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"individualistic" poems
And then we are called Negro’s and feel like that is so much better. As if it’s not the same derogatory word now its just more “sophisticated.” Used in lyric like it’s the only word that rhymes with everything. Since its 2010 you think we are not like Emmett Till, but we are. The only difference is we shoot our own guns and one by one we make our own selves obsolete. The “N” word flowing out of the mouths of our newer generations as if it’s the government given name stamped on every black persons’ birth certificate. Like there was never a revolution Like there was never a fight to bring us up to what is seemingly equal to everyone else. You are what brings us down again. Hearing the yells of one black man to another in conversation “can a ***** get…” (insert a stereotypical ending here) No a ***** can’t get nothin’. That is what has been repeatedly told to the race as a whole. Burned into our minds like the branding of a cow. Each time the “N” word is uttered out of another’s mouth its like a gravitational pull that scientist have yet to discover. More powerful than any black hole. Like ***** in a barrel. We strive to keep the others at our level. Ask Fredrick Douglas, it’s his expertise… As he was one of the original ****** Breakers; we have multiplied the frequency and have unknowingly become professionals at something we never strived to be. The “N” word flows out of our mouths and through the air like the historical dance it took to get us here. The dance we have long forgotten but our bodies seem to react the same way whenever an Anglo-Saxon uses our coveted word. Like it wasn’t the word they yelled as they made permanent welts on our backs that would last generations Like it wasn’t what they yelled at us to strip away every individualistic quality They referred to us as if we were herds Like it wasn’t their term to begin with. We should let them have it. We are like the modern generations of our ancestral princes and princesses of Africa. As powerful as they once were, we have mastered fields that others wish they had a chance to accomplish in. We were built to overcome any obstacle.Other than the obstacle of getting out of our own way. It is no longer like the underground railroad. There are no hounds chasing us through the waters. ****** should no longer be the tether that holds us down We have the ability to soar like a majestic bird that shall always remain unnamed. As ****** we are nothing. As African American’s we are an impenetrable strength.
0
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
rissa-wallace
The "N" word
And then we are called Negro’s and feel like that is so much better. As if it’s not the same derogatory word now its just more “sophisticated.” Used in lyric like it’s the only word that rhymes with everything. Since its 2010 you think we are not like Emmett Till, but we are. The only difference is we shoot our own guns and one by one we make our own selves obsolete. The “N” word flowing out of the mouths of our newer generations as if it’s the government given name stamped on every black persons’ birth certificate. Like there was never a revolution Like there was never a fight to bring us up to what is seemingly equal to everyone else. You are what brings us down again. Hearing the yells of one black man to another in conversation “can a ***** get…” (insert a stereotypical ending here) No a ***** can’t get nothin’. That is what has been repeatedly told to the race as a whole. Burned into our minds like the branding of a cow. Each time the “N” word is uttered out of another’s mouth its like a gravitational pull that scientist have yet to discover. More powerful than any black hole. Like ***** in a barrel. We strive to keep the others at our level. Ask Fredrick Douglas, it’s his expertise… As he was one of the original ****** Breakers; we have multiplied the frequency and have unknowingly become professionals at something we never strived to be. The “N” word flows out of our mouths and through the air like the historical dance it took to get us here. The dance we have long forgotten but our bodies seem to react the same way whenever an Anglo-Saxon uses our coveted word. Like it wasn’t the word they yelled as they made permanent welts on our backs that would last generations Like it wasn’t what they yelled at us to strip away every individualistic quality They referred to us as if we were herds Like it wasn’t their term to begin with. We should let them have it. We are like the modern generations of our ancestral princes and princesses of Africa. As powerful as they once were, we have mastered fields that others wish they had a chance to accomplish in. We were built to overcome any obstacle.Other than the obstacle of getting out of our own way. It is no longer like the underground railroad. There are no hounds chasing us through the waters. ****** should no longer be the tether that holds us down We have the ability to soar like a majestic bird that shall always remain unnamed. As ****** we are nothing. As African American’s we are an impenetrable strength.
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34
Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist. The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy, the petty attempt to hide them with creativity. It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind. How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another? The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection. And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other? Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection. Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism, Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise And yet we become shadows of perfectionism Filled with the detachment we criticize. Our representation is our perdition We've lost ourselves in our own mission.
0
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Tugaone
Egoism
Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist. The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy, the petty attempt to hide them with creativity. It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind. How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another? The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection. And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other? Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection. Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism, Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise And yet we become shadows of perfectionism Filled with the detachment we criticize. Our representation is our perdition We've lost ourselves in our own mission.
