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when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic

2

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

3

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

4

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go

2

she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings

2

i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away

3

she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico

4

the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths

5

she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******

2

her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall

3

she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie

4

tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it

2

she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide
Maahv Z May 2015
dearer to me than my heart
dearer to me than my soul
and i bleed
I lose
with my heart and soul
Inflicting pain, sorrows
griefs -- endless remorse

Once my homeland was pure
it was freed from blood
******, insensitivity
once my homeland was free of evil inhabitants
sorrows multiplied a thousand fold
gathered in pain-inflicted tears
with lump in throats
distant from your presence
i cry-- for your loss

On the rooftops of tragedies, my heart sink more
like an orphan, an abandoned child
my homeland bleeds
i scream within
i feel the abandonment

dearer to me than my own voice
dearer to me than my own eyes
and i am silent
I am blind
losing my sight, losing my voice
as my voice can't reflect the pain i feel
my eyes can't cry any more
reflecting ocean of deprived

once my homeland was free of pain
people were safe
we running like rivers
do not say it
our country was a flesh in body
now it is a dead body amongst many flesh
forgotten the promises
forgotten the true colors
in the name of revenge, we humiliate humanity

my intention is not to write poems
in my soul, i embrace nights long
this land absorbed wounds, tears
blood, fights, and many martyrs
who are forgotten
my country is our hope
we are growing in broken shadows
this siege is waiting us to drown us
in the middle of lonesome warrior

nobody can feel in absence of love
who are incapable to feel
to take, to absorb
love require us to cry, to embrace
today our homeland is deprived
abandoned, bleeding

she is under siege
as we forgotten to love
we deprived her of her loyalty
we deprived her of her love
we deprived her of her true lovers

My homeland I feel your pain
in my heart I carry all with me
there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism  
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
Funeral processions
Spontaneous
Money, Money, Money
Bridges to Neverland should exist.

Wedding party
Music
Fall leaves
Breaks winter.

Intuition floods the sauna of life gated in
By the strong arms of the whispering trees.
******* profit, taking advantage of the sheltered
Wallets of men plagued by the insensitivity and greed
of the less mature.

*******, sir, for charging innocent minds and hungry souls
To enjoy the entrancement of the world
Far older than you
something I wrote during the drive to a hiking trip
mannley collins Jul 2014
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Gullibility Mandatory.
Insensitivity Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Immaturity Mandatory.
Childishness Mandatory.
Monarchy Mandatory.
Capitalism Mandatory.
Conservatism Mandatory.
Terrorism Mandatory.
Corruption Mandatory.
Incompetence Mandatory.
Socialism Mandatory.
Dictatorship Mandatory.
Militarism Mandatory.
Liberalism Mandatory.
Bhuddism Mandatory.
Islam Mandatory.
Christianity Mandatory.
Judaism Mandatory.
Hinduism Mandatory.
Vedism Mandatory.
Hatred Mandatory.
Anarchy Mandatory.
Jealousy Mandatory.
Nationalism Mandatory.
Fascism Mandatory.
Racism Mandatory.
Lies Mandatory.
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Heart Disease Mandatory.
Cancer Mandatory.
Idiocy Mandatory.
Eco-****** Mandatory.
All of us Humans.
Of all Five Colours.
Wherever we be.
Whatever we do.
However we "see" ourselves.
What do we call ourselves now?.
How about shallow nitpickers?.
Or celebrity obsessed morons?.
Or religious hypocrits?.
Or Democrats?.
Or Socialists?.
Or Revolutionaries.
Or just plain "nice folks"?.
Or supporters of oligarchy  policies?.
Or immature backpackers?.
Or government assassins of integrity?.
Or juicy *******?.
Or swift tongued ******* ticklers?.
no matter how many lie dead or injured as a result
of our obfuscation and avoidance.
As if poets have the explanation to life
except in strings of meaningless associated
but fine sounding words.
When "poets" are the voluntary slaves of Mind
and Conditioned Identity..
As if poets had the ***** to go beyond all these things.
As if .
Scrape the Moons suface and you will find a delicate Castello Blue Cream Cheese.
Fritzi Melendez Oct 2017
You act as if you aren't the root of the statements you deliberately claim.
As if telling me my character is flawed and I am everything to blame.

As if stating that I can not form a sentence without shaking and stuttering is bound to take over my life, crash, and fail.
As if hypocritically saying that I'll end up pregnant with an abusive boyfriend flipping burgers to make ends meet is how my life will sail.

Granted that I'm not even able to make anyone stay with me.
A torment of words in the prison of my home, I feel I'll never be free.  

Let me tell you something, ******.
I was doing much better until you came into my life, stole my mother's heart and ****** her.

Grabbed my hair in the intention to afflict pain and make me cry
Threw us in a cardboard box and you demanded we don't question why.

Moved us into a house for the reason being you wanted to be closer to your workplace.
No consideration of us, you just expected us to put a smile on our face.

Stole the only memories, childhood, and friends I have ever made.
Left in this empty home with my sad thoughts and the pill cabinet to raid.

Only my razor blades and the silence and my head spinning in a whirl.
You talk so high and mighty for a 40 something year old always picking on a melancholic teenage girl.

Like your ***** of a mother, like a ***** of a son.
You can't even handle the consequences when your deed has been done.

You do what your mother does, and take what I hate and use it to hurt me.
It is me that I hate, and you know how much it stings more than a bee.

Brainwashed my mother to be a replica of you.
It's so sad when I see my own mom break my heart in two.

Always said that she'll protect us first.
Until you came along and made that ideation of hers burst.

The inequality of your ethics is completely noticeable.
I'm not a ******* animal, I'm a person you caged in a bubble.

You wonder why I'm the way I am: so emotional, so sad, so problematic.
Even though I'm far from the stereotypical high school teenager statistics.

As much as you've claimed you have done so much good for this family,
You've also broken me too many times for me to count, the irreversible cracks in my brain and heart's anatomy.

You need to stop attacking my very presence.
As much as I hate myself, I'm also my own essence.

Let me get better without tearing me down.
Grow the **** up and stop making yourself look like an immature clown.

I know you'll never see this or even try to listen.
Just know everything comes back around, but until then,

I hope you realize your words are damaging to my very soul.
I hope you fix your **** and bury your insensitivity 6 feet down a hole.
Wanted to vent out about the **** my mom's boyfriend does. I'm just tired of being hurt by the very people that are supposed to take care of me.
Jenny March Jun 2011
You see right through me,
as though through a glass.

Unnoticed, ignored, invisible.

But I have flesh and blood,
I feel love, joy, pain like you.

Unnoticed, ignored, invisible.

You forget my name, repeatedly
mention someone else's

Unnoticed, ignored, invisible,

you tall a lot of smack
but when it boils down
you've hurt someone
you can never have back

Insensitivity can be forgiven
but only if its recognized,
apologized for.

Unnoticed, ignored, invisible.

My heart is as big as the western skies
but even a pin hole can drain such as I

I deserver better treatment than this
I demand better treatment than this
In the end, I will get better treatment
that this.

Unfortunately for you, respect goes both ways.
and I do not give what i don't receive.

I wont let you treat me as Invisible.

JCM 2011 ©

6/19/2011
Snow Child Apr 2011
Sitting by the fire, you stretch,
And breathe. The air is stiff,
Perfumed with insensitivity.
But to whom does this mysterious perfume belong?
For I am quite certain that it is not mine.
Your eyes stare,
My cheeks flush.
Our mouths show shameful smiles.
Slowly we lay on the ground,
Where the cooler air resides.
There is no overbearing perfume here,
Only the fire, the night,
And time.
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

There are more and more misfortunes in the world
Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions,
But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons
Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus
Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya,
I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage,
As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence,
**** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me
Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men,
I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease
But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies
My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them,
I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility
Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm!
Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom,
They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels,
I thought my ***** sharp pointed *******, assign of virginity
Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love,
But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind,
They they nonchalantly pass on my **** *****,
Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands
Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food,
Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat
The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity,
Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers
Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women,
Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow,
I thought my education will attract them to me,
To love me with those romantic University kisses,
But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion
They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil,
Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies
Of the forsaken African daughters,
Take me out of this ****** desert
Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar,
Take me to the equator line and give me a husband,
My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children
Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God,
Take me out of this ****** desert,
Where no man treats a modern woman,
Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream.

