"infections" poems
Platonic Love Song
The wind in our hair as our lungs work
Screaming out the lyrics to a teenage summer
As we drive free, racing, to the waves and mountains
Lights in our eyes and hands over hearts
Youthful yearning fills us, as we get caught chasing the sky
Her laughter fills my soul and she begins to dance
While she wraps her arms around me, safe
A fire blazes, but our smiles are what light up the night
We make the stars jealous,
They beg for half of our shine
Embers and vapour fill the air,
Hands trading drinks and smoke and care
Music floats and lyrics sink in
Lips trading stories and laughter and kisses
Engines start, stop, jump, and rumble
Her eyes gleam and shift, catching attention
Hypnotising and beautiful,
They draw us in, keep us safe, and we ask to stay.
Let yourself love your friends. Let yourself stay with them.
She pumps music into our lives, her voice loud
We dance to the wild tempo of our heartbeats
Crass and catching, her voice settles in us
Let people in, even when it’s hard. Let yourself love them.
She scrunches her face up and tosses in jokes,
Making us smile at any price,
She helps us laugh the pain away.
Let people love you back.
I know it can be hard but...
She covers her smile with a hand,
Else she’d blind us, but we’d be alright,
If that could be the last thing we see
If you aren’t in love with your friends, where is your absolution?
She swings her hips and we get lost in her lips,
The gold on her skin, the brown in her eyes,
Entrancing on a new level, and we exalt
If you aren’t in love with your friends, then something is wrong.
She grabs our hands, reviving and vital,
Her shoulders jump and so do we, she’s got us on our feet
Her energy is infections, makes us forget imperfection.
If you aren’t in love with your friends, where are you spending your time?
Existing in a different state, but in the same hearts,
And we are all staring at the same jealous stars.
She feels like a home you’ve never been too.
If you aren’t in love with your friends, then you’re not doing it right.
Because for me, they define ride or die,
The first loves of my life, they mean open
Open arms, open homes, open hearts
They are coffee in the cold and make up in the night,
Empowerment in the dark and hope in the now.
Love isn’t just for spouses and partners,
Love is for those who you know with your heart,
Who’s soul touched yours, and said,
“Hey, it’s been a while. I missed you.”
And if you haven’t felt that yet then I’m sorry,
But don’t worry, you’ll find them.
And when you do, it will be like coming home.
And you’ll know.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
Sludge and blood. The smell of deep red iron
filtering through the rocks and bodies bruised to the touch.
Grotesque collections of pills and broken skin;
infections and secretions and violent affections -
Spit stained fingers and dilated pupils at thoughts thick with resin.
Waking up with sickness in your stomach and bite marks on your neck
The pull of clutching hands at strands of hair and bitten lips and sweat
Pulling deeper, sharp inhale of self-done stitches
Ripped open insides and the moment his breath hitches -
aches forever. Pulsing, swollen, bleeding on the brain
Sweet and sickly, gorgeous and gorged veins
Momentary singularity in pain.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC
they
travel
overseas
seeking surgery
the cost is cheaper
in those destinations
yet medical tourist
can acquire those many unforeseen
infections after operations
the theaters of surgery lacking hygiene
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
our health services need to act quickly
surgery should be made affordable
then folks from here wouldn't require
cost saving operations
in countries overseas
those staph infections
would cease pronto
our jets not
landing
there
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
The storm has gone
It's eerily quiet
As darkness creeps in
I try not to fight it.
My body is broken
****** and mangled
I hug my knees closer
My heartstrings all tangled.
My skin is stripped away
Taking my protection
My thoughts are dull rusty blades
Cutting deep, horrid infections.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
I read somewhere recently
to release all my sorrows and anger
I must start by going within. Finding
that place where it all goes away.
My question to you is, is who are you
to say my worries can be
scrubbed away like dirt on a dish,
when they feel more like infections to
quarantine like a plague. When I
venture deep inside behind my
mental consciousness I find it crowded
like a busy city street.
I wander lost in the sounds and smells
surrounded by my illusions of
the human spirit. I fade into the
background of my mind.