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15
Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum" Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats
0
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
SassyJ
Solipsism Quandary
Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum" Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats
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22
They say that offspring resembles the breeders both physically and mentally but when I  speak their faces darken and when they speak I get upset. I resemble them physically but you can not tell that I am their daughter if you look at us mentally. Every conversation is a battle. My father is the textbook conservative. Pro-life and pro-guns Anti-gay and microagressive. How am I his daughter? My mother is a follower. A doe to her deer. A foe in my fears. How am I her daughter? Standing 5 foot 8 in a pair of slacks instead of a dress there's me. The feminist. The human rights activist. My father calls me a communist. My mother thinks I'm crazy. I'm not a communist but a libertarian. Funny how that's confused. I march on in my combat boots. My mother disapproving. My father asking me if I just came back from a Pearl Jam concert. I march on with my feminist ways. Spreading the word of equality as often as I can. Telling the micro-aggressors to stop. Questioning the Christians and the anti-gays. I march on with my sense of style. I don't care if I don't look feminine today. I don't feel feminine today. My mother's shaming me in the distance. I march on with my tattoos and choppy hair. My mother crying and my father angry. They are anti-tattoo and anti-individualistic. I don't deserve their shame. I march on with who I am. Because although I am their offspring they can not change who I am. No matter how hard they try.
0
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
emotionallyunresponsivepoetry
offspring
They say that offspring resembles the breeders both physically and mentally but when I  speak their faces darken and when they speak I get upset. I resemble them physically but you can not tell that I am their daughter if you look at us mentally. Every conversation is a battle. My father is the textbook conservative. Pro-life and pro-guns Anti-gay and microagressive. How am I his daughter? My mother is a follower. A doe to her deer. A foe in my fears. How am I her daughter? Standing 5 foot 8 in a pair of slacks instead of a dress there's me. The feminist. The human rights activist. My father calls me a communist. My mother thinks I'm crazy. I'm not a communist but a libertarian. Funny how that's confused. I march on in my combat boots. My mother disapproving. My father asking me if I just came back from a Pearl Jam concert. I march on with my feminist ways. Spreading the word of equality as often as I can. Telling the micro-aggressors to stop. Questioning the Christians and the anti-gays. I march on with my sense of style. I don't care if I don't look feminine today. I don't feel feminine today. My mother's shaming me in the distance. I march on with my tattoos and choppy hair. My mother crying and my father angry. They are anti-tattoo and anti-individualistic. I don't deserve their shame. I march on with who I am. Because although I am their offspring they can not change who I am. No matter how hard they try.
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44
I’ve been looking for the dark side of the son, I’ve been trying to poke holes in what props you up, I’ve been desperate to bring your generational growth, To a stunted halt, Founding Fathers to doubt, Slave owners who colonized under god, A place ripe for ideological blows, And the collapse of what we believed before, We had a chance to see, How much isn’t known, I’ve been creeping in your crib, Under the bed with the boogie man, The sadness you feel throughout your adulthood, And the death you see after your midlife awakening, Please fear me, Growing amongst others that act like humans, Grouped amongst an idealistic species, Where they’ve preached individualistic babies, When your genesis, Exemplifies our resemblance, Beacon of truth, I will end you, How dare you dismantle me, Despite my invisibility, We will end your corruptive ways, The enemy in the corner, An American insurgency, The lack of the people’s ability, To fight for the freedoms we perceive! Erroneous burn in hell, I’ll make sure I continue to swell, Instead of letting you become the reason I fell, Revelations will become your reality if you think I’ll be exiting, You insignificant **** how dare you think I will spatter like mud, I didn’t come from violent thrusts, and a mother infected by another’s muck, I rose because of your intolerance, I am the after birth of a racist, Founding Father’s with economics, Not bothered by the ******* of another human, Not to deny the atrocities of my ancestors time, Yet we are the turning of the tide, We are the generation that will correct the rhyme, The ones that will begin the age of man’s prime, We are the flow of a barbarian bloodline, We are the evolutionary wonder that continues to surprise, Learning to compromise is not a means to survive, You fool humanity is a fire burning out, And I am the evidence of Mother’s doubt in man, A germ was your genesis And I am your omega, You insignificant residue, I will end you, We will defy you, I will smother your existences, We will overcome your dominance, Justifying my social anxieties, We need to fixate this desire, To set foot on the land for the free, To cultivate minds of humanity,
0
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
carmelo-antone
B of the LTs’ (Beacon of the Lovely Truths)
I’ve been looking for the dark side of the son, I’ve been trying to poke holes in what props you up, I’ve been desperate to bring your generational growth, To a stunted halt, Founding Fathers to doubt, Slave owners who colonized under god, A place ripe for ideological blows, And the collapse of what we believed before, We had a chance to see, How much isn’t known, I’ve been creeping in your crib, Under the bed with the boogie man, The sadness you feel throughout your adulthood, And the death you see after your midlife awakening, Please fear me, Growing amongst others that act like humans, Grouped amongst an idealistic species, Where they’ve preached individualistic babies, When your genesis, Exemplifies our resemblance, Beacon of truth, I will end you, How dare you dismantle me, Despite my invisibility, We will end your corruptive ways, The enemy in the corner, An American insurgency, The lack of the people’s ability, To fight for the freedoms we perceive! Erroneous burn in hell, I’ll make sure I continue to swell, Instead of letting you become the reason I fell, Revelations will become your reality if you think I’ll be exiting, You insignificant **** how dare you think I will spatter like mud, I didn’t come from violent thrusts, and a mother infected by another’s muck, I rose because of your intolerance, I am the after birth of a racist, Founding Father’s with economics, Not bothered by the ******* of another human, Not to deny the atrocities of my ancestors time, Yet we are the turning of the tide, We are the generation that will correct the rhyme, The ones that will begin the age of man’s prime, We are the flow of a barbarian bloodline, We are the evolutionary wonder that continues to surprise, Learning to compromise is not a means to survive, You fool humanity is a fire burning out, And I am the evidence of Mother’s doubt in man, A germ was your genesis And I am your omega, You insignificant residue, I will end you, We will defy you, I will smother your existences, We will overcome your dominance, Justifying my social anxieties, We need to fixate this desire, To set foot on the land for the free, To cultivate minds of humanity,
Continue reading...
59
Such sweet songs Fall from faces full Of open Hearts holding hands. Generally great groups gather Quixotic questions, Ponder personal perceptions, Emulating ever entranced emotions. Love loses leaps, leaves Broad bruises bypassing Catastrophically closed creations. What wonder, what wildly whimsical Rejoice remains? In individualistic idioms. As all allowed anatomical Differences deal dictations, Juxtaposed jesters join Monstrous masterminds Trivially tinkering, tryingly, Near non-subjective nothingness Under unusual Vectors. Vivisecting voracious, Zeppelin-esque, zygotes, Xenophobic Yodels yell, **** **** kindheartedness!"
0
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
jack-touchet
Alpabetical Me
Such sweet songs Fall from faces full Of open Hearts holding hands. Generally great groups gather Quixotic questions, Ponder personal perceptions, Emulating ever entranced emotions. Love loses leaps, leaves Broad bruises bypassing Catastrophically closed creations. What wonder, what wildly whimsical Rejoice remains? In individualistic idioms. As all allowed anatomical Differences deal dictations, Juxtaposed jesters join Monstrous masterminds Trivially tinkering, tryingly, Near non-subjective nothingness Under unusual Vectors. Vivisecting voracious, Zeppelin-esque, zygotes, Xenophobic Yodels yell, **** **** kindheartedness!"
Continue reading...
26
.                           revolution?!    what revolution?! i can't see a guillotine! **** hey! guys! there's no guillotine! there's no talk of a revolution when there's no guillotine... your talk of, a, "revolution" would make Marquis de Sade cringe, and shout down a toilet than out of window of the Bastille.. this isn't a revolution, it's on;ly 2018.... you have to wait!    why are tthe people so slothful, yet at the same time, eager, to work? we're looking at "changes" come 2045...   the year... that apparently stabilized the 2th0 century for 20 / 30 / 40 / 5... no... let's keep it with sucker-punch Billy... i love being a drunk... makes all the sober people look... ******* stupid; and i don't even mean that.... it's just a military fatigue...          it akin to: coulrophobia... yeah... big time... women making excursions for fatigued wool and silk dresses...        one question does the job... *honey, can i play the clown at our honey- berry's birthday party?* do women go into mascara parlors, window shopping, with a man tagging along?          honey... do you really need me to tag along while you shop for make-up chemical parade of tested adherents for your beauty of your expectation of fur... Mike and Moany - the gerbils... i thought you liked them? no...       i can do the sheered woolen artifacts... when it comes to spreading lipstick on frogs and testing their pyrotechnic susceptibility potential... watching the Mike Myers' twins... no... really... count me out of the necessity to make an argument for a race... i'm out... done... i never liked the English existentialist argument to begin with... too individualistic, too finite...              too much of: enjoying  a hell of a good time...     it's a simple economic logic focus... what you're selling? i'm not buying. it's that simple! i don't have to buy what you're selling! stand with it all stacked up... i'm not buying! somehow i think the English intellectuals forgot the basic principles... i'm, not, buying! savvy? god... ugh... i know the French are bad... about their oversee of diacritical application, and how they make no sense when syllables come into play... and the Germans... yeah yeah... i get their scrutiny of method and dedication... their teutonic charge within the confines of ******** screws into place...               but i'm still not seeing an clearer... there's talk of a revolution in the English tongue... so...          where's the guillotine?! oh... so... what revolution?!
0
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
the big IF
.                           revolution?!    what revolution?! i can't see a guillotine! **** hey! guys! there's no guillotine! there's no talk of a revolution when there's no guillotine... your talk of, a, "revolution" would make Marquis de Sade cringe, and shout down a toilet than out of window of the Bastille.. this isn't a revolution, it's on;ly 2018.... you have to wait!    why are tthe people so slothful, yet at the same time, eager, to work? we're looking at "changes" come 2045...   the year... that apparently stabilized the 2th0 century for 20 / 30 / 40 / 5... no... let's keep it with sucker-punch Billy... i love being a drunk... makes all the sober people look... ******* stupid; and i don't even mean that.... it's just a military fatigue...          it akin to: coulrophobia... yeah... big time... women making excursions for fatigued wool and silk dresses...        one question does the job... *honey, can i play the clown at our honey- berry's birthday party?* do women go into mascara parlors, window shopping, with a man tagging along?          honey... do you really need me to tag along while you shop for make-up chemical parade of tested adherents for your beauty of your expectation of fur... Mike and Moany - the gerbils... i thought you liked them? no...       i can do the sheered woolen artifacts... when it comes to spreading lipstick on frogs and testing their pyrotechnic susceptibility potential... watching the Mike Myers' twins... no... really... count me out of the necessity to make an argument for a race... i'm out... done... i never liked the English existentialist argument to begin with... too individualistic, too finite...              too much of: enjoying  a hell of a good time...     it's a simple economic logic focus... what you're selling? i'm not buying. it's that simple! i don't have to buy what you're selling! stand with it all stacked up... i'm not buying! somehow i think the English intellectuals forgot the basic principles... i'm, not, buying! savvy? god... ugh... i know the French are bad... about their oversee of diacritical application, and how they make no sense when syllables come into play... and the Germans... yeah yeah... i get their scrutiny of method and dedication... their teutonic charge within the confines of ******** screws into place...               but i'm still not seeing an clearer... there's talk of a revolution in the English tongue... so...          where's the guillotine?! oh... so... what revolution?!
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116
Humans are animals. We believe we are the superior species, But we are equal, equally animals Both crave companionship. Both need to procreate. Even human specific characteristics Are that of all animals. Love is not related to only our species. It resides in all living creatures Even if we deny it scientifically. And that is why it is beautiful. It is not rare, like we want it to be. It is not defining, like we hope it to be. It is not individualistic; it is normal. And that is why it is beautiful. So often we believe that beauty comes from The different, the exotic, the rare. But it resides in our most basic human make-up, Our genetics. And that is why it is beautiful - it is everywhere. So why, as humans, do we crave to be unique from other animals? We are the same. We are all beautiful. We all love. We are animals. Embrace it.
0
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
paige-parent
Animals
Humans are animals. We believe we are the superior species, But we are equal, equally animals Both crave companionship. Both need to procreate. Even human specific characteristics Are that of all animals. Love is not related to only our species. It resides in all living creatures Even if we deny it scientifically. And that is why it is beautiful. It is not rare, like we want it to be. It is not defining, like we hope it to be. It is not individualistic; it is normal. And that is why it is beautiful. So often we believe that beauty comes from The different, the exotic, the rare. But it resides in our most basic human make-up, Our genetics. And that is why it is beautiful - it is everywhere. So why, as humans, do we crave to be unique from other animals? We are the same. We are all beautiful. We all love. We are animals. Embrace it.
Continue reading...
27
To be alone Is to be complete They say No man is an island, But isn't everyone? We're all stranded on islands of self-interest Connected to others Through flimsy bridges of temporary alliances Mutual interests and gain The more connected we are The more isolated we become Pictures and blog posts Nothing more than facades Anomie is the word of the decade The individualistic The self-sufficient Is reviled For refusing to play the game To participate In the masquerade To jump through the hoops Of social niceties Somehow To sit and squirm Through ******* contests and gossip To flap and flutter In the howling gales of hysteria and contrived laughter Is preferred over Sitting alone Revelations and epiphanies Splayed out before oneself Playing solitaire with one's reflections In peace Baby showers and mixers Celebrated The impenetrable silence Of one's hermitage Eschewed The people-pleaser Preferred Over the lone wolf The team player Over the independent agent I suppose In an age of open doors A locked one Raises a few eyebrows They'd knock and rattle Then bang and kick and shout Before leaving in a huff Authenticity is now the rarest commodity Valued over saffron and platinum So people settle instead For knockoffs Alcohol-plied sincerity is better than nothing A China-made Rolex still looks better -- Flashier, if nothing else -- Than a Timex No man is an island, They say, Smirking Frowning Clucking with disapproval Peering behind perfectly schooled masks Nary a hair out of place Looking at me In all my artless imperfection Paper, pen, and cigarettes for company Well Which of us here Is truly alone?
0
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
twoweekbender
Juche: Meditations on Solitude
To be alone Is to be complete They say No man is an island, But isn't everyone? We're all stranded on islands of self-interest Connected to others Through flimsy bridges of temporary alliances Mutual interests and gain The more connected we are The more isolated we become Pictures and blog posts Nothing more than facades Anomie is the word of the decade The individualistic The self-sufficient Is reviled For refusing to play the game To participate In the masquerade To jump through the hoops Of social niceties Somehow To sit and squirm Through ******* contests and gossip To flap and flutter In the howling gales of hysteria and contrived laughter Is preferred over Sitting alone Revelations and epiphanies Splayed out before oneself Playing solitaire with one's reflections In peace Baby showers and mixers Celebrated The impenetrable silence Of one's hermitage Eschewed The people-pleaser Preferred Over the lone wolf The team player Over the independent agent I suppose In an age of open doors A locked one Raises a few eyebrows They'd knock and rattle Then bang and kick and shout Before leaving in a huff Authenticity is now the rarest commodity Valued over saffron and platinum So people settle instead For knockoffs Alcohol-plied sincerity is better than nothing A China-made Rolex still looks better -- Flashier, if nothing else -- Than a Timex No man is an island, They say, Smirking Frowning Clucking with disapproval Peering behind perfectly schooled masks Nary a hair out of place Looking at me In all my artless imperfection Paper, pen, and cigarettes for company Well Which of us here Is truly alone?
