"insensitively" poems
My New Year’s Eve
was spent
collecting fragmented recollections
to confirm
that my dignity
had truly died.
Soberly,
I perused
the bars and clubs,
and walked aimlessly
up and down crowded streets,
feeling like my life
had somehow
been shifted
into slow motion,
while the rest of the world,
engaging in joyous celebration
and ffestivities,
was knocked out of rhythm
from my existence.
How in the world
could the clock strike midnight?
How could people embrace, and kiss
at the dropping of the ball?
How could they laugh and smiile,
and wish each other a “Happy New Year!”?
More importantly,
how could those god **** traffic lights
have the audacity
to continue changing
from red to ggreen to yellow,
then back to red again.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity was dead.
My dignity was gone.
In the days and weeks
that followed the death of my dignity,
I noticed
that life faded
from colloquial to iconic,
like something mystical,
or an intangible object
of deep longing.
And recurrent images
of those *******
obnoxious traffic lights
insensitively
switching colors
replay in my mind
to remind me
over and over
in the greens (go),
the reds (stop),
and the yellows (be careful),
that my dignity
had died.
Memories
of the ddays
before my dignity had died
run through my mind
like old home movies
with centuries
of black and white film
stuck on repeat,
and slowly fraying,
around the edges,
because of the harsh demands of time.
It is life’s
harsh and cruel irony
that these images,
once my greatest joy,
have now become
inflicters
of the greatest pain
that I
have ever felt.
Like a sound wave
of pain,
so powerful,
that it has silenced
any other pain
that my heart
has ever heard.
So now I know,
it is true
life is a bitch.
The fading
of my dignity
has made me
overly aware
of the earth
turning on its axis.
As spring approached,
for the very first time,
I noticed
the way the flowers
seem reluctant
to bloom,
as if uncertain
of their
welcome invitation.
Such a cruel reality,
that the flowers
would choose
to bloom,
and nature
would choose
to carry on,
slipping
further and further
away from the day
that my dignity died.
And still,
to this day,
those ****
traffic lights
keep switching colors
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
So insensitively you drain and ***** me
taking blood samples and injecting the chills
enstilling no trust right before you ******
foreign objects into my gut
I didnt ask for you nor did you ask for me
and with a situation that should be full of understanding
we just cant seem to meet eye to eye
you are the arrogant judgemental kind
and me I'm just a piece of paper
full of ineligible lines
I hate doctors or most I should say
I come in always in the worst of situations
For them its everyday
and the longer they're with it
the less humane they seem
I dream of a world full of humility
while I crumble
traumatised in hospital sheets
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
A sign of desperation
Of envy, of misery, of dejection
Of hopeless yearning for nothing lifelong,
As almost everyone can barely notice.
Worldly desires, oh futility!
Images of true vainglory
Captives of fake reality
Stuck in their reverie
Of exaltation and flattery
Fishing for praises so badly
Insensitively, so unrelentingly
Without a thought or two.
What do you hear? What do you see?
These people sound so thirsty
Of approval and regard and dignity
Capricious predisposition, tomfoolery!
Looking for love and delight
For honor and respect and might
For grandeur and luxury
For anything but worthless beauty,
For a way not to be left behind or aside.
What a surrealistic find!
Amuse me; let the world drool for thee,
But like a century-long malady,
Such an absolutely incurable affliction
It is nothing but merely, purely,
Just as trivial as this poetic entry,
Vanity.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Laying there stagnant
My fingers percuss
Your ivory spine
Striking tendon strings
With fleshy hammers
Filling your thorax
With the vibrations
Of a thousand wasps
Stinging at your heart
As you stung at mine
Injecting resin
Injecting reason
To stay forever
And I ignite you
You, the Brazen Bull,
Cremating your heart
Still beating “I love you”
In boiling Morse code
But howling His name
In perfumed clouds of
Carbon Monoxide
Insensitively
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
The world of adults has for a long time been insensitively pouring lies onto the purity of the newly created mind, believing persistently in the vortex of nonsense while living in it. They do not know for the alternative . They are afraid…
That is why they are fostering the lie and with the finger in front of the mouth they are evoking premonition.
Silence was interrupted by a gentle voice from the corner. Lurking, he waited patiently for his moment. Then he started very slowly and softly and curious become quiet and then there was silence.
- Outside, you could hear a life! – said the kid – People live outside.
The father got up from the chair while the others looked at the child in astonishment, he then went to the window and said:
- There is no one out there. It's raining and it's gloomy. It gets dark faster in the autumn.
- Through the door, under the threshold, I feel the pollen from the blooming linden trees. It's morning and it isn’t dark. It is just about to be dawning. And it's not autumn but it's late spring – the boy said.
- There’s no morning, son. – said the concerned father, looking briefly at his son and then back to the backyard.
- There it is, behind the gates. Only you cannot see it. It’s scared of the grown-ups. I will go there and invite the morning to come in.
The kid ran out and returned in a few moments, holding the morning by the hand. The linden tree smelled even stronger and the joy of the awakened day sneaked into the house.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 7:38 AM UTC
Why did you burn me, Fire? Constantly
screaming, jagged in breath, while desperate
for attention-- Where's your dignity?
You've been asking for attention, reaching
for our hands, snapping towards scorched
palms you bubbled, inflated with infection.
I flinch when you spark back to creation.
You've cracked within pressure, Fire,
molten at the core, insensitively lost,
but you, Fire, you lost yourself within
heated monetary discussions--
You seek for growth, demolishing
the path you take. I can only blame
myself though, Fire. I'm the one who
encouraged, blew on your embers,
empowering your ideals, starting rampages
that engulfed forests and plains. Leaves
dared to love you, now burnt--
You've lost yourself, Fire. Will you
ever let your guard down again?
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
She sees the world in vibrant colors
Shades that will never be discovered
It is a different world for this woman.
Everything is flowers.
When she opens her eyes nothing is covered.
However no one can see what she sees.
No one can have her perspective;
And no one will see though her eyes,
Into her heart,
Inside her soul.
Her ears are quite different;
They hear pain and hate
It is a different world from what she hears and sees.
Her heart above all is filled with hate and love.
She hates the world, but she cannot hate any individual.
She knows what it is like to be hated
And pushed down so insensitively.
So she loves
But that love has yet to be returned.
Her mind is filled with the sight of beauty,
The sound of hate,
And emotions with no range.
Because of this
She will never be understood,
Never loved,
And never accepted as who she is.
So, the mask goes on
Hiding all of these,
“flaws”.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Too much trauma
The brain needs a rest
Who cares
Too much of everything
To sleep with no interference
In isolated solitude
A moment of no spoken word
Curtains drawn
Darkened room
My room of gloom
Devoid of thought
No telephone to insensitively pierce the silence
No one to enter the room uninvited
Utter words of razor
Cutting into you
Into your very soul
A hellish insensitive voice
The one that could make you ****
Feel no shame
Carry no blame
Then go back to sleep
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC