"insulted" poems
A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.
9.5k
So the clever artist manages to push all her friends away,
And the clever artist decides to distract herself from her plight.
The clever artist goes outside to paint
In the rain.
In the middle of the night.
The clever artist crafts damaged brushstrokes.
And the very clever artist watches them wash away.
The clever artist sends herself mostly blind
As she watches her foggy breath over a flashlight.
The clever artist thinks about the silence that blares,
Despite the music coming from everywhere.
And oh the clever artist!--
Dropped her brush in the dirt.
But she still managed to disguise her hurt..
The artist cleverly insulted the paintbrush in hand;
Clever words, metaphorically meant.
It was then the clever artist ran inside
Her hair dripping from the rain, tangled and wild.
The stupid artist sits down before a page,
Taking her favourite seat.
And writes the worst excuse of a poem ever made.
Becoming the least worthy poet you'll ever meet
The stupid artist can't write,
Nor paint for ****
And of her friendship skills?
Well, **** it.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
I let go too soon, of these three fingers
pinning a white dress to my knees,
such a strut they possess, and psychic
for the waggle I do on my tulip-days:
mama said that the lace came from an
elves’ head, I could not wear it.
I put it in a dresser drawer, as I lost
my appetite for marriage and friends.
She said that father wanted to see it,
I should parade my red, pulsing veins.
A torpedo, it became, cowering until
liftoff and glory hallelujah first kisses.
Was it not funny when I, poor chap,
kept garbage in my teeth and laughed
when you slithered your tongue inside,
like Friday penetrating the weekend?
You are a Leo; I am far from such, but
I understand why you may be insulted,
as mama garbs turquoise as the sky
and all our daffodils burn like rubber.
Each says it is because they love me,
railing cat-scratches with a stitch –
but I do not want that, see earthquakes
that hammer on our tulip-days, dear.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Bravery
I thought I was brave
with the scars to prove it.
My legacy -
broken bones, split knuckles,
black eyes and loose teeth.
Adulation and respect.
I fought both man and isms
Never backed down.
But a black man, driving
an Uber taught me the truth of
true bravery.
Harassed, insulted, threatened by
a low-life passenger,
white racism covered in a cheap suit and tie,
he refused to take the bait.
He denied himself the pleasure of
justified violence.
He told me his story -
and anger for him, righteous indignation,
crashed over me in furious waves.
I admonished him for not
confronting that mans ignorance
with a closed and determined fist.
Never back down, right?
Gently, he spoke the truth of
black men in America.
His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror.
You, he said, are innocent until proven guilty.
Protected by a system that
oppresses me.
I am guilty - period - and would be lucky
to be arrested, not killed,
in a confrontation with that bigot.
So he did nothing, let the swine in a tie
off at his destination,
and drove on - leaving that pig to
wallow in his hate.
His bravery earned him nothing.
No adulation. No respect. No recognition.
Nothing except another day of life.
Another day with his family.
In contrast - my lifetime of bravery.
A pale reflection, when set beside his truth.
He was brave, not I.
My self-styled bravery, forever
tainted
by my privilege.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
have you ever
sat
and wondered about
the putrid smell
of corpses
and what happens after this--
all types of magical forces?
have you ever
stood
in line for hours
waiting only
to be
insulted by cowards?
I've often
wondered in the morning
over
my donuts glazed
how you can
not talk to me
for several days;
but when you do
it fits like a shoe,
and now just what
are we going to do?
have you heard
sad words
whispered from a lover's lips,
and if so,
did it bring a tearful kiss
or
was it more like
a lustful hiss?
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
I have little to say in new environments.
I tend to act shy and forget how to form words.
So when I had to go to marching practice and was
surrounded by people I didn't know
I suffered.
Was it not obvious that I was flustered when I fell
five times in thirty minutes?
Maybe it wasn't obvious how I kept repeating the
same thing over and over again,
hoping people would stop staring.
But instead of caring you walked straight up to me
and made me look like a fool in front of
everyone.
**** in, you're stomach is showing!"* You exclaimed
before poking me with a drumstick and catching me off guard.
It hurt and my torso bent and all the upper classmen
laughed at me.
So thank you for embarrassing me, it will not be forgotten.
It won't be forgotten like the time you insulted me
in the seventh grade and I 'accepted' your apology.
But what do I know?
I'm just a kid and you're a
band director
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Remembering those that are keeping it all together whilst being screamed at, humiliated, insulted, offended and hurt.