Because I have known from today;
It is accurse to be a woman in Africa
It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts
It is a curse to  be a woman graduate in the African desert
It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert,
O! Help me God.
MereCat Oct 2014
I have studied **** Germany
Someone stood and preached to me
All the ‘important’ names
All the ‘important’ dates
I wrote them down like longshore secrets
And debated over them
Like they were the pencil sharpenings
With which I littered the floor
‘Excellent analysis’ she said
I have even stood by the gas chambers
And the gallows
At Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp
And written insensitive poetry about insensitivity
But have I heard of Hans Litten?
Of course I haven’t.
I have stood in the Berlin gestapo office
And formed philosophies that feel more like profanities
Wondering how it can ever be appropriate
To take a school trip to a genocide
But tonight my ‘important’ education
Feels like the greatest atrocity
My guilty ignorance beats almost unbearably
Around my rib-cage
And waits for the shatter and the shards
Because I have never heard of Hans Litten
We all know six million
But who knows the six million?
We remember names that we stored away
Because mentioning them in an essay
Might bring about a higher grade
Displaying ‘a highly developed and complex level of understanding’
We remember names like we remember shopping lists
Or science lessons;
A few particular points
No attachment necessary
In fact, clinical detachment is far more becoming
When it comes to essay questions
They never told us about Hans Litten
Or about the men who also ran in the race to be in history books
Or about their mothers
And their fathers
And the people they shared cells with
And the people they shared graves with
My God, they never told us about Hans Litten
And Hans Litten is better known
Than most of those phantom dead
Those cracked-open voices that dared to raise
Until they were too loud for anything but the conveyer-belt
Concentration Camp system.
And the thing is that six million is not such a big number anymore
Because there are 49,506,514 views of Simon Cowell crying
And nearly 300 million of One Direction singing a song which is not so beautiful after all
And people are so desensitized to the number six million
That they believe that the world
Would not have enough **** in it
Without them posting hatred after obscenity after hatred in the YouTube comments
And Hans Litten, I can’t help feeling that I’ve failed you
My generation could tell you the private lives of their idols
But would not know your name
And we will still pour into school on Monday morning
And chorus our tireless fatigue and our lack of motivation for life
And I will still pour into school on Monday morning
And let myself complain and moan and grapple for sympathy.
I’ve acquired this abstracted self-loathing recently
That is less a hatred of myself than a hatred of what I have made of myself
Of my ingratitude and self-centred inability
To compose poems that do not start and end with Me
And of my procrastination and my ceaseless desire
To live something other than the life I’ve been given
Like I asked for extra cheese and got given Margharita
****.
I’m insufferable.
Hans Litten your list of injuries was ten times longer
than the list of all the wrongs I’ve had done against me.
Last night I went to watch a play called Taken At Midnight... it's about Hans Litten, in case you hadn't guessed... it tore me to shreds and then made whatever was left of me want to be ripped up too.

It is brilliant.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/11138692/Taken-at-Midnight-Chichester-Festival-Theatre-review-harrowing.html
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
I’m nervous, simply waiting for you to snap me
like a twig.
I’ve bundled my feelings, my loves and hates,
all those outspoken words
and all those silenced words,
into a little gift-wrapped, topped-with-a-bow
gift
for you.

You will accept it.
It is what comes after, when it reaches your nimble hands,
that frightens me.

You weave your skill so well,
like knitted discord inside, I can feel
when I reach in to see if I’m all still there.
Under many dark moons,
you leave your shadow to keep me company.

It walks beside me, keeping my head whirring on into the
small hours of the darkened dawn when
I see it
at the foot of my bed
watching me sleep.
You told it to crawl into all the tight spaces
inside me,
with me.
It reminds me of you, endlessly, always,
breathing your name as I surrender to closing my eyes,
vulnerable lying before your peering shadow,
it could stop me breathing in a heartbeat.

Only you, sweet devil, can keep me falling so hard
so fast,
shedding myself trailing from your bed to mine.
I linger in the smell of you wrapped around my clothes,
taken off in a hurry as your words,
sizzling spitfire,
hand-made cuts and invisible haemorrhage
shatter me to pieces
easy enough for you to pick and keep in
your bed until you are finally finished
with me.

All I feel is the burden of myself,
when I really have no burden to hold.
I’m a phone running out of battery when you need it most.
Filled with a frenzied panic, a slap of frustration passes your face
to use against me all that bottled irritation.
If I don’t touch you back you will
wield it against me,
blame for insensitivity, a slowly seeping coldness
I can fight off under your roaming form
in a shady light of fear.

Your emotional abuse is a character.
It has a body, limbs and hollow face and it can bruise me
with a single touch.
I never leave my body open with you.
And to what end do I let you paint me with your manipulations,
your scheming tactics
your irrevocable evidence I’m worth nothing more for you;
like a girl’s doll known to be too pretty,
putting sticky residue inside their goals at night.

So use me with your infamous fingers.
I dare you, do it.
Again.
Austin Heath Aug 2014
Saw someone drop their phone
and laughed at them.
I'd like to watch the world drop
their stupid/smartphones
and have to look at each others
stupid goat like faces and gazes.

Remind me what heaven looks like,
all I remember is that I'm a scumbag
with moral insensitivity and
you are my nightmares off the page.
Simultaneously a classic,
also a contemporary gore piece.
A landmine seized by epidemic.

Walked away with an insincere
"I'll see you later",
and I responded with a sincere
"Whatever."
Maybe I'm destroying myself in
character slowly but it takes
so ******* long still.
I cheered an old man who crossed the street alone.
I'm getting too close to yelling at a manager,
and losing a job I need to much.
Too close to the edge, but
when I think about it I always am,
and when I think even harder
I hate everything so much.
oh what sustains this mind

a mind that teeters

on the edge of a spiral vertigo

that sways and rocks

in an unease of palpitations

attempting to escape

from the brutal insensitivity

of the granite faces that occupy the streets

a mind of hallucinated perceptions

with a constant stream of imagery

that finds a difficulty in the self negotiation,

the articulation of its inner geography

where a frightened availability of disturbance

in the vocabulary of its chemical graffiti

leaves speech vacated on the tongue

where eyes are pushed to see

a discord of sympathies for different dimensions

that has one disassociated, cut off from the immediate

living in an inner dialogue

of rebellious and unconventional preoccupations  

a self alienation that heightens

the poetic colouring of the imagination

causes a ******* of the mind

that makes me cripplingly aware

of the abyss at the heart of my inner disquiet

makes my toes hover on the jagged edge of the world

yet I jump choosing discovery over societal dictum

to do rather than be
A sleep so sound

As to only wake

The dreams of others

Where armstice

Is given to thought

That wanders beyond

The jeweled dawn

In a defection of insensitivity

A quality of oppression

To look on beauty

And wear its lightness

In generosity, a generosity

Of mutual attraction

That bargains not for purse

But wealth much more sought

To sleep a million dreams

To bask in a different version

Of that which is the same

To have that embrace

Or metaphor entwined within

Yes and awaken with a smile

A smile, a smile, just a smile
Bob B Oct 2018
Insensitivity reigns supreme
At the White House. No, this isn't a dream.
You'd think that one would have more sense.
I guess we can't expect that from Pence.

Two days after eleven died
At a synagogue, shot inside
By an angry extremist--completely hate filled--
Who stated that ALL Jews should be killed,

The vice president, with little regard
For others' beliefs--why's that so hard?--
Introduced a "rabbi" whose views
Aren't respected by practicing Jews

At Lena Epstein's election campaign
In Michigan. Completely insane!
Is Pence defiant, or is he naïve?
Does he not care what others believe?

"Rabbi" Loren has been involved
With Jews for Jesus. They are resolved
To carry out their major ambition:
Converting Jews. Yes, that's their mission.

Many are outraged by the lack
Of sensitivity. Doesn't it smack
Of disrespect, brashness, and cheek--
A real kick in the pants, so to speak?

Do not tell me that reasons abound
Why there were no other rabbis around--
Rabbis whose messages wouldn't collide
With many beliefs of the people who died.

"Rabbi" Loren was there to address
The carnage in Pittsburgh, but also to bless
Republicans wanting a victory nod
From their pro-Republican God.

-by Bob B (10-30-18)
Danielle Shorr Feb 2015
We are laughing while passing a bottle back and forth between the two of us
Our breath reeks of nicotine vapor and the remnants of marijuana mixed with whisky
I down half a bottle of Maker’s Mark and you ask how it is I am able to do so with such ease
I tell you it isn’t difficult and it isn’t
I want to add that swallowing bitterness is much more pleasant on one's own terms but I do not say this part aloud
Instead I act like my insensitivity to alcohol is a skill not relevant to a family history of addiction
Built from uncles and fathers using liquid as a method to cauterize open flesh
A mechanism of numbing that has been passed down for years as casually as a recipe
We keep our secrets tacked onto hard labels and the inner caps of beer bottles
We antique our inheritance with the reminder that it has always been this way
This ability to drown myself under the weight of high content is nothing more than expectation
I make wine to water the moment it reaches my tongue
I convert drunken slurs to a language understood
I know sour breath more than I do mild
I didn’t learn drinking from beer pong and taking shots
I didn’t learn how to from games at parties and competition
I didn’t learn it as an activity or an outlet, I learned it as a habit turned routine
I was introduced to liquor with the same hand that walked me to school everyday
With the same lips that kissed me goodnight
This comprehension for the intoxicated soul is as engrained as my predisposition to become one
The only thing impressive about this relationship with alcohol will be how I choose to survive it,
Not all of us have.
Rafael Melendez Apr 2016
I wholeheartedly wish you good luck in endeavors I'd rather you wouldn't attempt. I'm absolutely oozing with selfless insensitivity.
Musical mood for this write. Grizzly Bear-Shields-Yet Again
Chuck Jan 2013
Verbiage

Sagacious humans would concur
Salacious verbiage is trenchant
Verdant language withers a guileless soul
Hubristic linguists deem limpid oratory irksome

A Didactic, petulant, boorish, garrulous, nefarious, obtuse, and insolent
Overtone is not my intent
Puckish, risible, mannered, jocular, antic, and adroit
Reverberations I am manifesting

TRANSLATION

Words

Smart people would agree
Healthy words are sharp
Unripe words die naive spirits
Self-confident word users find simple language annoying

Moral instruction, rude, insensitivity, wordy, wicked, blunt, and contemptuous
Feelings are not my purpose
Impish (silly), laughable, artificial, playful, clownish, and clever
Reactions I'm hoping to create
As a poet, words are always on my mind. I do, however, believe that words are worthless if they are not understood.

If $2 words aren't comprehended by the audience, they are not worth a cent!
Lucy Power Apr 2012
The only legacy of maturity is insensitivity
I will die old will think nothing of it.
The young tend sodium springs
All the while watched by the barren.
Muted observers to life labours conceiving gasp
Unwilling to interpret.
Bald cries to heaven go souls dug with grapples stuck.
Silence takes precedence in the right seat
Unlawful is the wrong
Red is the left
Old knows all is dark.
We run water to rid false colour
Run it until we are dry
Run it until we are black.
Sharina Saad May 2013
Dear Daughter,
Again you let me down
You didn't meet my expectation
Saw my face in Hall of shame,
Held my head real down
Big disappointment...
Where shall I hide my face?

My Friends topic of the week,
My daughter... your daughter... her daughter
Juicy gossips...
Straight A's, no straight A's
You put me in A total mess
I really felt out of place...

Defense mechanism,
pointing my fingers straight
It was easy to put the blame on you
My ego was big of course,
I denied the fact that...
I set a standard too high...
The benchmark was me
Forced you to compete with perfection
Forgotten the fact that you are you
Never could be me... or anybody else
My achievement, my capabilities were different
and yours were yours alone...
incomparable to me, incomparable to others

Unintentionally, I molded a double
Designed my clone
Created another hall of fame
But I was wrong to play god's role
When he created you,
You were your unique self
a different special individual...

Dear Daughter,
From now on...
I let you be you
Please forgive me for my ignorance,
insensitivity... but trust me
I'd be proud that I am part of you...
and I'd pray to god you'd be successful
your own way.....

With Love,
Mummy...
every parents should be proud of their kids achievement. Not every children is born a genius.
Sandra Martyres Apr 2013
Something snapped within her that day.
She felt a bullet go through her head,
Killing her spirit instantly.
Shock gripped her and she stood frozen
Until salty tears flowed freely.

She wondered, if her tormentors,
Those miserable egoists,
Understood the extent to which,
Their insensitivity had
Robbed her of her natural armour,

Standing outside in pouring rain,
Without raincoat or umbrella,
She was drenched almost to the bone.
Then looking to the heavens, she said
"Lord, I pray that this too shall pass"
Liz Jul 2017
The pressure behind my eyes swells
Like the tide under a full moon.
Waves crack against my rocky shores
And shatter over me.
Shards wash away
But most stay lodged in my bleeding heart.

And I love you anyway.
I love you despite your inconsistency
and insensitivity.
I love you even though
I can't stand too close
Without feeling worthless.
I love you even though
You're radioactive.

I love you despite the fact that you never
Held me the way I needed you to.
You were never there
The way I was there for you.
When I needed you the most,
You looked into my crying eyes
And walked away.
But I love you anyway.

I needed you a lot
And maybe I was too clingy.
But maybe i wouldn't have held
Onto you so tightly
If I could be sure you would be there
When I reached for you.

You always knew
That I would drop anything
And everything to be there for you.
But you never gave me that security.
Still, I love you

I love you even though
I can't be sure of
Who you are anymore.
You used to show me how you felt
You used to let me know.
But you've become so robotic
I'm not sure you feel a thing anymore.
And I love you.

You used to smile
You used to laugh
Now your eyes are empty
Except for racing calculations.
Always thinking
Never feeling.