I reach for a hand to help
me on my way, but I must climb the staircase
of self-doubt before I find my
own way out.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
rich people blame poor
people for living off the
state & poor people blame
rich people for living off
them; & the state blames
everybody for living off it;
the rich pay the state
to let them skate; the state
kills a generation of the poor
when it goes to war; the poor
only riot when there's
already too much violence;
it's been said the true
revolution starts w/in
it's also been said, it's
not what comes out, it's
what goes in; we came
out of she who he went into
but who went into him?
it's said that Abraham
wrestled god's angel til dawn;
demanding a ******* instead
God gave Abe a painful STD;
passing down through his line
until the coming Messiah; he who
is born w/out the hereditary STD
of Adam & Eve's Original Sin
if sin is the knowledge of good
& evil & Jesus was born w/out
sin, wouldn't that men Jesus didn't
know right from wrong? he only
knew the Jewish law; he wasn't
guilty of anything but he was a
trouble-maker; a poor carpenter
who said he was the king of the Jews
& didn't have any STDs, but he never
got laid so how would anyone know;
the disciple whom he loved felt an ache
in the thigh & going to see Luke, was
given a spongy bit of mold to take until
the ache went away;
since the Lord had gone around clearing
up all the sudden zoster infections there
was no outbreak except among the Pharisees
& Saducees who frequented the local temples
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories
how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see
i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone
my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
Though excruciating,
I have delicately incised my heart
And left it open for you.
Blood and all.
I am completely defenseless,
Truly surrendering what is deepest within me.
All of me is on display,
And I am vulnerable, exposed.
Our environment, unsterile,
Makes me susceptible to infections:
Hate, judgment, abuse
That spread through the words and actions of others,
Attacking my system.
And, subconsciously, I internalize them,
Accepting them as my own.
But I trust you to care for me.
I believe with conviction, I must,
You have washed your hands
In preparation to touch my heart
With the gentleness I need
And cannot provide myself.
Because alone, I am unfixable,
Permanently damaged and slowly losing blood.
Dying behind my seemingly perfect demeanor,
A closed facade.
I trust that because I have exposed my pain
To you, solely you,
We can begin to repair the destruction
And stop the hemorrhaging,
Together.
Thereby providing the means by which
This earthly vessel, and in turn
The fragile soul inside,
Can finally begin to heal.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Born a baby girl,
they said with tears in their eyes
"She will be soft, and quiet, and beautiful."
They stared at her with undying love
knowing she would one day fit perfectly
in a mans trophy case.
So she grew and was tended to,
a rose ripe for the picking.
I say rose because roses are lovely.
Plain. Soft. Supple. Silent.
Her words had always been white crayon on blank paper,
mosquitoes swatted at summer picnics,
ear infections that invaded the canal but never quite reached the brain.
She was taught to dress all in white
and never speak up at the dinner table.
Opinions are for crazy people and so is any splash of colour.
She sat in her silence until her white dress started to blend into the walls.
Invisibility is a super power!
Just watch any action movie that wasn't made for little girls.
When lying in the dark it is tempting
to raise a hand to ones face.
See how no distinction can be made between a human body
and the air surrounding it?
Imagine doing this in the light of day.
There came a time where she could no longer handle the sight
of her own emptiness
and squeezed her eyes shut to discover galaxies
hiding beneath her eyelids.
She smiled and colours came surging through the cracks in her teeth.
Staining her white face
and her white dress
and her white walls.
Her Mother screamed and her Father cried.
No boy would ever love a girl they could see.
One with flowers blossoming beneath her feet
and suns exploding behind her eyes.
They mourned her that day.
Her silence was never supposed to grow volumes.
To them she died the day she came alive.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
<•>
For A:
The Pleasure of Infection
10:53 pm
our all about
is to be the whittler of our personage,
to both hold the knife with care,
but with risky, reckless artistry,
as we shape of what raw materials we are possessed,
into our own reshaped, reformed
most prized bejeweled possession
never mind the shavings and cutaways fallen,
they are fast away, castaway choices made and cannot be retrieved,
for when we whittle, whether our shape desired
which may be prior envisioned or a vision
from the discovery of performing,
they matter no more,
let them go, in their absence too,
they are part and a whit of you,
but not of you, no longer
our commonality in this: everything,
in everything else, so little
but your honesty and crafted, almost dishonesty both ring true,
and infect us with pleasure of recalling
when we
being cut designed and preparing our statue for
an unveiling, but with no date yet set,
and the loveliness of our mistakes,
were precious do-over opportunities
seek out the infection, the infection of discovery,
the risk of pleasure exposed and
your poetry may be either
the antibiotics
when the result is red and unpleasant,
or a celebration,
an invitation to us to be a
semi-silent beholder of your artistry
infections heal after pain and discoloration
but new skin always forms,
but at a different pace for each of us
I see the faces in my carpet nodding agreement,
"always new skin"
oh boy. time to go to bed
go seek out the pleasure of infection,
sadly, happily, it is the only way
good night
from an old man who dreams and schemes of
new skin nightly
but never mind me,
my piece long ago writ
and in need of just a tweak here and there,
call it one too many close shavings,
his poem's treasure trove,
a list
of life's minor irritations
and major lifts
<•>
11:16pm
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
Hubby,
Our fractured laugh is irredeemable.