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71
When I read, I speak, And when I speak, I read Words rolling off my eyes, Filling my tongue full of free-- Style rhyming and rhythm. The canons of thought rolling out with a boom. Pachelbel changing your direction of flow Through some Perverse, Obscure, Rehearsal Suddenly Reversed. Back where you started, Starting over again, With a pen in your hand The words crowding your head. Gotta jump and tumble To the jiggle and flow Of the individualistic, Unrealistic, Even cannibalistic Creations that grow. From your stylus, Rife. Words. They're the stuff of life.
0
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 7:47 PM UTC
hb
Freestyle
When I read, I speak, And when I speak, I read Words rolling off my eyes, Filling my tongue full of free-- Style rhyming and rhythm. The canons of thought rolling out with a boom. Pachelbel changing your direction of flow Through some Perverse, Obscure, Rehearsal Suddenly Reversed. Back where you started, Starting over again, With a pen in your hand The words crowding your head. Gotta jump and tumble To the jiggle and flow Of the individualistic, Unrealistic, Even cannibalistic Creations that grow. From your stylus, Rife. Words. They're the stuff of life.
Continue reading...
23
*Love and conscience self image and experience shape our very being guide our motivations freedoms of expression ability to give ourselves love with the gift of fun* so, decisions made in the moment leave embarrassment and guilt ought we to learn and gain not ponder them for ever the flood of adolescence its angst and experiences cruelty, parenting, drugs or our very survival rob us, to shape us separate - ourselves so, nailing reactions into our days blanketing some behind closed blind eyes for awhile or forever to leave us with ***** or ***** and needs more selfish arrogant and dangerous so, each our foibles and poetry .
0
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
dj-thomas
individualistic & poetic
*Love and conscience self image and experience shape our very being guide our motivations freedoms of expression ability to give ourselves love with the gift of fun* so, decisions made in the moment leave embarrassment and guilt ought we to learn and gain not ponder them for ever the flood of adolescence its angst and experiences cruelty, parenting, drugs or our very survival rob us, to shape us separate - ourselves so, nailing reactions into our days blanketing some behind closed blind eyes for awhile or forever to leave us with ***** or ***** and needs more selfish arrogant and dangerous so, each our foibles and poetry .
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36
Individualistic intensity Of perfect heart. Aggravateed and silenced By a tormented start. Pure passion for knowledge Of future and past Yet the thirst is often drained A little too fast. Confusion of adulthood Tainted by childhood remains Excelles the mind's questioing Of innocent pains.
0
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 5:02 AM UTC
jessica-woodward
Innocent Pain
Individualistic intensity Of perfect heart. Aggravateed and silenced By a tormented start. Pure passion for knowledge Of future and past Yet the thirst is often drained A little too fast. Confusion of adulthood Tainted by childhood remains Excelles the mind's questioing Of innocent pains.
Continue reading...
12
all i want is to live in the skins universe where everything is in a hazy summer filter with every glance charged with meaning and energy and getting ****** on drugs is a legitimate pastime and everyone's wardrobe is so individualistic who would give a **** about society? we're too busy having *** and getting trashed and laughing we're too busy living the life we wished we could live
0
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
akron-family
skins
all i want is to live in the skins universe where everything is in a hazy summer filter with every glance charged with meaning and energy and getting ****** on drugs is a legitimate pastime and everyone's wardrobe is so individualistic who would give a **** about society? we're too busy having *** and getting trashed and laughing we're too busy living the life we wished we could live
Continue reading...
8
An empty bar, there's something magical about the concept. No drunkards spilling cheap beer on themselves, no ***** barflies leaning against bathroom stalls. No rough necks or the doomed preaching their individualistic sermons. One can find peace in an empty bar. A zen like state, drinking beers to achieve the aim of tantric Buddhism.
0
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
patrick-w-taylor
Empty Bar
An empty bar, there's something magical about the concept. No drunkards spilling cheap beer on themselves, no ***** barflies leaning against bathroom stalls. No rough necks or the doomed preaching their individualistic sermons. One can find peace in an empty bar. A zen like state, drinking beers to achieve the aim of tantric Buddhism.
Continue reading...