You're barely human anymore,
Just a machine
That won't stop spewing
And fixing things that aren't broken.
Yet, I love you.

And you wonder why
Your friends are gone
You wonder why you feel so alone.
You won't reach anyone
Where they need to be felt.

And I love more than anything.
I love you like I might die tomorrow.
I love you even though you don't love me anymore.
I love you even though you broke promises you never made.
I love you even though you don't deserve my love anymore.
Geno Cattouse Oct 2012
Love equals 2 parts sense. 5 parts senses and 3 parts insensity.

Like equals 4 parts sense. 4 parts senses and 2 parts insensitivity.

Tolerate equals 5 parts sense ,2 parts senses and 3 parts intent.

Dislike equals 6 parts cencure ,3 parts severence and 1 part sentence.

Irk eauals 8 parts deslike,1 part loath and 1 part despise.

Loathe equals 9 parts irk and 1 part dislike

When you go past 10, reboot and start again.
Ashwin Kumar May 19
Am I really self-centered?
Well, certainly am I not selfish
Always, do I help people in need
And you definitely cannot accuse me of greed
For my family, cousins and friends
My love and care has no end!

Am I really self-centred?
Not boasting, but am I kind
And loyal to a fault
Certainly, am I a compassionate adult
And do my best to empathise with people
As far as possible
Including even those who don't deserve it
Because, I know what it is like
To be ignored or laughed at
Hence, are there certain jokes
For which I do my best
To keep a poker face
Since, I do not appreciate insensitivity
After all, known am I, for my sensitivity!!

Am I really self-centred?
Yes, there are certain times
When I do tend to be self-obsessed
However, not too often do they come
In fact, often has my heart bled
Even when it was not required!!

Am I really self-centred?
Well, many a mistake have I made
However, always do I apologise
And give people space
I don't repeat my mistakes either
Because, truly do I care
For the wellbeing of others!!

Am I really self-centred?
Many a time, have I cried
Even for relatively small things
Doesn't that tell you something?
The fact that I care a lot
About other people's opinions
Should ideally show, that I am self-centred, NOT
In my life, have I learned a lot of lessons
And, over a period of time, changed for the better
Hope this at least provides the answer
To the question I have been repeatedly asking
Genuinely sorry am I, for all the time wasting
However, I am sure you would have understood by now
As to why and how
This issue means so much to me!!
Poem where I introspect - as to whether I am self-centred or not.
Shaded Lamp Sep 2014
Three wise monkeys from far away
in the mystical ancient east
Their simple message misunderstood
so that the west can gorge and feast.
~~
Mizaru "See no evil"
~~
Meaning precisely just that
to not repeatedly look upon ill deed
Not to "turn the blind eye" of indifference
As the many starve whilst others feed

Simply, the more evil that you see
the less empathetic you become.
Constant destruction in the news
normalises genocide till we are numb
~~
Kikazaru "Hear no evil"
~~
Just like Mizaru, Kikazaru
tries to absorb less evil news.
Refusing to listen to the screams
He retains his compassionate views.

Understanding that overconsumption
of evil, violence and negativity
turns the purest warm heart cold
and breeds dark insensitivity.
~~
Iwazaru "Speak no evil"
~~
Differing from the previous two monkeys
speaking no evil is a consequence
of not seeing and hearing wickedness
delivering this providence

For if vile behaviour is consumed
through your sight and, or sound
That evil inside must be expelled
It can't be just buried or drowned
~~
Note how the news desensitises you
and how violence is sold to your kids
Remember The Three Wise Monkeys
and consider what each one forbids.
Take it or leave it
but violence breeds violence.
David W Jones Oct 2013
The plot thickens; he played the game
so timid, so close to victory,
tasting a hint of defeat.
The game of his life,
trashed and trodden
beneath unexpected cowardice.
Jack Daniels slowly evaporating
within the cool glass; nerves
growing numb to personal sentiments
listening to insensitivity plea for attention.
Clinging to that moment,
promising something different;
feeling the heat of amber ***** eating away
the remains of expectations.
there is heard an amplified distinction of sounds
smells of accelerated inner vertigo
a feeling of immanent death
the distillation of blood stains on the sheets
an impulse of volatilized emotion
that generates a different vocabulary
creates a fixation with a considered state
of inner concerns, entertains other dimensions
discovers with sinister undertones
that one is a figment, yes a figment
of someone else’s imagination
that you are a a fascinated but unfortunate escape
from a brutal insensitivity that sustains a mind
that teeters at the jagged edges of the world
for is it you… are is it who, an hallucinated perception
of the I, the we, the them and the me
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
When did the world drive you mad
You angel, caveman, protégé
Surrounded by cardboard and insensitivity
Who told you your worth was determined
By riding above your painted tires?
**** the mockingbirds
Stay in your beautiful garbage world
Surfs ablaze, ocean waves swallow the buildings
And Bennie brought the jets, gliding in armored cars
Did you open your tequila factory up there?
I'll make sure to ask the tour guide
Or get a road map, when I get there
(Your head met your hands in a way only you could understand)
Inspired by Basquiat
Francesca Sep 2014
You, my sweet,
Are undeserving
Of the burden I lay upon you
So carelessly.
You say you want to carry me
But I fear
The ball of anxiety in my chest
Will make me heavier than I already am,
Too heavy to hold.

I don't want your
Arms to break
Back to ache
Face to redden
Smile to drop
Jaw to clench
Eyes to lose the beautiful light they have within them
Passion to die
Because of insensitivity.
My insensitivity.

The guilt would rip me apart.
So why don't we stop kidding ourselves
And end it all
Before the resentment grows
And the anger boils up inside of us?

Why not?
Because you are the only one
Who makes me feel safe
In this chaotic space.
when he looked at a woman he searched for qualities that attracted him because he wanted to desire her yet this tendency created an imbalance or disadvantage he was rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealized self-realizing this propensity he looked away from women years of disappointment neglect changed him he became afraid of women gynophobic

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about the future she looks at her face naked body in the mirror her stomach churns feels a sad sickening remembers a time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of the other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi
Odi May 2014
I tell him about the 90 year old that made a home in my body.
Say "I feel more than the nineteen years, I feel more than your nineteen years."
He takes it as evidence towards what he calls my "superiority complex"
makes a joke about thinking I'm so much wiser than everybody else as I stammer with arms crossed trying to find the words my nineteen year old vocabulary does not know.

This has nothing to do with being wise you sonofabitch, its about an exhaustion that paints the dark color around my eyes and the sigh that lives in my belly you ******.

He interrupts, laughing "What do you mean? Your bones ache or something? haha hahaha." Loud, obnoxious, not the first time,
not the last. I want to say yes

yes
yes they ache ad they creak
and they burn and so do my eyes and so do my insides and so do the words I say and the way I say them and the way it scares others when I say some profound ****, I almost sound like Gandhi, like Bukowski, I just never learnt of a beautiful way to disguise my pain. Not enough so It could sell.


I was better off alone when the ice made a security blanket around my heart-better off with no pain.
He shines a mirror on all my missing parts, calls me ****** up.
Stand next to me just to lean over in his height, superiority complex runs high among privileged nineteen year old straight males.

The ice thawed but he came with no gloves
I found the bruising less tolerable than the cold this time around
Less bearable than the lonely beat my heart learned to sing.
Its the same story he just repeats himself as another boy who says the wrong things and makes me feel
exhausted for every having opened up my icebox full of secrets.
Every conversation is an emptying out and not the cathartic kind.
The kind that leaves the ninety year old in me shaking with nothing left inside her but rotting gums and eyes that have seen too much ****. Nobody is supposed to make you this unhappy. This is not what I asked when I asked for you to make me feel something.
Every time I say your name Matthew, it almost comes out Nathan, in my head. Nathan with his accent, and the same humor, same jokes. Nathan the boy I emptied myself out to just so he could leave bruises on the uncovered parts. It was so easy to to leave somebody I never gave a **** about.

Matthew, I only say your name so often so I remember it, so I say it right, so I remind myself you are not the same person. Matthew sounds allot like Nathan when your drunk or sad which I am most of the time these days, you sound allot like him with your laugh, sound like your gonna leave bruises on all the parts I lift up to show you. I know this.

This is a fact. Like I know I wont ever cry for you until I'm all thawed out.
Matthew, for  your painstaking insensitivity, for your lack of understanding
Matthew for you not understanding all the creaking in my bones is just screaming

Save me
Fix me

Give me one reason why you're good for me because I cannot think of any and
*I so desperately want to
*** we started tags in hellopoetry too now? ffs
Abigail Madsen Nov 2012
Empty room
Empty heart
I just wanna go back to the start
the start of it all
the walk before the fall
Beginning before the end
When
when will it end
The hurt
before being put in the dirt
before dirt is all i know
I mean c'mon we all know this is a show
for all the foes
and the hoes
who dared
dared to doubt my creativity
To suffer your insensitivity
to my insecurities
because when you're in your thirties
I'll be in my prime
while you wont be able to drop a dime
for the shattered
dreams wasted
seams burned
hate overturned
only crushed dreams
left for you, never me
m lang Apr 2019
my "insensitivity"
isn't stemmed from negativity,
but more so a desire
to think about it logically.

a life without stress
is when i do my best.
and don't take that as     distance,
but my choice
to be  sep ara te.
                          
             independant.

   me, myself, and i
mind, body, and soul.
woven together underneath
the attachment of my surface layer.
hidden from most,
deemed "unreadable."

my "detachment"
a word often describing my
lack of attention-
is not a reflection
of my affection,
or a distraction
from my emotions,
but a reflection
taking place of a reaction.

my "cold heart"
is not the polar
to a warm heart.
it is simply the polar
to a fiery heart,
but it burns
just as fiercely.
8.9.18, finished 1.16.19
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
They cry about heaven
Even as they transform skin
Into sin, punishable by death
Or ****, or disfigurement
Sent by the devil for sure
Wearing tonsures and cassocks
Causing their own brand of havoc
Ruled by insensitivity
Because we are the enemy
No longer human, doomed
To suffer the ravages
Of their bad ***** training
And lack of discipline
Over and over again
On playgrounds as kids.

They did it all over again
When in uniform, warmed
By the glow of popular bigotry
Idiocy blessed by some dope,
Some Protestant proto-pope
Who thinks God has time
To engage in crime in his name
So they can blame him instead.
Little else in their head
They steal land, and brand people
Burn people, assault people
And do their best to make them feel
Their god, their way is not real
And is not worth keeping.

Sleeping at night, nobody knows how
Now that they have shown their colors
To their brothers and sisters;
That they will **** mothers and fathers
And babies and the land
And think it just grand
Because they got paid
As they laid waste,
Turned the gardens to paste
Between the toes of evil.
We the boll, they the weevil;
They mashed us under their feet
No thought of being discreet,
We were fodder for their hatriotism.

Not patriotism.
That is impossible
And totally improbable
Once you’ve sold your soul
To Old Nick and his minions,
Hell’s hand-picked denizens
Who look just like your neighbor;
They labor at jobs, like you do
And look a lot like you, too,
Especially if you make excuses
To commit abuses
And blame it on god.
Savor the rod
And abuse the child.
Isn’t hatred wild?
Always on hand.
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
POEM 106**
“Lose Yourself to Dance”

It’s a new year
so ‘lose yourself to dance’;
wild gyrations laughing
at hips swaying the air
in riotous tones
and happy feet.
‘Come on, come on
everybody on the dance floor’,
yes, even you
with those doubts and fears,
let me dance away your tears,
just ‘lose yourself to dance’.
~~~
I know the world’s a mess,
that we live in light and dark,
inner turmoil
of what we are becoming;
self conscious insensitivity
to atrocity after atrocity,
wondering,
have we lost our humanity?
~~~
As the world,
our lives,
teeter in this chaos
let’s   STOP!
And lose ourselves to dance.
‘Come on, come on come on,
everybody on the floor’;
bodies afire with rebel music
we won’t live their way any more.
Let’s dance in our gardens,
plant our seeds,
harvest a world
without their criminality.
~~~
‘Lose yourself to dance’.
Yes even you
with all your fears,
all those self-cultivated doubts
pass them through music’s prism,
a mirror of refracted life,
a pathway to hope
and our humanity.
~~~
Come on, come on, come on
it’s a new year - 2016
everybody on the floor
join me in rebellious dance!

Aztec Warrior 12.31.15
First off: HAPPY NEW YEAR poets of HP!!!  A bit of explanation. This poem is inspired by several things all at once. First is reading a poem by Vicki ("in the savage garden") and I used some of her ideas in this poem; second is listening to this song by Daft Punk, "Lose Yourself To Dance" (the link is :  https://youtu.be/t-8rvk40qss ) hope you enjoy it; and third in a few short hours it will be 2016!!!  So I hope everyone enjoys the poem and has a very happy, healthy new year!!!
he watches Her because she is one of those people who demands attention
She is wild and bold and sarcastic
he sees, though he is blind to Her insensitivity

she stares at Another because He is one of those people who sits at the back beautifully
He is good and charming and kind to His mother
she sees, though she closes her eyes to His cowardliness

he longs after The Girl who is taken because She is one of those people dreamt of
She is polished and pure with a bright smile
he sees, though he is oblivious to Her vanity

— The End —