in rotation, travel from station to station,
Slowly pacing forward to reach my destination
Though from the very start, fates the same ill soon depart
Forever in rotation, from birth to death to my reincarnation
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Forgive me, mother, not
For the things I have done
For they were done with the purest of intentions
Forgive me, rather, please
For the things I intended to do
Yet failed to bring to full fruition
And if you think it so just
To incriminate me thus
For crimes I have no evidence of committing
Your punishment I will accept
Like sweet nectar on my lips
And I shall live forever buried
In the turmoil of my everlasting shame
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:41 AM UTC
Now it might be hard to understand
But just for a moment I ask that you try to comprehend
The idea, the marvel, the miracle
Of learning love’s true definition from a child less than 3 years young
Her name was Amelia Lyon, but she was called Amy Lou
And her hair was up like Whoville’s own Cindy Lou Who
Dr. Suess would’ve been proud
I’m sure he would’ve loved Amelia, as did every single person of every single crowd
We would bring her with us to Disneyland
The happiest place on earth for both woman and man
And little Amy loved every second of it
With a wide smile, never crying, not even a bit
Bearing the power of a simple smile, and a thousand suns
She would light the very streets she crossed
Reaching out and attacking strangers was far from seldom
With a beautiful kiss of innocence, sincerity, we watched as joy would blossom
Did she discriminate?
Did she decide who to incriminate?
No, you see, Amelia would never
If someone was hurt, and broken, she could make all things better
A beautiful soul
To match a beautiful girl
I learned, let me tell you
What true love is, something new
Something that is rarely practiced
But only talked about, and the fact is
I’ve never seen love quite like this!
It was sincere, and it was real and it was amazing
A special perspective, a new trail she was blazing
And now I know what true love is
Humble, supportive, and nonjudgemental
Kind, gorgeous and always gentle
Thank You, Amy Lou.
One day, I hope to be like you.
But now she's gone, at two and a half you were taken from us
So unique, Heaven, God, and the Angels were jealous
Do I feel robbed? Do I feel cheated?
Certainly not! Because I know who I shall see when I am greeted
There she will be, adorable and precious
That gleaming smile with a child’s eyes
At the opening of the Gates, it will be glorious
Because finally, that disguise, that shroud of earthliness
Will have been torn away, and we will forever be united again
My baby sister, my Amelia Lyon, my Amy Lou
I miss you so very dearly, my little Cindy Lou Who
With love, bittersweet tears, and a heart deeply aching
Your brother, Remington Charles King
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely pesuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
– Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
I try to uncover what’s underneath;
I try to uncover what’s hiding beneath these sheets.
They decorate my soul, create this person who I am,
but they’re beginning to tear, tear right at the hem.
I’m not sure why I am this way,
though I constantly search each & every day.
I try to find the answers as to what I do and what I say,
though none come up each & every day.
I trace it to my childhood; the tangled roots start there;
of love & misfortune; the burden too often too heavy to bare.
I struggle with memory, as it tears a gaping hole,
Of smacks & bruises that coated your aching soul.
These visions –though conducive to my progression-
are often the reason for my rage & aggression.
Did you not love us? Were we not fair?
Did we not have perfect teeth? Did we not have perfect hair?
Were we not the model children –the ones perfect for your show?
Why did you have to break us & torture us with each & every blow?
“The drugs,” the drugs; the God ****** drugs are to blame, right?
Then why –without the drugs- do you cause me such fright!?
I want to incriminate the drugs for the abuse;
I wish I could, I wish I could, but there’s no use!
How can drugs create an entirely new monster, such an evil spawn?
The devil was always inside of you, no matter how much coke you were on!
But if you’re the devil, what does that make me?
If you’re the devil, is that what I’m meant to be?
My life is dictated by what has occurred in the past;
I leave it behind, but it never truly lasts.
How do I leave behind what has made me -created me?
How do I let it go & expect to be?
Do I create a new person –is that what’s left to do?
But how am I supposed to be me without you?
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
They fear for their children,
Their things when our black men come near.
But do they forget that it was the pale faces who were the cruel ones?
They shipped and trapped our brown for sugar, molasses...
For things.
They inspected
Destructed
Degraded
Detained
Stripped naked our black men for money.
They stole much more than our black men today.
Beat, broke, and chained our black men
Only to incriminate the black body
Only to create fear of skin that has been kissed by something not man made.
So forgive me if I say **** you" to the police in their attempts at racial profiling rationalizations.
Have you no education?
Have you no intellect?
Have you forgotten OUR history?
You cannot cancel violence by enacting violence.
You cannot stop a cycle that you have began if you cannot even look at yourself .
LOOK AT YOURSELF.