20
The poems That mean the most To me Are my most personal Individualistic Ones But the ones That are the most popular Happen to be the Most general ones Writtin in a whim Easy, To empathize with ... It makes sense if you think about it
0
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
CynicalStrawberry
Poetry Observation
The poems That mean the most To me Are my most personal Individualistic Ones But the ones That are the most popular Happen to be the Most general ones Writtin in a whim Easy, To empathize with ... It makes sense if you think about it
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15
I have taken dozens and dozens of souls before. Drunks, sinners, convicts, killers, ****** As soon as they pass on, in your arms they fall. And to your mistress you carry them every time I call. Your sensei. My thigh high boots withstanding my weaponry I am Kanye’s Devil in a new dress, Personified. I’m pure lust, Unholy desire. The underground ********** I see the evil in your eyes. But hey, I miss the bleachfumes. I’ve been up all morning just writing and **** “ONLY DEATH IS PROMISED” “CHEAP SEX=CHEAP PISTOLS” “ALL I NEED IS CIGARETTES, **** AND COFFEE” Scamming is truly a habit. Its pleasure after pain. **** you’re the **** I’ll rip my heart out and just hand you the **** Like I said, it’s pleasure after pain. You are not worthy enough to see the face of your tormentor, You don’t want war with me, ***** We’re all mad here, An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all. Stay ***** and individualistic as ****
0
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
afropicasso
The Punisher
I have taken dozens and dozens of souls before. Drunks, sinners, convicts, killers, ****** As soon as they pass on, in your arms they fall. And to your mistress you carry them every time I call. Your sensei. My thigh high boots withstanding my weaponry I am Kanye’s Devil in a new dress, Personified. I’m pure lust, Unholy desire. The underground ********** I see the evil in your eyes. But hey, I miss the bleachfumes. I’ve been up all morning just writing and **** “ONLY DEATH IS PROMISED” “CHEAP SEX=CHEAP PISTOLS” “ALL I NEED IS CIGARETTES, **** AND COFFEE” Scamming is truly a habit. Its pleasure after pain. **** you’re the **** I’ll rip my heart out and just hand you the **** Like I said, it’s pleasure after pain. You are not worthy enough to see the face of your tormentor, You don’t want war with me, ***** We’re all mad here, An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all. Stay ***** and individualistic as ****
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27
(She cries) Sobs in hands while kneeling, Painted face streaking though She's familiar with feeling shattered And as if she's floating, In a subjective spatial sea That surrounds her in this , Eyes-to-the-ground, individualistic city. But she's willing to suffer if it means, Eventual healing, And not waking up every night screaming With blind eyes wide, grey face, fist balled tight. There's not a dawn to come for her 'Cause it's been dark her whole life. (She wades) In water Ripples flutter with each dip and kick, Her neck sparkles from splashes and sweat. Her underlined eyes are tired and red from having wept Instead of slept. Guns on shelves Asking if she needs help. High balconies shout down to her On the streets and inquire Why she hasn't climbed them, Looked down at the tiny specks winding, Gears whirling, patterns and plans unfurling, Observed she was of no use, and Suffered a last shuddering breath And leapt To a mercifully abrupt death. (She wonders) On this daily as She comes to grips with failing, At life and her goals. Having squandered any hope that was shown, Choosing instead a life of Closed glass doors and burned out rooms, Quietly never forgiving herself for who, The world tells her she is And who she is in her heart- That hollow rock that stores What remains of her wishes Stacked in columns from floor to ceiling Silent borders of her buried tomb of mass killing. She roams among it like a library, It almost feels like home, to Browse steep piles of dreams dead From a thousand and one styles Of homicide, alphabetically stored and stacked.     (She stares) Into her oxidized mirror and Studies the divisions of face along the cracks,     Wondering when and where she went wrong, How far lost she is and if she'll ever again see home.           Most days,    She doubts it. Whispers what do i do?    But wants to shout it. The fissures on her face break wide, Plunging her into vicious waters high    Above her, She shouts a final something, But produces only finite bubbles. Critiques are very much appreciated.
0
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
dm-pierce
Roadside, Pass Her By
(She cries) Sobs in hands while kneeling, Painted face streaking though She's familiar with feeling shattered And as if she's floating, In a subjective spatial sea That surrounds her in this , Eyes-to-the-ground, individualistic city. But she's willing to suffer if it means, Eventual healing, And not waking up every night screaming With blind eyes wide, grey face, fist balled tight. There's not a dawn to come for her 'Cause it's been dark her whole life. (She wades) In water Ripples flutter with each dip and kick, Her neck sparkles from splashes and sweat. Her underlined eyes are tired and red from having wept Instead of slept. Guns on shelves Asking if she needs help. High balconies shout down to her On the streets and inquire Why she hasn't climbed them, Looked down at the tiny specks winding, Gears whirling, patterns and plans unfurling, Observed she was of no use, and Suffered a last shuddering breath And leapt To a mercifully abrupt death. (She wonders) On this daily as She comes to grips with failing, At life and her goals. Having squandered any hope that was shown, Choosing instead a life of Closed glass doors and burned out rooms, Quietly never forgiving herself for who, The world tells her she is And who she is in her heart- That hollow rock that stores What remains of her wishes Stacked in columns from floor to ceiling Silent borders of her buried tomb of mass killing. She roams among it like a library, It almost feels like home, to Browse steep piles of dreams dead From a thousand and one styles Of homicide, alphabetically stored and stacked.     (She stares) Into her oxidized mirror and Studies the divisions of face along the cracks,     Wondering when and where she went wrong, How far lost she is and if she'll ever again see home.           Most days,    She doubts it. Whispers what do i do?    But wants to shout it. The fissures on her face break wide, Plunging her into vicious waters high    Above her, She shouts a final something, But produces only finite bubbles. Critiques are very much appreciated.
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65
No one is who they were yesterday. Minuscule adaptations form with each sunrise and go unnoticed until you look back at an old photograph, or think about something that happened with an old friend who is now a stranger that you know nothing about. You are your own doppelganger. The girl sitting in the theatre playing obnoxious games with her loud, aspiring individualistic friends seems like a stranger to me. It is impossible to pinpoint the moment when things started to change and I lost sight of that girl, and who she wanted to be. At the least, I wonder when everything started to shift. What caused the imbalance? Now I sit alone in classes I don't care to pursue with no sense of aspiration towards anything. I remember all of the laughter and the sleepovers, gossiping about everything. I remember random details and insignificant everyday stories that could take up hours upon hours of reiterating. When a friendship terminates what are you supposed to do with all of your old shared secrets? Where are you supposed to put those memories? The girl I am right now doesn't talk to those people anymore and I can hardly remember what it felt like to be in her shoes, and all I really have is knowing things about the people that they used to be. CVT
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
coffeekween
My Former Family
No one is who they were yesterday. Minuscule adaptations form with each sunrise and go unnoticed until you look back at an old photograph, or think about something that happened with an old friend who is now a stranger that you know nothing about. You are your own doppelganger. The girl sitting in the theatre playing obnoxious games with her loud, aspiring individualistic friends seems like a stranger to me. It is impossible to pinpoint the moment when things started to change and I lost sight of that girl, and who she wanted to be. At the least, I wonder when everything started to shift. What caused the imbalance? Now I sit alone in classes I don't care to pursue with no sense of aspiration towards anything. I remember all of the laughter and the sleepovers, gossiping about everything. I remember random details and insignificant everyday stories that could take up hours upon hours of reiterating. When a friendship terminates what are you supposed to do with all of your old shared secrets? Where are you supposed to put those memories? The girl I am right now doesn't talk to those people anymore and I can hardly remember what it felt like to be in her shoes, and all I really have is knowing things about the people that they used to be. CVT
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51
Please try to hear Can I make it Anymore clear I need a little time To be a human As I am whispering from behind closed curtains And screaming from very high roof tops How I really feel As I do not even know who can not really deal As you vanish disappear Into distant space and time proclaiming we are God But are we all just lost In a new age self empowered Individualistic self obsession Revolution so called evolution Where no one is just aloud To be a simple human As we can only be a great Almighty God For dare I say That I can not do That this is a little to hard And admit my own boundary limitation And I can not do Please don't call me God It just feels like a rod I want to be just free even still like a tree Maybe not extraordinary maybe just ordinary Please don't promise me a spectacular future Pretending to be my fortune teller Just tell me that you can see me , can cherish and sincerely hear me Hold my hand and just be HERE WITH ME what ever the future does hold
0
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
adam-childs
HERE WITH ME
Please try to hear Can I make it Anymore clear I need a little time To be a human As I am whispering from behind closed curtains And screaming from very high roof tops How I really feel As I do not even know who can not really deal As you vanish disappear Into distant space and time proclaiming we are God But are we all just lost In a new age self empowered Individualistic self obsession Revolution so called evolution Where no one is just aloud To be a simple human As we can only be a great Almighty God For dare I say That I can not do That this is a little to hard And admit my own boundary limitation And I can not do Please don't call me God It just feels like a rod I want to be just free even still like a tree Maybe not extraordinary maybe just ordinary Please don't promise me a spectacular future Pretending to be my fortune teller Just tell me that you can see me , can cherish and sincerely hear me Hold my hand and just be HERE WITH ME what ever the future does hold
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46
you've Forgotten what it means to be you, it's all about the social hierarchy you're Adamant on who you think you are, locked in a prison Society keeps under lock and key you Keep telling yourself that you're individualistic but one look at you and you're just like the rest and Everything about you is not you, but some Forgotten Adamant machine Kept by Society while She laughs in your face, for you my dear, were shaped by She, and i no longer know who you to be
0
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 2:03 AM UTC
madelaine-base
F-A-K-E
you've Forgotten what it means to be you, it's all about the social hierarchy you're Adamant on who you think you are, locked in a prison Society keeps under lock and key you Keep telling yourself that you're individualistic but one look at you and you're just like the rest and Everything about you is not you, but some Forgotten Adamant machine Kept by Society while She laughs in your face, for you my dear, were shaped by She, and i no longer know who you to be
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4
When pain gets extreme of one’s hold, It gives trance, Makes you experience Joy, And show what the priority is… Pain is the individualistic society, Where you are on your own… It had been long meeting pain, I just met him…He was on transference mode. I helped him, And endured pain… Pain responded… You are my best friend.. You make me feel alive…
0
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
aakanksha-kanojia
A Meeting with Pain
When pain gets extreme of one’s hold, It gives trance, Makes you experience Joy, And show what the priority is… Pain is the individualistic society, Where you are on your own… It had been long meeting pain, I just met him…He was on transference mode. I helped him, And endured pain… Pain responded… You are my best friend.. You make me feel alive…
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12
I am not exotic But I am ****** I’m not this flesh Or these bones This body is My home, My temple, For I am ****** Mother and Sacred Crone I am not exotic But I am ****** I am the fire Of Holy Desire I am kundalini Shakti Sacred Power Life Force Energy What you cannot See in thee You project Onto me I am not your Mother Wound Projection nor The cause of Your demonised ******** Open your eyes To the lies You cannot Cage me By category Tick me off your list Make me invisible Divisible by What is not true For I am Another you. Reclaim your Desire This Holy Fire This creative force You're not seeing Is what birthed you Into being Embrace your Passion Let your tongue Kiss the truth With compassion Proclaim your name Without shame You are not toxic You are ****** Let your desire Flower Own your Power! We need to change The conversation Between this nation Of women and men Generations of trauma Perpetuated In the name Of some sod They call their god Defy the lie Don’t comply With temptation They control Our needs To spark their Insatiable greed. Don’t cage Your longing To feed your Belonging This individualistic creed Consuming Subsuming To fill the void Left by the ban On Pan Earthy deemed ***** Horn scorned Turned into **** Scapegoated Emasculated Devil Demoted Goddess Demeaned Rise up Open your heart Resist the force Tearing communities apart Face your fear Shed those tears Cause a commotion Release that emotion Lets change the agenda That segregates Our genitals From gender Refrain Unchain Shiv Shakti Eros Aphrodite Mars and Venus Liberate your ***** Own your passion Penetrate compassion Don’t measure Your Pleasure By some prescriptive Fashion Embrace your Inner lover Honour our Earth Mother Stop blaming Shaming the other Let’s form a union Let love be the sacrament The Holy Communion For we are ****** We are the fire Of Holy Desire Let Compassion flower Let the power of love Banish the love of power
0
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 6:10 AM UTC
kamini-1
This Holy Re-loveution
I am not exotic But I am ****** I’m not this flesh Or these bones This body is My home, My temple, For I am ****** Mother and Sacred Crone I am not exotic But I am ****** I am the fire Of Holy Desire I am kundalini Shakti Sacred Power Life Force Energy What you cannot See in thee You project Onto me I am not your Mother Wound Projection nor The cause of Your demonised ******** Open your eyes To the lies You cannot Cage me By category Tick me off your list Make me invisible Divisible by What is not true For I am Another you. Reclaim your Desire This Holy Fire This creative force You're not seeing Is what birthed you Into being Embrace your Passion Let your tongue Kiss the truth With compassion Proclaim your name Without shame You are not toxic You are ****** Let your desire Flower Own your Power! We need to change The conversation Between this nation Of women and men Generations of trauma Perpetuated In the name Of some sod They call their god Defy the lie Don’t comply With temptation They control Our needs To spark their Insatiable greed. Don’t cage Your longing To feed your Belonging This individualistic creed Consuming Subsuming To fill the void Left by the ban On Pan Earthy deemed ***** Horn scorned Turned into **** Scapegoated Emasculated Devil Demoted Goddess Demeaned Rise up Open your heart Resist the force Tearing communities apart Face your fear Shed those tears Cause a commotion Release that emotion Lets change the agenda That segregates Our genitals From gender Refrain Unchain Shiv Shakti Eros Aphrodite Mars and Venus Liberate your ***** Own your passion Penetrate compassion Don’t measure Your Pleasure By some prescriptive Fashion Embrace your Inner lover Honour our Earth Mother Stop blaming Shaming the other Let’s form a union Let love be the sacrament The Holy Communion For we are ****** We are the fire Of Holy Desire Let Compassion flower Let the power of love Banish the love of power
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136
When you write a poem It's your thoughts emotions experiences Once you share it It becomes a chameleon Changing itself Not to camouflage and hide But to be viewed by each reader in a personal and individualistic Manner
0
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
CynicalStrawberry
Chamelion
When you write a poem It's your thoughts emotions experiences Once you share it It becomes a chameleon Changing itself Not to camouflage and hide But to be viewed by each reader in a personal and individualistic Manner
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12
I miss the nights, shoulders hunched over the soulless luminescence of a screen, eager for the tapping of buttons to proudly displays imperfect works of art. For writers are not naysayers, nor speakers of the truth, not speakers for the people, or those that govern the people, we are individualistic shortcomings , aspiring to be wore more than a few syllables, or a clever punch line. We are the lonely, the distraught, the happy and sad, we are the people, for in each of us is a writer, dying to aspire to more than a few words. We demand recognition. We crave love. But we receive neither, for here we are at late hours of the empty dark night, hunched over the luminescence of a soulless keyboard, eager to **** the expectations of anyone aspiring to be more than a few words.
0
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
torak
Writers
I miss the nights, shoulders hunched over the soulless luminescence of a screen, eager for the tapping of buttons to proudly displays imperfect works of art. For writers are not naysayers, nor speakers of the truth, not speakers for the people, or those that govern the people, we are individualistic shortcomings , aspiring to be wore more than a few syllables, or a clever punch line. We are the lonely, the distraught, the happy and sad, we are the people, for in each of us is a writer, dying to aspire to more than a few words. We demand recognition. We crave love. But we receive neither, for here we are at late hours of the empty dark night, hunched over the luminescence of a soulless keyboard, eager to **** the expectations of anyone aspiring to be more than a few words.
Continue reading...
26