It Is reinforcing the heroic microbes.
to brainstorm some tiny schemes.
with a lack of delicacy and tact
to recur the same cynic nights of devastation,
incorporate the sores into our throats; a full-time personification of tangible intrusion, directly to the full portrait of the Meningitis itself.
Distracting the law of the incubation hours for all strains, overpowering the blood cower, and hovering over our jaded hoarse, sneering at our last appalling psyche-knot
After this creative detention,
I’m invoking another forever torpor inside of our hearts' beats to pose another irrevocable damage that would perpetuate a close depiction of da Vinci’s Last Supper masterpiece.
Honey, Light yourself with a viral-bacterial whirlwind and sink into its bleakness beside my bewitching bind.
I'm still loving you despite all my infections.
amid the urge to enfold your tsunami and swallow its combination
Fortunately, we have survived so many different tragedies together, as a full piece of plague
above Utopia.
- The Poetic Soul
Jul 28, 2023
Jul 28, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC
Band-aids to prevent the social infections that could eventually
spread to the frontal lobe,
Diseases started on Fox News, spread to the living room,
circulate around the family dinner table
putting victims of ignorance on the coroner’s slab
Alleviate the pain.
Should we let the gapping wounds of intolerance fester, decay and grow maggots?
***** bigotry, vile illiteracy, primitive ideas coat the skins of society like a black goo.
Band-aids: self adhesive bandages
We aren’t teachers. We are medics.
covering the gapping wounds of life
lathering the lesions with Neosporin.
Healing the scars from parenting gone wrong
- scars from wounded self-esteems
-lacerations to the proverbial heart
Scars lasting longer than the body itself.
No one knows where its impact will end.
Band-aids
temporary fix
heal the wound fast, heal the hurt faster
A Johnson and Johnson remedy for damaged organisms
Well-meaning ones hurling scriptures scald hands with tainted words
Healing is a matter of time.
Arm teachers to protect children from the crazies who loom?
What will protect them from their own inherited ignorance?
The damage is already done when they get here.
Equip us with Band-Aids, boxes and boxes.
Hello Kitty over their ears to block the infection from coming in
Spiderman for their mouths. Stop the seepage of any contamination from spreading to others.
The remaining scars will fade, but not disappear.
even with a band-aid.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
I Jammed the pain inside, to wait for the defects to reside. Today strays and wanders away until it's stuffed down inside the void of discomfort. Let's roll our imagination onto light able paper, light it, and watch it burn..
See because that's what addiction does. It overrides your body latching on your inner artistry for its fuel. Pretty soon you become a machine, something mindless. Fasten your seatbelt because your on auto-pilot.
Now the transactions of your body really start to inaugurate. Your internals no longer has what it takes to fight, to resist, so now come the alterations.The tips of your fingers go hand in hand with the tip of your tongue. How your saliva's lust for substance dismantles the chemical compounds. Your taste buds loving that all too familiar feeling. Your greed full blood consuming every inch of it. As the destruction slowly trickles down your throat your anxious. Then the finale comes, the moment you've been waiting patiently for the manipulation and overhaul of your brain and your reality remodeled, your home.
In those seconds pain is never an option, never a thought. Your lost out at sea. But that's all it really is, seconds, minutes, sometimes hours, just a little more time to stick the dysphoria on the back burner. When in truth you've just deepened the scar and exposed it to infections. When it's gone your left with broken thoughts that feel unrepairable.
Addiction doesn't just come from pre-packaged materials, they come from every entity you wish that blocks the truth out. They come from unfulfillment , pain, and soak themselves until you are left with no control. You have to fight, fight for your life. Face the music
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
Oh so I guess it was infected
On so many levels
Probably my fault for loving
an angel ****** Scorpio
who gives ******** like a greasy exhaust pipe
who swaps ****** fluid
like a last ditch transfusion for a cure
done in an ally in Mexico
I thought you could save me with your shameless passion
The vibrating underwear at dinner
The dare to straight face in public
You were *****
And you were *****
And I was trying to make a mess
So cleaning myself up might look drastic
You were an adventure I can’t shake
The kind of adventure you can’t catch twice
Until you catch it twice
I have been told
Learning is a change in behavior
Learning is finding ways to not make the same mistake
Over
And over
Clearly
I am still learning
Still infected with
With the self-inflicted wrong decisions
Of loving people who don’t love me back
And filling holes
With the parts of myself that are designed to do that
Hoping mine will be filled too
I’ve put a pillow in my open chest wound
So you might still think it’s safe to lay there
So you won’t hear the heartbeat race of hope
That things won’t hurt so much later
Won’t feel like a film on my skin that doesn’t wash away
When I watch you leave me in the morning
And all I want to do is beg you to stay
Stay and pretend this is real a little longer
I’ve never been one to tear band-aids from wounds quickly
I pick scabs
I have scars
I am ugly
And I am still learning
Still trying different ways
To love healthy
So yeah,
I guess this is infected
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Intellectual stimulation from a twisted mind
Bringing life to the insanity I tried to hide
Cracking whips to break the chains, feeling death drip from my veins
Pouring poison down the drain from infections inside
Chasing rumors through the sewers, lost in tunnels of depravity; God's the only viewer but this show's not quite reality
Gravity scraped knuckles with me all the way down
A brute stuck in a boot loop asking me to drown
These restarts after crashes turned my synapses to ashes
Now I can't feel the rats in my cyber cerebral casket
Dead in the head and strapped into my bed
I dug at my wrists until I saw red
The doctors applauded at everything the gauze did
It still couldnt stop it so on it bled
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
There's this feeling of irrepressible despair that I can no longer keep inside.
I need to know where you are, and where you've been, why do you hide?
I'm sitting here wondering why I told you to go.
Why I pushed you away, why we said no.
I see you through a screen full of lies and deception.
Depression's setting in, like screams of infections.
You were my protection, for the longest, the one I leaned on,
but by the selection of my words, you broke away clean, gone.
The pain I feel is surreal, I can't explain nor can I deal,
You were something of a thrill,
I needed you then, I need you still,
You're the only thing in life that ever seemed real,
but now I'm back to dreaming,
killing my mind to conceal.
Thoughts bleeding, mind breaching.
Heavy breathing.
Now all apart of my past,
I trap it all in a mask I wear,
my voice raspy,
I tear the wrist, bombing my heart,
Fear passed me.
Blood and bone, ******** on my own.
I found my home and another,
who loves me more than my mother,
I love you but I love her more and furthermore,
she's glorious, I'm never bored,
Notorious, but not a bore,
losing her I can't afford, so sorry baby here's the door...
Leave me be.
Can't you see?
Your memory is killing me.
At ease, I am calm,
Agreed I'm angry and I'm,
not really stable,
Turnt tables,
Look at me now,
Oh, you aren't able...
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
She had
Big luscious
**** ******* lips
Scrumptiously
A ***** *****
With tattoos
Across her ****
And an ***
That any man
Would kiss
Despite
The ***
And the ****
Already on it
She had sass
And would *****
On *****
As her mascara ran
But she wasn't sick
Her every ******* tear
Immaculate
She was a submissive
So dismissive
When you hit her
She came
And begged
For another
With her
Bloodied pucker
Of mucked lovers
She was a nasty *****
Leaving lipstick
On rich boys
And Leroy's
And she
Would ****
Or ****
Just about
Anything
To get lit
As she elongated
Her words
Like a *****
Southern ******
Slurring her verbs
With dead birds
In her hand
And fear
In her heart
She fanned
Her flames
And scrubbed
The stains
From predictable
Strangers
Strangling her
While getting ******
From every angle
Dangling her soul
In her mangled holes
She cried
And cried for more
Reap and sow
The *****
From her nose
As every man knows
To blow as she chokes
Such a beautiful throat
And that walk
That walk of a *****
That every man adores
That other girls
Only wished for
And she loved it
The attention
The erections
The affection
The infections
She was addicted
To ****
And knew it
She was a ****
Strutting her stuff
Letting her **** out
Of her blouse
Just to arouse
The curiosity
Of your spouse
And wreck
Your house
She couldn't get enough
She'd eat your girl out
Before getting ******
She was down
For anything
Or anyone
A **** ** bag
That we all
Tagged twice
Once for fun
And once alive
I was her life
She was my wife
She was a
kick in the face
Away from fame
And she would
Say anything
Anything
To get away
Until she
Didn't
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
...