It must be hard being so **** stupid.
Being so detached
And having the good graces to ignore and not to teach OUR history.
The black body isn't what you should lock your doors from at night.
Are you scared you wont be able to see it?
Are you?
It is the ignorance of our society of the simple fact
That what starts here
Ends here.
And we are doomed to continue
This cycle of shedding the blood of each other
If you refuse to educate on where the violence
the cruelty
the ownership
the belittling
of the human body began.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Talking about your assault
As if you are removed from it.
When someone apologizes for his unforgivable actions
Even though he was always unapologetic
I calmly reply
"It's okay"
And sometimes even with a smile on my face.
But it's not okay
Or rather
What he did to me will never be okay
And I always feel foolish after that response leaves my lips
You lie to people a say you hate him
But really
If I'm being honest
I never did
Although, my situation is different than most
Because this wasn't some vicious act of ******
But rather, a game my teenage cousin with Aspbergers
Told me to play.
Looking back,
I was fourteen once too
And I wasn't even close to perfect
I can't incriminate him based on one dire mistake.
I never wish to minimize anyone's experience with abuse
Except, of course, my own
Because making it smaller
Makes me feel more in control
Just as blaming myself used to do.
Granted, I have dealt with it
But now I remove myself from the situation when I discuss it
As if I am talking about someone else.
That way, I do not have to vividly see it in my mind.
That way, I don't have to explain
How I have to fall asleep to music
That way, I don't have to explain
How I can't have *** with the lights on
Or else I see his face.
When I say I am perfectly comfortable talking about it
I don't know if 'perfectly comfortable' reflects it as well as
I am just used to it
And I feel as though it is necessary to discuss.
I am not one to shy away from challenging topics.
While he made me stronger
Some days being strong is just too hard
And I give in to old habits
Or at least to the temptation of them.
I haven't bled from the result
Of a self-inflicted razor blade or kitchen knife
In nearly two years.
And my bulimia is better
Though I have only rid myself of that vice
Three months ago.
And yet,
Talking about my molestation seems
So routine, so standard
Which is scary
Because something that heinous should shock me more
But it doesn't.
Maybe it's because
He started an avalanche
When it came to boys using me for ***
Maybe it's because
I share the same blood
As a child-molester.
It seems as though **** culture has permeated me for so long
That it's in my DNA
Woven strand by strand
So it doesn't scare me anymore.
It all comes down to perspective
And talking about my assault from a third person perspective
Keeps my battle scars under wraps
And my mind well guarded.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
you're maybe atoms)but)oh how nicely they are
supplely arranged in a neat package of *******
thighs hips divinely springing with soreness
hurting to be sick with lips
A
Disease you
like an incriminate of life want to ******
your pert body on my love sword
A
Blade
you like to put in your mouth unlike (sharper
than) a razor upon which teeters my senses
febrile bulging festering with you
A
sickly with needing for pain girl
(if you want i'll hurt you like
how you like to be hurt
)
A
Sort of almost
pain which if
you do it right
feels so much
better
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
My virginal shoulders could only support so much thought,
Before they succumbed to that virulent, green Iblis.
Sons will be what they are, and what they are taught:
A morality drawn to the image of Darwinian fitness.
Casted in His image, but then caught in the net,
Stretching chained hands towards freedom, just to see it sublimate.
Never a seat at the table, but always a back for the Debt.
And to be born of this blood is enough to incriminate.
Shoulder blades tremble, just at the sight,
Of the burden born from that first gasp.
Left with no map, friend, or eyes in the dead of the night,
But have no worries, He loves the first to the last.
Goddamnit! My knees have collapsed and split,
You sit unattached, removed, indifferent on my chest,
But it was you! You are the one who started all of it.
And when names were called, and the cards were down, you just up and left.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
I pray All my Sins be forgiven, the common phrase from our people, counting every letter like a jail sentence multiply it times one that equals out to be our current life expectacy either life in jail or Life on the streets.. We incriminate ourselves as a ppl, promoting the type of Life that Ends up given you or taking your Life..Its been proven on more then one accusation, look at Rome or Germany for example & the legendary dictators We call Kings, Presidents & Pharaohs who all rule under the same motives spit polished by evil skeems.. betrayed as the Truth... to Fallen Nations.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
I'm a wreck of mixed up words
I want to blame you for it all
Place you in the corner and publicly shame you for stealing the heart I gave you
Nothing is right but how can I prove it's wrong when I can't tell the future
Can't I just blame you?
For leaving?
For Vegas?
For all the tears?
Can't I just scream? Just this once?
Can you just come back? Just this once?
Then never leave again.
Can't we make this work?
Am I making any sense at all?
All I feel is the wreck.
The car crashing
Your hand reaching
The words in my heart
The fire in your eyes giving away all of your lies
I am a wreck and you deserve the blame.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
Stimulate and duplicate
Your potential to potentiate
Replicate your experiment
To educate, not adjudicate.
Be your master, emulate
Your idol, don't eliminate
Your need to feel, to resonate
To meditate, reverberate.
Don't incriminate, nor implicate
Make your mark, just radiate
Make them watch, eradicate
Terminate any doubt they state
That your life is one to celebrate.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
i called up my momma
but she wouldn't answer
gettin' old but still feel like a child
i went to my doctor
but he just turned ninety
writes scripts with a wink and a smile
dialed the phone to my lawyer
she sent it to voicemail
debts piling up in my file
texted friends far and near
honesty is too sincere
alone i will walk this mile
eyes
don't wanna see
mediocrity
drivin' through the tunnels,
hold your breath but don't fall asleep
high eyes
wanna be free
like virginity
drivin' through the tunnels,
hold your breath but don't fall asleep
i can't be liable
for all of your pleas
the'll inseminate some
just like a bee
those falling crumbs
swept meticulously
in the long run
please incriminate me
i'm your foot off the brake
the gear's now in neutral
you can turn a deaf ear
although it will be futile
pry your hands off the wheel
while you try to escape
don't take your last breath
foreseen cannot forsake...
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC
I held in vain
The hope that you'd change
And stop making me feel
Like I'm doing something wrong
In future, will, tended to how it ends, etched into the slate
Ground straight through our skin from birth, what we choose to replicate
Pointless as a new endeavor, still, another sick debate
Debased all sense of decency, enough to incriminate
Hopeless days
Keep passing by
Complete and vacant
Yet I still try
Arguably, far too jaded for this measure of reality
Wrested from our nestled coffins, directly into sleep
Fleeting things, though labeled clearly, time will never tell
Entrancing, some formality, a sliver of repetition is
But I stayed
The same
For all this time
In the hopes
You'd see me off
Still, crawling to the overture, slight against the weak
Long, death still operates, each future growing bleak
Shrouded heart of all uncertainty, for myths, voluminous
Captive, my apotheosis, in a metric of release
At the end
I still respect
The autonomy, I can see you smile
So go ahead
I won't keep you waiting
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 4:44 AM UTC
when the perennial essential question I proposed,
a temperature taking surely,
a simple request re loving me, yes
it was a dueling pistol shot,
a returning, pressing, single firing
interrogatory of a burr of a bullet
"how"
she stood in weak opposition
she demurred, evaded, jooked,
pre-tensing with a faint, a feint,
a desperately disguised,
claiming of the fifth,
a refusal to self-incriminate,
with a childlike repetition
"unsure..."
but was she ever,
ever sure,
ever knowledgeable
for the poem was
"of the people, by the people, for the people,"
we, me, she,
of course, being "the people"
-
that our love
"shall not perish from the earth..."
this particular poem,
this particular address,
was about
the struggle to maintain
our union
-
"our unfinished task"
it was the
first shot and the
parting shot
it was the
warning shot,
mesmerizing,
metastasizing
into a
death shot
simultaneously
the poem was,
this poem
the acknowledgment,
of the beginning
of the
perhaps epilogue,
maybe even the commencement
of a eulogy
a breathewell,
a fare-thee-well of this,
as well,
one of his
happiest guises
writer of
only love poetry
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
What if you don't want to be saved
You want to live outside the box
And you would rather the bubble be popped
Not have to claim ignorance
Living in the naïve land
Of innocence
Its tempting
And sometimes its a better option
But reality should not be an illusion
Racism and freedom
Class divided systems
To chase the dream
Or see reason
Where are the black barbie's
And who's your boss at managerial
Minority controlling normality
Scapegoats and state treason
Sacrificial lambs of the season
Corporate crimes with no repercussions
Why is black history
A month set aside
Equality or special treatment
Raising awareness or reinforcing difference?
Conform to standards
Tick box rules and regulations
Invasions of privacy
For your health and safety
Treated like guilty suspects
Looking to incriminate
Social norms and subjective realities
Powers of authority
Puppets of the same ideologies
Filtered through hierachies
And you become a product of the system
A convenient but replaceable minion
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
I kept a box in the corner
Little box in the corner
Bright colored paper with ribbon
I kept a box in the corner
And dressed it all up
So that no one would find it
Among the other pretty stuff
But now that you've found it
You don't want to let go
You say it's fascinating,
That you're learning things you didn't know
How do I know that
You're telling the truth
How do you do that?
Manage to point out my youth
I've got a little box in the corner
Bright colored paper and ribbon
Little little box in the corner
Where am I going to hide it now?
It's a safe for my letters
And jail for the darkness
A bowl for catching fresh-falling rain
Where am I going to put it now?
It's the closest I've got
To Pandora's chest
But it's still enough to incriminate
Box in the corner, blue satin wrapping
Box in the corner, tarnished brass clasps
Box in the corner, holding me inside
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 7:05 AM UTC
To my father
I'm sure I have written this poem so many times before
But this time, I just want you to listen.
See, I keep writing and rewriting
Examining and analyzing which way will be the most effective to tell you
You ****** me up, man
But I don't hold it against you
Just against myself.
I press it to my chest every second I live
Like the hot metal pan I burned myself with last Friday
It brands my skin so tightly to form a label
One that tells me I am too fat to be pretty
Too promiscuous to be loved
Too awkward to be worth anything more than an insult.
You make me feel like such a bad person, dad
And I am screaming for you to just accept it
For the first time in your life
How anxiety and bulimia are byproducts of my chemistry as well as my childhood
How I am so hellbent on staying silent about my assault
Because you told me to keep it in the family when I was molested
And while you were supportive
You did not let me thrive by telling my story
As I could have with you by my side.
You claimed to be protecting from scrutiny
But I can take care of myself because I know what I'm up against.
How my dysfunctional relationships
In which I expect to be told I am a failure
Because that is all you have ever expected me to be
Have to do with how you brought me up.
I say I will seek to do everything better for my family
For my future
And yet, I already find the fingerprints of what you have done to me
Everywhere in my life
And my body and soul cry out
They say
"Don't be like your father!"
And yet, whenever I act in any way that even slightly resembles you
I want to tear my skin off
Bang my head against a wall so hard that my memory pours out my ears
So I don't have to hear your vicious comments about
My weight, my social skills or how I embarrass you
Is that the legacy you want to leave?
Daddy, I really don't mean to incriminate you
I just don't want you to wonder why I never came home
Or why I ran away with some man who doesn't really love me
But makes me feel human.
My heart is like a sword fight
And the scars run deep
Like train tracks, they trace every place I've been
But they don't lay out where I plan to go.
I can only hope that place is far away from here.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
"Do you know why I stopped you?"
Do you wanna have a friendly chat?
Look at me, I'm just a nice guy doing my job, you can talk to me, you can trust me, you can confess whatever crime you think I think you just committed and that'll be evidence enough for me, you can go ahead and incriminate yourself and save us both the trouble
"Do you have something to hide?"
Come on now, why are you being so difficult? If you hadn't done anything wrong you'd have no problem taking more time out of your day than I've already taken to let me look around for something to charge you with. They say you're innocent until proven guilty but you're not doing yourself any favors.
"Cooperating will make things easier on you"
Ok so you know your rights, ******* congratulations, you're a regular ******* model citizen. You know what? Your rights are becoming a real pain in my *** You have no idea how much more difficult I can make things for you. You think this is bad? You ain't seen nothing yet punk.
"We'll just get a warrant"
You think I give a **** about your refusal to consent? You have no idea how easy it would be for me to get a judge to sign a paper to **** your entire world up so can we please just get on with this thing I don't wanna spend all day talking to you I have quotas to fill.
"I'm going to frisk you for my own safety"
Keep your ******* hands where I can see em. You don't move unless I give the order. You made the choice to be difficult so this is how it's gonna be. You got a gun on you? You might, or I could **** you where you stand and put one in your hands after. What? You think anyone is gonna believe you after you're dead?
"We have someone who will testify against you"
Guess what? We caught some other poor ******* a while back, and he's willing to do anything to get out of trouble, so he'll say whatever the hell we tell him to. Do you get it yet? You can't win here.
"We can hold you for 72 hours without charging you"
I'm sick of ******* around here, I'm taking you in, and you are going to confess to whatever I think you should confess to. You are prisoner. You are ant beneath boot. You are out of options. I am the law and you are nothing. So go ahead, know your rights, see where that gets you.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
Long ago a king of France
-I don't remember his name -
when asked was it possible
to love two women
at the same time,
replied that he loved,
equally but in a different way,
burgundy and beaujolais,
and if he could love
two different wines
how could he not love
two different women?
For me, an inexperienced wine-taster,
I could not tell the difference,
but give me elderflower champagne
fermented from sugar, lemon and hand-picked blossom,
fresh, golden and sparkling,
or home-infused sloe gin,
rich, fruity, purple and mature,
and I would say I love them both,
equally but in a different way.
Yes, but does this mean I could love
two women at the same time?
Ah, that is a question
that I must decline to answer.
You see, I might tend
to incriminate myself.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:55 AM UTC