Those who feel like screaming but holding the meltdown in check.
Those who are frustrated and trapped and killing somebody seemed the best option but just do not have the right state of mind.
Those whom in the ugly face of violence, are still fighting for their right to freedom of choice.
Freedom for a right to live equally because, life has dealt them a hard hand. A right to be who they dream to be.
Those that are being mistaken for their tears as mere weakness.
Those that have lost their spirit to fight but are hoping-still.
Those who are in their lowest now but still faithful and pressing on despite everything.
Those that feel the need to cry but had to smile instead.
Those who live within their means but wish there could have been more or be more because of another brother, sister, relative in need.
Those who put every one elses need ahead of their own.
Lest we forget, you are remembered today.
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
Do not eat of Faerie food
And do not drink of Faerie wine
Or when you leave Faerie at last
The home you seek's no longer thine.
Do not step in Faerie rings
Do not enter the Faerie Mound
Or when rescue comes for thee
Your sanity will ne'er be found.
Do not lie to Faerie folk
And don't insult the Faerie Queen
Or for all of eternity
You and yours will not be seen.
Do not enter Faerie woods
And do not walk the Faerie trod
Or, though you come back to hearth,
Your heart will ne'er again be thawed.
Don't listen when Faeries sing
And ignore the Banshee wail
Or you will have the dubious fame
Of becoming a Faerie tale.
Do not look through Faerie stones
That you find on the Faerie ground
Or they will put out your eye
So you can't see when they're around.
Do not enter Faerieland
But if you do, don't leave the path
Or you'll be lost for ever more
In darkness where the monsters laugh.
Do not ask for Faerie help
If it comes take care how you pay
Some want clothes or milk for it
Some are insulted and betray.
Do not accept Faerie gold
From captured elf or leprechaun
For it will turn to moss and leaves
And when you look up they'll be gone.
Don't swim in the Faerie stream
Where nixies and kelpie play
Banshee wash dead men's ****** clothes
In that water, so stay away.
Do not believe what Faeries say
Though it's true that they cannot lie
They never say quite what they mean
Honestly they will truth deny.
Don't even taste Faerie repast
No goblin fruits from elven trees
They're addictive beyond belief
A wise man offered such food flees.
'Ware giving thanks for Faerie gifts
Though they save you from all pain
Or else you may be in their debt
And lose more than you stood to gain.
Beware lights off Faerie shores
And lanterns seen in wild bogs
For wisps will lead folks off of cliffs
And laugh as corpses float like logs.
And buy naught from Faerie markets
They sell goblin fruits, curses, lies
The price your dreams, your past, your soul
Your voice, the color of your eyes.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Flamingos aren't naturally pink
But not for the reason most think
They preen and they dye
And they leave it to dry
Before rinsing it off in the sink
The magpies send me into fits
The ducks have me losing my wits
The crows are a blight
And they crow all night
But I do enjoy watching the ****
Vanessa McRafferty-Fryer
Set alight to the **** of her squire
She took a few shots
Of his privatest spots
And then laughed as he ****** out the fire
A penguin called Panama Pete
Had no love of the snow on his feet
So he stayed for a spell
At the polar hotel
With a pool and Jacuzzi en suite
I met a quite curious swan
By a lake I was boating upon
It tickled my ***
And insulted my mum
With a flurry of wings, it was gone
I know of a Gerald McFitz
Who arouses himself when he sits
For his favorite chair
Is the shape of a pair
Of voluptuous wobbly ****
and one for that special someone...
Your pancreas really is grand
Tis a thoroughly marvelous gland
You've a cute little spleen
Though it's seldom seen
And a nose growing out of your hand **
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
"Be careful son, but be free"
You were warned, and yet
higher and higher you flew
closer and closer to Apollo
and your wax wings were melted
with his embrace.
But tell me, Icarus,
was it worth it in the end?
How did it feel
to graze the heavens?
Tell me, dear one,
how did it feel to live violently?
to live carelessly?
"Be careful, son, be free."
You chose to live,
if only in that moment.
Higher and higher you sailed
until your very being insulted Apollo
and with one kiss,
your wings were destroyed.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.
Lambasted,
insulted.
Abrasive ...
au naturel?
I think...
Surely not.
Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.
Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.
Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.
That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
We see ourselves as an individual,
The person people see as an equal.
Your opinion about self might differ,
Sometimes causing the heart quiver.
This courage we build up within,
Can be demolished by one true sin.
You need not have eyes to see,
The thing you were blessed with; beauty.
We are often called ugly,
And sometimes we are addressed as pretty.
One can really affect your self esteem,
Your pride and appearance slowly dying.
We are always told to listen to others,
But rules are to be broken, so are orders.
Just staying there and being insulted,
Is something hurting and really complicated.
Don't downgrade the looks of an individual,
You're not any prettier doing so at all,
What's inside is what truly matters,
Remember, don't judge books by their covers.
We see things wide and clear now,
Why saints to their masters bow.
There is one thing you must be told,
Find the reflection of the soul.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
1561
No Brigadier throughout the Year
So civic as the Jay—
A Neighbor and a Warrior too
With shrill felicity
Pursuing Winds that censure us
A February Day,
The Brother of the Universe
Was never blown away—
The Snow and he are intimate—
I’ve often seem them play
When Heaven looked upon us all
With such severity
I felt apology were due
To an insulted sky
Whose pompous frown was Nutriment
To their Temerity—
The Pillow of this daring Head
Is pungent Evergreens—
His Larder—terse and Militant—
Unknown—refreshing things—
His Character—a Tonic—
His future—a Dispute—
Unfair an Immortality
That leaves this Neighbor out—
3k
To the men who have hurt me, both physically and emotionally. To the men who have sexually harassed me. To the men who have tried to coerce and guilt trip me. To the men who tried to take advantage of me when I was 15, the lowest point in my life. When I was weak. Destroyed from depression, from bullying, from the transition of middle school to high school, from anxiety, from blind parents and others ignorance. To those of you who knew I was in a ****** up state of mind, who pretended to support me when I was crying, only to run your hand up my thigh and whisper "I can make you forget about it." To the boys who abused me, insulted me, struck me, brought a suicidal teenage girl to the point of destruction. To the guy who didn't quite **** me, but who came close. Who grabbed all over me while I shoved and smacked and told him to stop. Who tried to get inside me without my permission and who tried to guilt trip me, calling me a tease and telling me to lay down and pretend nothing was happening if it really bothered me so much. Who tried to teach me to retreat inside of myself at human contact so I wouldn't resist. To every guy who approached a mentally destroyed teenage girl who was drowning in herself to try to get ****** favors, to try to get me to trade my body for drugs, to try to bring me down even further so I wouldn't say no. Because I did say no. I always said no and fought and nearly vomited every time a guy started groping, started making lewd commentary in what started out to be small talk, every guy that grabbed at me without my permission and leered and tried to grind on me without any context other than you had a hard on and I looked weak enough to force yourself on. I hope someday someone rips you all apart. I hope someone tortures you, tries to blackmail you, coerce you, makes you feel like garbage when you're at your weakest. Because as much as all of you tried, even this fragile, broken teenager rejected you. Fought her hardest to get away from attempted assaults and made it, clawing and screaming away from you. Cried silently as angry, mocking messages came in but didn't dignify them with responses. Ignored angry phone calls from multiple numbers and continued to live, even when you all tried to break me into a *** slave. **** every last one of you up the *** with a flaming ***** I hope you all go through hell. I was going through hell and you all tried to destroy me, to incinerate my spirit in the name of getting someone to touch your ***** I hope you go through worse. I hope somebody castrates you. If there is an almighty deity, I hope they curse you for eternity. I hope you all know that the girl you tried to destroy for your own sadistic pleasure is stronger than ever before.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howl
and cried again: 'Our damaged branches ache!
Your pillage maims me! Can't you feel at all?
We who were men are now this barren brake.
You'd grant us your respect and stay your hand
were we a thicket not of souls but snakes.'
As wood still green starts burning at one end
and from its unlit end the burning stick
drips sap, and hisses with escaping wind,
so from the broken stump there oozed a mix
of words and blood: a frothy babbling gore.
I dropped the branch. My fear had made me sick.
'Poor wounded soul, could he have grasped before,'
my sage replied, 'what now he sees is true,
and blindly trusted in poetic lore,
then he need not have so insulted you.
But as there was no other way to learn
I urged him to a test that grieved me too.
Tell us who you were, that he, in turn,
can set your honor freshly back in style
among those he will teach when he returns.'
The trunk: 'Your speech, by raising hope that I'll
regain repute, makes words arise in me.