*"She is indeed the happiest Oracle of Leo the Lion,
born as his innocent prophet
of divine sunlight~
tumbling~
spilling;
"eternal flower."
:to recite the amber
prophecies with
the lions ~fire'tongue~
in showers of orange rain.
She was the king's candle;
a starlit lantern of medallion grace.
She wears a dress of violet promises and peace
that tickles the wind to knock on the sky.
Asking the nightfall of questions in sleeping stars~
"Why do I miss her?"
Her words were fused with kindness and marigolds;
to cleanse the darkest infections within
a lion's soul
and his injured pride.
You are so lonely, Leonie.
With your heart forgotten in the lions cave.
Loyalty is built on your visions and bones.
Yellow masks that paint the walls of your prison,
and it's a sadness that the king cannot mend.
So this isolation becomes the voice of reason.
and freedom is the voice of treason.
Deep within the lions den, the ceiling fell at 2 a.m,
twisting~
buckling;
demolishing,
:stones falling to their knees.
With hope and reckless saltwater dreams
she fled with ember feet to see
the moonlight showering in.
Notes of silver plucked the wind,
as ink and blue stirred the rubble
There stood a girl, on cracked stone table;
with a white rabbits' mask and metallic hair.
Willow vines weeping along her arms
dress as deep as crow feathers;
and the hush of a dragon's wing
swinging from her neck;
crystals throwing light in her wake.
"My prophecy said you would come."
futures that unravel at a white line in the dust;
And the darkness pulled on her robes of silk;
while she took off the mask
and blue eyes met golden windows
Descending to meet the oracle in wisdom;
a warning whispered to her
ties with solitude
The moon spoke with a thousand tongues that night;*
"You have to roar Leonie; So the heavens can hear you."
...
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
I've Had This Said...
A Couple of Times...
My Cadence Is TIGHT...
When Reciting Rhymes... !!!
The Movement of Sound...
When I... Vocalise...
Which Is Also Known...
As... INTONATION...
If You're Reading This... ?
That's.... Education.... !!!
Cos' Words Like These...
Have Close Relations... !!!
NO NOT Like THAT... !!!
But That's A... FACT... !!!
Intonation And Cadence...
Make For Good Entertainment... !!!
When Done With STYLE... !!!
But You NEED A Good Voice...
That Is... TOP Choice... !!!
And Keeps The Ladies....
Slightly... " MOIST "...
Pay Attention Now Boys... !!!
Cos' A Voice That's SWEET...
Can Help You Get...
Girls In Your Sheets... !!!
YES For... RELATIONS... !!!!!
So We're Back Again...
To... INTONATION...
If You Use It WELL...
You Make Pulses RISE...
Just Like... INFLATION...
Or Just Like England's Taxation... !!!
But KEEP Your Cadence Moving On...
Keep It Slick And NOT TOO Blatant...
Cos' This Can Make Some ...
LOSE Their...................... Patience... !!!
Then Your Message Is LOST...
Like Beds For Patients... !!!
Intonation Is A Wonderful Gift...
So I'm Using Mine For Poetic Scripts...
Cos' When The Two Get Together...
It's A... PERFECT FIT... !!!!!
Like Guns And Clips... !!!
Or Cues And Tips...
Or A Great Pair of Lips...
Around A STIFF... DRINK... !!!!!
Did You Get The Link... ?
See Words I Write...
Make People THINK... !!!
And Leave Some Resting....
On The... BRINK... !!!
Or On The... VIRGE... !!!
Cos' Some of My Words...
Make People... SINK...
Into Leather Chairs...
Talking To... Shrinks... !!!
But Cadence Linked To Intonation...
Makes My Message Seem Less Blatant...
My Message Is Honed...
To... UNIFY Nations...
Through Usage of Prose...
And... INTONATION... !!!
Are You With Me Folks... ?
Can You See The... " Relation "... ?
Or BETTER Still The Slick Connection... !!!
My Message Is STRONG...
And Has... Direction... !!!
But Does Inflection...
DIVERT............ Attention... ?!?
Well THAT's A Subject...
WORTH... Inspection... !!!
Does My Voice Attract... ?
Or Is It Because I'm BIG and Black... ?!?
And Do NOT Run From PAINFUL Facts...
When Using Words To WOUND Infections... !!!
And EXPOSE THOSE Who Have DEFECTIONS... !!!
Sometimes I Laugh...
When I Read This Stuff... !!!
Cos' CLEARLY Some Get In A HUFF... !!!
And Wish That I Would Just SHUT UP... !!!
That's Cool With Me...
But PAY ATTENTION PLEASE... !!!!!
My Poetry Will NEVER Freeze... !!!
And NOBODY Will Stop My Speech...
From Reaching Those It NEEDS To REACH... !!!
Well Someone CAN...
Guess Who... Yes ME... !!!
But That I'm Afraid Is UNLIKELY... !!!
Cos Yoda Has Instilled In Me...
THESE Three words...
… ”It's Your Destiny !" …
I'm FEELING That...
Are You Feeling ME... ?
Feel Free To Applaud...
If You Like My Style of Poetry... !!!
I'll Continue To Read...
While My Mind Runs FREE...
And Want My Words...
To OUTLAST me... !!!
Through Publishing And OTHER Things...
Like TEACHING The Dumb To STOP KILLING... !!!
But THAT Will Be WITHOUT My Voice...
Soothing Mics' With Baritone Noise...
Well That's The FUTURE...
But While i'm Here...
I'll KEEP ON Speaking And Relating...
By Using STRONG...
... " Cadence and Intonation " ...
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:37 PM UTC
Damaged Goods
Broken not accepted
Lost in deception
You eat my words and step on it
**** You and my lesson
I’m 17 and you left me
You eat my words and stepped on it
Mindset ****** with the darkest cuts
I tried to open up but you tied me shut
Through me on the ground
exposed my cuts
throuh all the evidence out
With my eyes closed
I started to swallow those infections that ate me up in side that makes my hands shake and my stomach ache
Doors closed my mental state
Ibuprofen how much should I take **** this **** my heart won’t break
knock me up I’ll get what I can take
beat me down shut me out give me worthless knowledge and doubt
how dare you say you love me when you just broke me
**** You
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
You, my band-aid
promising to heal
to keep me from infections
You, my band-aid
so sticky and clingy
except for when I needed you most
You, my band-aid
promised to heal
but in the end,
only covered it up
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
A harsh wind kisses my fingers into sleeping.
Blurring the movement on the toggles of an anorak,
But my eyes dart quick, oiled and fleeting,
searching for my beloved old salt, looking back.
Funny, how in those footprints,
the piercing night that bites the ears and cries
can feel as soft as sheets
washed in the light of the moon, pulled by the tide.
this darkness which surrounds us.
it makes the world one of thrashing silhouettes
And as the earth breathes in gusts
It gives calmness to a mind, to comfortably forget
this, lulled swoon of nature pulsating hits
the windows, we can't help to be animated.
we cannot be closed to it, cannot obscure it
the call of the waves that past fishermen created.
pausing, that sun-baked, sinuous arm rose
and peering through his cigarette smoke specters.
the steam of my own breathing, softly froze
As the sky illuminated my weary lenses.
the theatre of sky before us fight light polluted filling
My mind left wandering like waking sleep.
These gladiators of light bleed ochre from shining artillery,
Their particles drifting into the night's sea, so deep.
Sparks spat by suns lie suspended above me
held like dew in nets of celestial string.
as the sunlight comes peering through these
the intensity in a pinprick, unearthly passion within.
lancing the sky too are spears of my dreaming
as neon cobras strike and churn to flee.
these heaven-borne beings carving visual song
Cutting luminescent pathways into my memory.
The soundless iron giant is now still as a caryatid.
Holding me before that blacksmith showered light.
an artist plucks flaming dewdrops from the wind
illuminating my foray into this night.
I sensed a small piece of gene pierce his yang
a black taint to his overall brightness.
In my black yin a spark from him i hang
and I'm proud of the infections we posses.
As he narrates this landscape, he narrates himself.
a new side to a shape I felt I knew.
As far into feelings as his masculine paradigm delved
like a square’s seventh face, always hidden from view.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
A scalpel or incision will leave me with an evil vision
Torn from religion, anthropomorphic beast of nihilism
Kissing the devil's daughter
My raps are food for fodder and sauder
To grow the model of society run by hate and broken bottles
I don't coddle your misconceptions
Your life has no direction
Except a knife splitting your intestines
Internal infections lead me to beckon
My hate is not strong enough
I'll cut you in sections, leave you in pieces
My hatred denies Jesus
At the end of the day, your conception of reality should be aborted like a fetus
Death meets you with open eyes
Defeat you, beat you, and watch you cry
Contemplating suicide
The hatred of mind is something not easy to find
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC