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eleanor prince Sep 2018
(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man







  


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of ****** services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some boundaries simply should never be breached, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
charm is a fluttering candle
character is noon's clear sun
ingenuity may cover a scandal
integrity thrives though
veneer comes undone
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2018
If those free verses
Coincide
With anyone’s life

Let them
Enjoy the ride
Or change their way

My apology
I will not
Change my words
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Coincidence is not an excuse, the words liberate how it need to be, finding it's way. Understanding of yours, I don't have control over. Enjoy the reading.
Sunshine Odhner Dec 2018
Some cold comfort
Wants it cold
Keeps it handy
For- shadows lengthen
For- dry hearts
For some keep sake
Remembers still water
Still water dies in the cold
Makes it honest
Wants it like bitter fruit
Because it's true
As a dying soul
In a mirror
Or still water
Rehearsing the truth
It comes more regular
And less honest
But less
Stinging
Cold
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Thursday, October 25, 2018
1:33 PM History records my state of mind:

Pure thought projects zoom in and out of focus,
Political integrity, personal honesty, good medicine, bad medicine

Whose hell imagined itself transfigured int-energ-
emagically into
the set of NULL?

Mine.
Imagine that. Pure thought experiment, unjudgeable, fret not.

Puritans lack the pineal insight to see the light in the forest.
Horus eye in the middle of the brain?
I just saw that, too. Pineal reality.

The light in the forest?

The man in black lingered there, according Hawthorne,

or did old Nate mock the man in black and laugh at the idea of

good medicine, bad medicine, goody two-shoes
holds it in her holy socks. She's a witch.
stupid.

That was a McLuhanwaderyadoin joke. You don't have to laugh.
We no longer know of his work.
Have to is a stupid saying.
say waht it means, spellt out have, et to.
I have
breath,
blood, spit, eyes, ears et cetera

but to, have to, what? can to having have meaning with no do:
to what end have I any thingable thought to what?
Stupid language, nothing is ever clear.

Ought we explore our relationship, you and me, I mean,
when I say we. We are intimate, dear reader.
As close as two minds may be, with permission, assumed.
My insane, in your brain, is not my insane in mine.
A little like leaven, if you ever bake.

No con querity con cerns us here, we filtered those before.
CERN's discerning of the matter making
thing, bosonic tonic device,
that led us to line our tinfoil hat with lead,
just in case Higgs ups happen and stutters start.

Hold your breath. We both have one to hold, but not for long.
And so it goes, I do enjoy a vintage Vonnegut thought
floating by on a breeze.

Imagine me a Virginia Wolfe trust fund child gone wild,
un gentled, sent down t' Tobbacca Road
in a hot rod Lincoln,
t' find a bride.

Some said something in the water, flouride, petrafied
pineal glands and blinded a generation,
to the sins of their father's
legions of liars,

hired to progressively teach us to work in factories
which vanished
right before

the beans vanished from our ears and we heard the rush
of the rolling tide lifting boats big and small.

Remember being accused, in your mind, of only wanting to be on the side that's winning?

That hot rod Lincoln, Thunderword road, remember the environ?
Pure
Moonshine, melts that petrafied flouride away,

a whole generation o' peasants
turned on.
Holler Hi dee **, burns the tummy, doncha know but

epigenetic application of pure moonshine in the ac-company-ment,
companion, accuse amigo,
same bread, same leaven,
com panion we be
joined.

Jesuits, that was the idea,
formed in Xavier's fever wracked brain
as his medievally medicated flesh fought for every
breath.
Heroic. Hagiographic. Stale, smoke filled acacia incense maybe

We have gone to havings
whence such bread is said to become the an-ointed, magi know, knew, expected, fore told for if ever forever begins,
as far as mortal peasants may be concerned with such high mindedness.

The leader is a liar and the people feel free to follow him.
When the twisted rule the ruled twist, too.

Solomonic wisdom, that is. Oil on the water. Pass the torch.

This was 2018, Donald Trump was President.
how come this to be
to have to be
held.
Who still,
can imagine war?
None.

No reflection,
lack of humility,
proud noble rare-ified re-ified de-ified

Charming fellow, though, can't you admit
his charm is a luring, tempting thing, temporary testing,
is he
an enemy,
donchaluvem? Life is the test. It is that simple. Right, Mr. Perot?

No distraction action condemns a man here, we have none.
Condemnation, none of that here. My reality, you know.

Tempests in teapots, fersher. Command zed, eh.
Fold it up, put it away. New idea. New everything.

People and political servants. No more leaders, no more war.
imagine that.
People and servants serving to govern the emerging
situations
as time rolls out the barrel with the single rotten apple,

and we, the people, feed that rotten apple to the pigs,

who were addicted to pearls,
during the confusion
as mankind lost its mind

we never doubted the need for men to be born.
again, we knew not what we believed born again may be.

Taste, good medicine is bitter more oft than not,

Sugar blues on a global level, those never justify the cost,
of making the medicine go down.

Sweet desire deprived, that is poison.
Dainty appetizers, served in the rich man circus,
stolen by servants racked with guilt,

shame and blame arise,

emergency action, a reason, why are those dainty meats so alluring,


ask the fisherman. Watch for his hook.
Someday, I don't want anyone to gues where I stood concerning Donald, I never met the man and never liked the mask.
Olive Sep 2018
You cannot **** the yearning of a soul,
nor it's nature to pour itself out through the artist.

You cannot stop the soul from sharing the joy that it is compelled
to share with the world.

The artist is not a machine, producing nothing twice.
Producing imperfections and unpolished thoughts.
Producing art in it's purest form,
directly from the soul.
In response to the "art" created by large corporations. Ones that solely produce for profit and have no regard for what the artist and the artists soul must go through to produce genuine art.
Eno Sep 2018
There’s 3 left now
To state their case
For past and present
They’re all happy to show their face
One more so than others
Gets up on a podium
And shouts
When everyone
Was already
Listening
Hard to let it in
Without the illusion of choice
A soliloquy
Of triumph
Should be spoken alone
You wonder
If modesty
Breeds honesty
Or the other way around
Or neither
Thank you James for helping me remember that I deserve more than I've received....for it only matters that I and I alone know I've not deceived.

I'll not peddle off my power nor my morals defend with hate. I'll leave it to the man upstairs to judge me ..for him to seal my fate.

For when I stand before him I'll look Him in the eye not glance and look away.  So for now I'll keep on truckin' truth lights my lonesome way.
Matt Mar 2019
Seats were taken till there was none left
so they stood
All eyes on one man each for the same reason
justice
the man stood across from a judge
the judge stared at the man and asked a question
do you feel any remorse
the man gives a light laugh
should one feel remorse for being one's own self
no, no remorse can any of you watching say the same
have any of you ever asked yourselves who you are when not told too
I'm sure I will be deemed crazy
that will only be in the eyes of the many
for I will be the one to judge myself
the Quality of being honest and having strong moral principals.
N Dec 2017
People always say that relationships are hard,
but they are not supposed to feel exhausted.
It shouldn't be so self consuming and agonizing.
You put me through this emotionally draining cycle almost every day.
It goes like this:

you get provoked and infuriated,
I push to defend myself,
you argue then neglect me,
I feel at fault and withdrawal myself,
you manipulate and guilt trip me,
I apologize,
you are apologetic yet unlawfully canny,
I build you back up.

After the cycle,
You are left feeling complete yet
I am left with an ample void.
After the cycle,
your integrity, contentment, and overall mind set,
are surely enhanced and amplified
I am left with an everlasting void
that expands through every small dispute

you guilt trip me after every single fight,
saying you aren't worthy of me,
that you aren't good enough.
I can't let you think that,
so I fix your thoughts.
It's so tiring.

I'm trapped.

I care about you, so how could I leave.
But even if i wanted to, I couldn't
there are barriers.

your friends would hate me,
your sister would dislike me.
your bestfriend yet also my bestfriend, would leave me.

I cant risk these things.

I feel trapped.

But i love you,
so its okay.

right?
multi sumus Aug 2018
It has been said that a relationship is give and take
   The truth of the matter is
That it is give and give.

i will serve You, with Loyalty and Devotion
      If only You master with Appreciation and Respect.

i will protect You, with Fortitude and Persistance
      If only You rely on me with Trust and Faith.

i will provide Your every need with Patience and Humility
      If only You desire with Compassion and Forgiveness...

            And i will Love You
Fervently with Integrity and without Inhibition

       If only You do the same
annh Dec 2018
Write what you know
Paint what you see
Yourself is much more int’resting
Than whoever you pretend to be

Sing what you hear
Move how you must
Look not to other’s favour
In yourself you may trust

Create and inspire
Astound and amuse
Yourself is an instrument
Go ahead - play what you choose!
In celebration of individuality and personal perspective.
Osiria Melody Mar 2019
He left her at the door
Left a deceitful bouquet of roses, too
A reminder that she's not good enough to love
A reminder that the most beautiful creations
can induce suffering

This memento mori of romance, which takes time
to grow, but little time to let go–kills her happiness
Left the emotional scars for her to burn in agony
A rose that collapsed the bridge of integrity
A rose that wilts, just like her courage to fall in
love again



Melody
3/19/19
Underneath beauty's mask of happiness is pain.
ryn Aug 2014
I am but a driftwood
All but forgotten from whence I came
A place where once had a name
A time when all was good

I am but a driftwood
Set myself adrift
Currents they lift
Bearing their latent gifts
I move as they shift
I'd protest if only I could

I am but a driftwood
Over a body so vast
Over wrecks with broken masts
Spiteful winds howl with angered gusts
An eternity that would last
Eroding my integrity like it should

I am but a driftwood
Know not of where I'm headed
Render me hopeful but will me jaded
Pillaged and plundered
Looted and raided
Swallowed and spat out, ocean's food

I am but a driftwood
Lost and forlorn out at sea
Awaiting land that would receive me
Take me in like I'm meant to be
Give me your sand, bury me completely
Keep me in the safety of your hood

I am but a driftwood
I remember the place from whence I came
A faded dream with a name
Still drifting away from all that's good
karin naude Feb 2014
you judge and sentence my actions
one swift move erasing the cause
easily forgetting your actions
there can be no reaction without an action

take away the emotion and the kicked up dust
left a spoiled brat beyond reform
wrapped in foil to reflect what i wanted to see
what i was desperate to see
in a blessed action from heaven
you broke contact with me
no it was not long
just long enough
to brake the ties around me

once free
i realized your abusive ways
hiding behind social media
dancing the cycle
honeymoon to outburst back to honeymoon
blocked you still try and find my ears
the audience no longer exist
you question the integrity of my character
camouflaging the real issue
telling your family you are an unwanted bachelor
owning up to your actions

from a distance i view the kicked up dust cloud
it reads the integrity of your character
thank god i can walk away
Left Foot Poet Aug 2017
the server (waiter) raps
praise upon the sushi,
its integrity,
the harmonic
of its construct,
the curated singularity of
each rice grain

the innate elegance of
the thin sliced,
nearly translucent,
au naturel, organic,
ginger root

the skin smooth paste of
green wasabi,
grown naturally
along stream beds in
mountain river valleys in Japan

genuinely puzzled,
when he,
the old erstwhile poet
unabashedly weeps before all

no hero he,
just an overcome one,
his tears flavoring his food

mourning the
celebrated abuse
of his verbal children,
those natured nurtured babes
the stuff,
the words of his definition

each weird word,
loved for their cultured,
unique quality of their history
grown in languages's
perpetual petri dish

asked if something was a matter,
answered yes,

"this plated performance,
such an extravagant essay
on the beauteous wonder
of life's bounty,
left me wordless"

and she, burst out loud in laughter
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