I mean to talk, if you will stay a while:
I was the one entrusted with the keys
to Federigo's mind, and it was sweet
to share his thought and guard his strategy
for noble ventures secret in my keep —
so faithfully I filled this glorious post,
I gladly sacrificed my health and sleep...'
2.7k
Suppose I was more agreeable
Instead of arguing over coffee about politics, religion
*All those subjects deemed taboo that neither of us truly give a **** about*
Pressing my point like daggers against your ribcage
Knowing the sweet spots that make you moan
I would give in, applaud your cleverness, then leave for work
You would be left wondering if you should feel insulted.
of course you should
As usual,my filterless memoirs have become vocalized
******* them back in tight and quick is useless
Once freed, the damage is done
But. they. are . just. words.
the previous statement is ridiculous and the author should be shot
Never could I slice you deeper, **** your private mind or lay your soul bare
Then with the bitter, caustic, truthful edge of my observations
You are just as vulnerable as the rest of them
Barbed wire telegrams
Frozen emails
Ash and arsenic letters
Cut you to the quick
Delightful.
But I like it better when I can witness the damage
Basking in the upper handed afterglow of my superior ability to mortally wound
For no bit of silver that I've ever found
Was ever sharper than the razor edge of my tongue
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
I thought I knew you
I thought we were on the same page
About life and love and all of the above
But it turns out, we weren’t even in the same library
And you didn’t have the heart to tell me
You have no courage
Your mind swims in the deep end
While your mouth dips a toe in the shallow
You lack integrity
You took what I told you and let it simmer
In a *** of old stock that was never intended for consumption
Your led me on
Like the SAT when you left the difficult questions for the end
Except this time you knew the answers but you couldn’t bare to tell me
Should I be flattered?
That you were trying to protect me from your feelings?
I’m insulted that you didn’t think I could handle the truth
And now, 5 years later
I’ve learned how to fear love
And how important it is to question intentions
But that’s not what I was looking for
So thank you
For wasting my time
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Rancor,
Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge!
Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show.
We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey.
I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president.
I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper.
Hear me
These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child,
Don’t listen to Rancor,
That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar
he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long,
I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl.
I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch.
How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot,
the skin dries, the phone dies,
the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC
You say that I’ve changed,
I’m simply not the same.
A stranger that stole
Your little sisters face.
What a disgrace,
To be so misplaced.
But tell me dear siblings,
How would you know?
You never see me.
I have bent over backwards
All for you.
My “loving” family,
I have broken my heart
Again and again
On the cold steel of your eyes.
I have choked on the storm
Of your torrent of lies.
I have cut myself open
And poured my blood all over
the razor whip of your cruel words.
I have cried for you
I have died inside for you
And when you were jealous,
because I could fly
I let you tear off my wings
And chain me to the ground.
Because I was told your love
Had to be earned
I did everything you asked of me.
I gave you my everything
And then a little more
Only to hear you demand for more.
Your eyes stayed cold
And words cut deeper still
I froze from your gaze
And collapsed from the blood loss
And you were insulted
And as you broke me
You laughed when you snapped me in two
Then left me behind,
As you always do.
You expect me to take the pain
And rise once more
On trembling limbs
To trail on after you
So you can break me some more.
You demand I be there should you have the need
To always be willing to let you watch me bleed.
And yet you claim that It is I,
Who has changed,
That I am simply not the same.
A stranger that stole
Your little sisters face.
And as I lay bleeding
I realized you were leeching
The life from my soul
And I felt the betrayal swallow me whole
I gasp for air,
Running out of breath
From the noose of expectations
You’ve tied round my neck.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 3:42 AM UTC
I decided I'm goin in.
Yall dun' slipped up and left me with a pen.
It seems lately I been under-drinkin'
Over-sober over-contemplating what's been really happening.
I'm usually a lot more subtle.
I give the benefit of the doubt like I'm a Catholic priest absolving niggas' sins.
Confusing my honesty for reckless abandon-in
To your chagrin, just hecause you're unable to comprehend.
You don't move through this world in the shoes I'm in.
I bet no ones ever called you a sub-human.
Did that election make YOU question all your caucasian friends? Their motives, their thoughts, biases,
Lookin for Microaggressions?
Now those relationships are withered at the ends and it depends on larger hearts and open minds to try and mend and re-begin?
Because someone you love insulted ALL your kin.
Supporting someone who blatantly hates them.
Tunnel vision.Could only see what they wanted Sanctity of life only applies to babies aborted
Christians were thwarted!
How someone with a thumbs up from the Ku Klux have anything to do with what the Lord did?!
Granted, the deed is done and hey the truth is out!
They were wolves in sheep's clothes till the Pres. Came out
in broad daylight
He basically made it awright
to grossly generalize a race AND do so in plain sight
Now ALL the racist crazy folk are poppin at the mouth.
On social media like the 50's in the segregated south,
Spewing hate behind a screename sittin' on they mama's couch
'cept we millenials are rowdy and we'll roll up at yo house.
How's it 2017 and we still schoolin' folk?
Gotta tell you Black lives matter cause you actin like we dont.
In retrospect, it was for the best cause now we ALL woke!
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
I finally did it today.
Tired,
Out of breath,
Ready to collapse,
But I finished.
I've always trailed behind everyone.
But at points in which I wanted to give up,
You told me to keep going.
Stay strong.
Build endurance.
Fight and win.
I trusted you and kept you in a special place in my heart,
Whenever I struggled, I looked for those words of inspiration,
Of Hope.
Then a fight happened,
You insulted me,
Told me I could never do it,
You destroyed my pride,
Made me humble.
Did I cry? No.
Did I give up? No.
Was I furious? Yes.
How ironic.
At the finish line my friends congratulated me,
the coach gave me a pat on the back,
but you weren't there.
How weird,
In the end the one thing that kept me running.
Was the pride you helped me build and destroy.
How ironic
After everything, I only have one thing to say to you.
You built everything and destroyed it,
You assaulted not only my pride, but myself.
Then you left...
But when you left, you left me something.
You left me a blueprint and a message.
The message: You are on your own now.
The blueprint, a blueprint to self training and self reliance.
You showed my humility,
You showed the true state I was in,
You showed me who I truly was,
but you also showed me my potential.
I built on that knowledge,
and with the blueprint,
I rebuilt myself and who I am.
It is ironic.
Because at the end,
The logical thing for me to remain mad.
The logical thing for me is to hate you.
The logical thing for me is to despise you.
But it is ironic.
Because at the end,
On this hill,
Staring into the sunset,
As sweat dripped down my face,
As my heart began to calm,
As my lungs began to quieten,
As the cool winds blew past me,
On the Hill of my Victory.
At the end I only have one thing to say.
Thank You.
Thank You,
with all my honesty and integrity,
I thank you for doing what you did to me.
If you hadn't I would've never been where I am now.
So at the end,
although it is logical for me to be angry, to hate, to despise.
I nevertheless thank you.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
I have been insulted for sharing out
my peasant songs, pataphorical poems,
on the table of the cultural patriarchy
the insults have come in a serial flow
into my dark soul a basin of condemn,
it began as my duty to take my poetry
to the bottom of African latrine,
followed by volley of insults like ;
cerebral panicking insensitive idiot,
a gifted ******** of arsolian poetry
One other contumely went aboveboard
to announce me a better dead ******
i wondered how much one can ****
without erstwhile duty of creation,
now i have been condemned in starkness,
to be a beautiful walking ghost
of William Seward Burroughs,
Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong,
this accolade, i seriously decline to take,
my innateness is not wounded at all,
by anything near to genetic disorder,
i am only conscious of my luckless past,
of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism
Then poverty spiced by open ridicule ,
And partly trenchant and half-honkey tease
firmly fuelled by racial intolerance,
i have now been mistaken in awry,
to be a looming ghost of William Burroughs,
and i am not
i am purely my self,
without imperious wide blood
any where in my by black veins,
i may easily have chimpanzee blood,
Flowing turbulently through my vessels,
but no tincture of white blood in my zoo,
Burroughs broke his virginity with a *****
i have remained a ****** for three decades,
As African virgins marry only virgins,
Burroughs was the king of underworlds;
chasing lessbian prostitutes and gays,
to quench his mad erotic appetite
the turf in which i am a better sham,
Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run,
my soul is clean as new pin,
in fact gorgeously dressed
in the unique royal attires
of as a Bristol pin merchant,
Billy worshiped crime and drugs
my piety is anchored on freedom of all,
Billy went to Latin America for *****
i have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia,
the Nobelite who was alone in deathly solicitude
Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny,
my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing,
other than African chantings for liberty,
freedom for the white and black peasants
perhaps to unyoke themselves,
from the yoke of vicious human avarice.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC