"incriminating" poems
I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.
I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.
I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.
And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.
A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.
Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
She was a wonder of Nature, a special
thing,
Had this lovely aura about her
The way she held herself, the way she
moved.... way she spoke her words
A real classy Lady that's for sure... a proper woman
What the hell she was doing with me I don't know.
Anyway I invited her to my house one day for tea
She so wanted to see where I lived
She was only in the door when she playfully ran her little
index finger
Along the surface of my little black table in the hall
And then holding it up for me to see, for my inspection
Revealed a big unsightly blob of dust, a most incriminating
smudge
She smiled a cute little reproachful smile
"It's true Baby", I said," I've been neglecting things of late, been
letting things slip
Ever since I met you, I've been so preoccupied
Been so preoccupied with thoughts of you
You're always in my head Girl, your... your great beauty, your...your
incredible loveliness
You've been driving me to Distraction Baby
And Hey! I like the view from down there, it's great! "
I had her sit down in my front room, she hadn't been sitting
long
When she pointed at the floor, at my carpet
"You know you've got a hole there in your carpet, a big hole"
And "Look!" she said pointing further down the room
"There's another one over there... and another!"
"What can I say Babe", I said, "you know you have me half
demented
Every night you got me pacing up and down, back and forth
You're this beautiful obsession to me Darling
You got me walking the floor over you Baby
Been thinking about you so hard, and so often
Now I plum gone and worn out my bleedin' carpet
Worn it out with all my walking".
At this she smiled a lovely kind sympathetic smile.
When I came back in the room with the tea
She said to me, she said "You know over in your corner there
Did you know you got a big cobweb and a spider ?"
"Oh! I said.....Oh Her! So you met my Spider
She's not just any old Spider you know
She... she's my... my Love Spider" I said proudly.
"Your Love Spider", she said a bit skeptically,
"Yea! I never had the heart to take her down
Why! She reminds me so much of you Darling
Reminds me of how awesome your powers are
And how futile it is to resist,
Reminds me of how wonderfully caught up I am
In your lovely sweet sticky web
Of gooey gorgeousness and outrageous delights.
With this she looked at me long and hard
Until suddenly there broke upon her lips this lovely enchanting smile,
"You know", she said,"you're so adorable you are, how I love you so".
P.S. "Phew!" I thought to myself,"that was a close one".
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 3:54 PM UTC
When people are shocked when they hear
About the things you did to me
I am always met with a strange level of surprise
For many years
I led my life believing this is normal
That everyone faces some form of abuse
At some point in their life.
Maybe it's because my normal
Has always been feeling stranded
Feeling empty
Because I don't know how to feel anything else.
Maybe it's because my normal
Has been for over a decade
That this is just how things are
As though it has been viciously branded to my body.
Maybe it's because my normal
Includes me proudly exposing my scars
So I can help others heal theirs.
Maybe it's because my twisted normal
Has made this everything I see.
I cannot say that the way he touches me
Does not bring up memories of the way you violated me.
I cannot say that the smell of mushrooms
Though vile to most people
Does not bring up a specific image in my mind of your bed.
Then mixed messages tell you
"It's your fault"
"It wasn't abuse"
"He should be in jail"
"Why wouldn't you prosecute?"
"You should hate him"
And you just want to shut out the noise
So you can soundly make a decision on your own
But they keep hounding
And you lose the ability to cope
So you take a knife to your arm
And a handful of pills
So maybe you can just have silence
For once.
Parents find you
And therapy becomes crucial
In which she tells me
That I am safe
I am okay
I am fine.
However, I will never be fine
Because I can never accept what you did to me
But I have moved on because I am worth it.
Letting you control all of me
Thoughts, behaviors and actions
Is like letting you get away with this atrocity.
It's like letting you tell me this is my fault
When it's no one but your own.
Although, when people ask me why I don't hate you
It's because you do not get the satisfaction of any of my strong feelings.
However, it is also because
You were a teenager
If people knew everything I got into at fourteen
There would be some pretty incriminating details there as well.
But the main reason why I will never exert anger toward you
Is because I got over this traumatic event not by hating your existence
But by loving my own.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
On darkening red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’ today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.
Spring Equinox Evening Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Don’t fall victim to our dimension’s perilous plight
Can you feel it?
Feels like earth quake machine guns
Listen
Sounds like incriminating yarn being spun
According to the zodiac I’m a crab
According to the eastern wheel I’m an aquatic rooster
Yet I know myself as a coyote
And I say on to you
Tomorrow is never guaranteed
So live life today as if the next day brings the expiration date
Before our world curdles into a smelling spoiled carton of waste
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Society has a way of incriminating
blocking phases to known expectactions
Just because you don’t get attention
doesn’t mean that you are a shallow being
Never try to change your uniqueness
or fit in with what is superficial
just because you can’t gain the scores
doesn’t mean that you cannot be popular
Never question your lonely hearted self
or unfix your oneness and imperfections
Just because you are an instigator
doesn’t mean that you are a **** loser
Society has a way of discriminating
Cascading one to a caskets of scenes
Just because you are single and alone
doesn’t mean that you are unattractive
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:39 AM UTC
I sat in the corner of my mind, a frigid, barren room,
A dreadful place full of my woes and gloom.
No one had ever dared disturbed me here,
But, suddenly, a figure almost resembling a shadow appeared.
“Timid girl, why are you all alone?”
They asked as they stood mere inches from me, an invisible stare upon me all but unknown.
“Why is your skin completely gray?” I replied.
“Now please, go away.”
“Timid girl, why are you so sad?”
The figure ignored my words, its tone almost sounding glad.
“How do you speak, see, and stare with no face?” I hissed.
“Once again, leave my quiet place.”
“Timid girl, why do you silently judge others?”
Its voice mocked me then, sounding like a worried mother’s.
“Where did you come from, shadow of annoyance?” I inquired.
“Answer my questions, and stop your overrated flamboyance.”
“Timid girl, why are you so terrified of the world?”
An invisible mouth became a wicked grin, the corner of the figure’s mouth crudely curled.
“Please shut your mouth and let me be.” My mood has been soured.
“Your intention seems to be to incessantly bother me.”
“Timid girl, why is your heart so full of hate?”
The figure must’ve thought that answers to its questions were fate.
“Shadow, I am all alone because I am hated.
Figure, I am depressed because my happiness is jaded.
Annoyance, I quietly judge because I fear hurting the few whom I treasure and love.
Gray skin, I am terrified of the world because I don’t want it to spear my heart with its spiked glove.
Incriminating stare, my heart is so full of hate because I have never belonged anywhere, even at home.”
My face was now covered in furious tears,
Ones I had been holding in for years.
“Ghost from the past, now that you know what you wanted, please go back to your own lonely gravestone.”
As the mysterious soul left as quickly as it came,
The immense loneliness my mind once held was never quite the same.
Some days it seemed to be slightly brighter,
And other days it seemed so dark and hopeless that just to see you needed a lighter.
Either way, I realized the conscience I’d tried so hard to forget was the same as I.
All it wanted to know about the world was “Why?”
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Thank you, please, I'm sorry, OK!
This is the **** I've learned to say every day.
You handed me your boyfriend like a present
But wouldn't share with me 1 non-incriminating secret?
You're welcome, sure, it's cool, alrighty,
this is the sensual might of my aphrodite
you interrupt my stories, tell me i'm a mess,
then call me the person who understands you best
If your cracking laugh, loud as a bark
didn't bend me over like a punch to the spleen
defiled again! my own clumsy fault, i suppose
If your approval of my paintings
didn't heat my thighs and send me reeling.
death in my pillow and loss soaking my clothes
I wouldn't have cared if it was just a dumb mistake,
But I smell your poison, heavy in the air
And my throat swallows as much as you want it to take
After years of sharing every horror story
You have not even begun to know me
Or don't you care about shattering this trust?
We are out of supplies needed to rebuild our bridge.
Hovering in anticipation, waiting for you to settle all this dust
But you won't offer a thing that's not inside your fridge.
And I still don't know how to leave you
The myths of queerness are not at all true
Girls might steal as much as they want from me, too
It's all some people know how to do
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:12 PM UTC
They continually tell me about my life
My Mother, my family, my friends
It's not like I want their advice
Again and again and again
I have someone special I always turn to
Whenever it is I'm feeling down
A professional that lays out the hard truth
The best in advice to be found
No fancy titles or degrees on the walls
Simply known to many as Bob
Keeps the drinks and advice always flowing
Say's he's just a bartender doing his job
Having trouble with your latest lover?
Keep getting guff from the boss?
Bob's always there to give you a listen
Keep the drinks coming...the only cost
The more drink get I advoice better
From Bip, Bop, **** why can't I remember his name?!
As the regular old women start looking like exotic dancers
That's when I ask what's his name for some change
With eagerness I start filling the juke box
Asking all the old hags if they'd like to dance
It's too late but tomorrow a slight memory
Will ask what was up with all that
I even drunk texted my girlfriend
Pictures of incriminating positions
And a 4am call to the boss
Telling him where to cram his restaurants ***** dishes
I certainly made a mess of my life
And have no idea where I left the car
In desperate need of advice
I head back down to the bar...
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
“You know what’s wrong with this world?
We sell away our innocent girls,
We fight and bicker,
Ignoring the lonely man reaching for another bottle of liquor,
We tell our kids not to smoke,
As we reach for another to laugh and joke,
We point to our happiest guy on file,
Not seeing that he’s hiding behind a crooked smile,
We go to parties and raves,
Forgetting about our veterans who are slipping into the grave,
We argue that the rich man should pay,
While we kick our beggars out of the way,
We believe that race
Has an incriminating face,
Not realizing that under our skin,
We are all kin,
We ignore our newborns grin,
While we go out and sin,
We trample on the desperate,
While we fight over who’s going to be the head of the cesspit,
We say “only a few dollars more”,
Thinking about a raise instead of the poor,
We say “there’s no I in Team”
While our eyes gleam,
Blinded by our greedy dreams,
And we bully those who stick out,
As if they didn’t already have doubts,
Instead of caring about others,
We only look out for our brothers,
But what’s saddest of all,
Is that in the end, everyone will fall,
Regardless of wealth, power, age, or race,
We are all going to be gone without a trace,
Except for a few daisies marking our grave."
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Every time
A car saunters by
In the blistering heat
Breaking up the visible waves
And making my heart skip a beat
I think of how unholy I must seem now
Only because you simply
Cannot, will not
Just leave me alone.
I'm shutting myself in
In my house, in my mind
Because I am so afraid
Of confrontation with you
Of interrogation
Of your judging looks and incriminating comments
That make me feel even worse
I'm scared to go back
You have scared me out of religion
Out of believing
You have shut me in
Like you tried to shove me into the doors of your church.
Every time a white truck
Pulls into the driveway across the street
Of just how everyone is a sinner
How you have tied me down there forever
How lost I am, when I know right where to go
How you shut me in and secured the doors
Removed my comfort and injected paranoia
Just leave me alone
In my shut-in mind
Because I do not want to go back to your church.
*******
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
those who like to clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning?
are you really scrubbing?
Did you find something worth scrubbing?
Was it a love letter, a ****** an incriminating photo, was it drugs? was it nothing to you but the world to someone else?
Did you clean the love letter by shredding it or throwing it in the trash? Did you save the ****** in a plastic bag?
Wonders of what you did with the photo
And the drugs, well we all know what that you smoked-- i mean cleaned
When you were finished, did you tell the person what you did? Or let them come home to a place where everything was rearranged and scrubbed.
Did you notice when they ignored you and didn't thank you for your cleaning services?
I wonder often what satisfies a scrubber. Is it the control you get from knowing all you can know about a person? Is it the feeling you get when you've finished scrubbing all the dirt off?
I wonder often what satisfies a cleaner. Is it the notion that you're bettering someones life when you've just erased the whole of them? Is it the thought that when you put them in new clothes, they shine.
Do you think you are making them the image of what you've scrubbed?
those who clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning and are you really scrubbing?
I think that you are.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Unfamiliar furniture trims the parlor room
embellished with odd relics
of histories past.
Their eerie faces haunt me
incriminating
this momentous hour
my mother’s voice fades away to gray
Be strong, be strong . . .
It has begun
Are there telephones in heaven?
Maybe it’s a one-way call.
My cryptic eyes dart a heavy daze
hiccupping on salty streams that overflow composure
But he is the essence of grace,
a beautiful surrender.
Step forward into the light
that shines upon infallible judgment,
my turn to wager peace
with this glorious king,
this King of May!
Blooming virtues in my ears.
I am still the apple of your eye.
I riffle through timely prayers
that floats aloof to I don’t know who?
I say old man forgive me
for you are right:
I will forget what you have said.
Nor will I remember things you’ve done.
But I will
never forget how you
have made me
Feel…
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 1:50 PM UTC
and i wish i could slit my wrists and
write about you in the note
to tell the entire world about
the monster you are.
you wouldn't even be able
to argue because it would be
your word against a
dead girl's --
but you're not worth it.
god, you've never been worth it
i wish i could go back to the night where
i decided to settle for you
and knock some sense into myself
snakes shouldn't lie with
doves. they swallow them whole.
i know that now
i wish i knew it then
i'm done thinking about you
in waves of cuddly, familiar nostalgia
i'm done thinking about you
and wishing i could go back
i never want to go back
it wasn't cuddly when you pushed me
into the corner and slapped me across
the face like
you were my mother
(familiar, but not cuddly --
you stopped being cuddly
when you realized i would
fight back)
you're funny because you love
to throw the blame and shame
at me for starting fights
when i never notice
you come around unless
i say something incriminating
you're absent unless you're
defending yoruself
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
Our shoes are still piled high in the corner
As we ourselves are in bed
Clumsy and cute but with collective resignation
Our clothes in artlessly incriminating puddles
Divided floorbound like playing cards
The crude magic of arousal
Tricks us into losing them, one by one
With no respite and no mercy
Until we're robbed blind enough
To then borrow whatever remains
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
You wanna **** what the ****
You're starting to sound like Blanca
The mother of my son
You really think that's what I'm looking for
You got things twisted, sloppy unlike before
I'm original not subliminal, can you copy?
It's amazing yet disappointing
How the world thinks, feels, and evaluates
It's not about incriminating
It's about reincarnating dead souls
Giving life not taking it & destroying it
If you're out to mislead I'll make you bleed
Scream your lungs out with deadly shouts
Until your voiceless, ******* with my beloved
You crossed the line and done it all
You devour my precious lady &
You'll witness a vicious killer cold & shady
She's strong and potentially vital
Spiral wordly elements, into my spiritual twin
Take her down too, and you're best be a fool
Worst mistake you ever do, cuz I'm clever
You stopped me but stop her punk player &
Your dead meat, in the ******* street
I'm serious not delirious evil ***** I'd switch
Like a sudden twitch don't flinch ***** wimp
I'd love by far too long to see this happen
Don't make me come out raw start clapping
Whacking smacking busters on the ground
This the devil's playground war battlegrounds
To my love **** all you want, not interested
I thought you'd be my one of a kind
I guess was stupid *** **** blind
Waiting for something that's been hit hard
Pounded cat, with nasty baseball bats
You let rats, come in and attack your temple
Keep them, **** them, love them,
I don't care about them, I'll ****** them
But it's okay that's you now I must settle
Into sorrows reality and despair
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
She tap, tap, tapped her cheap pen
on the yellowing paper.
The ****** paper stared back
a blank, unflinching glare.
Typical.
Frenetically, restlessly,
she set her own metronome faster
with the clicking of her pen
than the outdated clock sulking in the corner
could possibly keep up with.
Suddenly, decisively,
She pushed herself away from the desk.
The screech of the chair’s harsh legs
across a cold, unforgiving concrete floor
filled up the whole room with noise.
Noise was all around her,
empty noise,
invading her ears
her head
her brain.
Stop!
She needed them out.
The room was silent—
Save for her
and the sounds
of an old room
with a dying light
and a faded, ticking clock.
She closed her tired eyes and
drew deeply from the cigarette between her
thin, voiceless lips,
then smudged her little addiction out
leaving a burn stain at the top of her paper.
Might as well,
she figures,
not much good comin’ from this paper
anyways.
And anyways,
the flickering light
in this God-forsaken old office
wasn’t doing her any good, either.
She knew it was time to pack up,
head home,
but she needed this demon inside her
to work for her,
not against her.
‘Writers Anonymous’
that’s where she needed to be—
what she needed
to be a part of.
She had things to say.
And she couldn’t say them.
Flick, flick, bzzz.
The light sputtered,
limping dejectedly through it’s own current,
with a halfhearted commitment to shedding light.
Hanging over her head
just like the ideas
she couldn’t force her hand
to capture on paper.
They needed to be confined, here,
she knew.
These thoughts, buzzing around her head,
like the anxious flicking
and bzzing of the bulb dangling precariously above,
needed to be trapped in this paper,
immortalized externally,
a burden laid down
in incriminating ink before her.
That’s what she needed, she knew.
but no matter how often
or how hard
or how intense
she tap, tap, tapped her pen
on the rickety wooden desk
over the silent white paper
with the cigarette stain in the top corner—
those **** buzzing thoughts
cluttering up her brain
would keep sputtering through life.
Writers Anonymous.
That’s what she needed.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Power of the money printer
Quite intoxicating
Stealing from the rest of us
Shame, incriminating
Modern Monetary Theory
Slowly devastating
Bitcoin makes the money true
Free and liberating
Rebuilding our lives and wealth
All appreciating
Cantillon theft and seigniorage
Now eliminating
Bitcoin adoption ‘cross the world
Fast accelerating
Nov 16, 2023
Nov 16, 2023 at 1:14 PM UTC
Stop does not mean stop.
Stop means that I'll pretend I didn't hear it.
No does not mean no.
No means that I will have to make you say yes.
Accountability means I will hide all the evidence, conveniently leaving out anything incriminating
Stop does not mean stop.
It is a guideline for how far I will go.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 10:20 AM UTC
The only way to really know me,
is to read my poetry.
I've only ever shown my poetry to the internet,
making sure nobody knew who I was,
until I met a boy who read my poetry,
and loved it
and helped me with my problems
and turns out I knew him in reality.
He's a ********* now but that doesn't matter.
I then let someone else see it,
someone I saw in person daily,
that was a big step as I wasn't entirely trusting but-
I think my trust, my faith has been betrayed
As then someone else I knew followed me,
and then someone else,
and then someone else.
No, no,
all these poems I have saved as drafts
because I'm scared-
because I see them in reality
because it's all too much for me.
So it can't go on.
Every now and then,
I'll post a poem or two,
but nothing too incriminating.
But other than that,
this is my farewell.
It hurts because there are poems on here I really do like
but I let one person see my account
and from there too many people
followed me,
too many people who know my name
and face.
that's unacceptable,
I've never wanted that.
They can't know my story,
I don't trust people like that,
people who can touch my skin.
So that's it,
Goodbye Fish and all the poems I wrote here,
goodbye your kind words and likes and follows.
Thank you for taking the time to read my words,
all you lovely strangers.
Farewell, Hello Poetry.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
The boy was happy,
His every whim fulfilled,
But the fun left debts to repay.
His bank account always refilled,
By the man who gave him life.
The debtors kept him leashed,
To this expensive way of life.
His idea of friends tested,
As they cause nothing but strife.
He pays and pays, to get his fix,
They make and make, as he tries to change.
He pays and pays, his money nixed,
The “friends” of the boy, begin to unhinge,
The life of their toy, to start by beating,
They move on to a picture, so incriminating.
This boy now sees his life, how he was cheating,
A quick fix for the stress, non-discriminating.
The time of his life was slowly ending.
If that image got out, he would lose his lifeline,
His only chance to pay for the thing,
The thing that he did not need, but craved.
The men kept him trapped,
With a childhood picture, something depraved,
Left this young boy trapped, in a life he no longer craved.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 6:17 PM UTC
*Listen close, you'll hear the screaming behind my laughter.
Like if you look hard enough, imperfections become amplified by our attempts trying to hide them.
And if you stop to smell how the world really is, you're left with tasting what you had for lunch.
Or maybe if you spend enough time pondering the things you think about, being sentient loses meaning.*
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC