Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"labelling" poems
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine. At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal. It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity. (A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds) A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past. Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre. Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators. I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success. However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative. A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message; Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages. To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past! Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors! Purcy Flaherty.
0
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
The media machine and its lack of authenticity
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine. At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal. It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity. (A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds) A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past. Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre. Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators. I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success. However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative. A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message; Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages. To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past! Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors! Purcy Flaherty.
Continue reading...
14
When she looked in the mirror all she saw were words like ugly, not good enough, fat. I silently cursed them for labelling her things like that. Because of them she didn't think she could be loved. Because of them she cried for hours until no more tears could come. She didn't see how beautiful she was. The most incredible despite the flaws. She didn't realise she needn't change. For I had fallen for her anyway. I knew I loved her more than she ever loved herself. She despised herself actually, thinking she was worthless. How would I ever show her I loved her more than this whole world? They made sure she hated herself so much that she wouldn't even believe my words. But more than showing her I loved her more than anyone else. I wish I could show her how to love her own self.
0
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
i wish.
The fear of the same. why does my happiness affect you? Why do my pictures and comments spark hate? Why do you feel the need to put me down about my life? It's the way I am! It's the way I've been! It's the way I will be! Call me queer, Call me gay, Call me bent, I DONT ******* CARE! Your insults aren't insulting! Your words are useless! You try to bring me down by labelling who I am? That's pathetic. So let me ask again, Why does my happiness affect you? So much so that people get hurt! The community stand tall! Taller than religion, Taller than the government, Because we follow our hearts! And not fairytale's and scripts! We live a life we choose, One which makes us happy. Your bible supposedly accepts everyone? So why did my friend feel the need to **** herself because of you! She was happy, She was smart, But you put her down! You drove her to depression, And for what? After all I thought that God creates everyone? So why create a transgender who is not to be accepted? It's a bit stupid if you ask me! She is in our hearts, Always, Religion means nothing, And shall no longer hinder our happiness, R.I.P Leelah Alcorn
0
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Homophobia
language warning So what. I am a person, with hobbies Interests We need labels to understand, but I don't remember anything about labels to discriminate. How can a feminist be racist? Or any other paradox They are just labels- to explain and no more. **** all of those ******** So... I'm bisexual Shock! Horror! Nothing more anymore Identity limited- Why the **** should it be? To say that just one of my labels defines me, it makes me inferior- well that makes you as a **** The Jewish labelled with their numbers- me with a word- do you see what you do to me And to yourself.
0
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
Labelling
Because when I was 4, my mom told me that I could not like blue because it was a 'boy' colour.   Because when I was 5, the kids at kindergarten made fun of me for my 'boy' hairstyle. Because when I was 6, dad refused to buy me a toy car because it is a 'boy' toy. He got me a Barbie doll. 'Good for girls,' he said. Because when I was 7, my teacher scolded my for my 'boy' handwriting. Because when I was 8,after a bad fall, my mom lamented that I would never be able to wear a skirt, instead of asking if I was ok. Because when I was 9 I watched as my relatives mocked my male cousin for cooking. "Leave it to the women" they said. Because when I was 10, I was told that I ran like a girl. 'But I am a girl', I said. They laughed at my innocence. Because when I was 11, I was warned my my mother that I would be too fat to be loved. As though his love had to be spread all over my fats. Because when I was 12, puberty started and the acne set in. It was my mom's worst nightmare. Because when I was 13, my mom reemphasised that I was too fat to be loved. I felt like **** Because when I was 14, I starved myself so that I would be beautiful. I did look like a 'proper girl', my parents agreed. Because when I was 15, the stress of impending national exams got to me and my hair started to fall out. My mom prayed for my soul, and my scalp. Because when I was 16, in the car 37 minutes ago. My mom scolded me for my acne scars, saying that I was too scarred to ever get a job, or a husband. Most importantly a husband. Because gender roles affect us all, male or female. Stop labelling people.
0
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
Gender roles
Because when I was 4, my mom told me that I could not like blue because it was a 'boy' colour.   Because when I was 5, the kids at kindergarten made fun of me for my 'boy' hairstyle. Because when I was 6, dad refused to buy me a toy car because it is a 'boy' toy. He got me a Barbie doll. 'Good for girls,' he said. Because when I was 7, my teacher scolded my for my 'boy' handwriting. Because when I was 8,after a bad fall, my mom lamented that I would never be able to wear a skirt, instead of asking if I was ok. Because when I was 9 I watched as my relatives mocked my male cousin for cooking. "Leave it to the women" they said. Because when I was 10, I was told that I ran like a girl. 'But I am a girl', I said. They laughed at my innocence. Because when I was 11, I was warned my my mother that I would be too fat to be loved. As though his love had to be spread all over my fats. Because when I was 12, puberty started and the acne set in. It was my mom's worst nightmare. Because when I was 13, my mom reemphasised that I was too fat to be loved. I felt like **** Because when I was 14, I starved myself so that I would be beautiful. I did look like a 'proper girl', my parents agreed. Because when I was 15, the stress of impending national exams got to me and my hair started to fall out. My mom prayed for my soul, and my scalp. Because when I was 16, in the car 37 minutes ago. My mom scolded me for my acne scars, saying that I was too scarred to ever get a job, or a husband. Most importantly a husband. Because gender roles affect us all, male or female. Stop labelling people.
Continue reading...
14
We are all born Creative Early childhood is all about Being creative. Soon, however, life Steps in. It tries to ***** out Our creative instincts By labelling us Rebellious Naughty Selfish When we try to do Our own thing. It tries to ***** out Our creative self By fitting us into Life's boxes Life's moulds. Doctor Lawyer Engineer Accountant. Go the safe route Life urges Go the secure route Life urges Follow convention Be serious! The adult creative However Is the child who Survives This onslaught This manipulation This war on the Creative self And chooses instead To follow their own path In life. The road less travelled. Where Fun Freedom And True fulfillment Await.
0
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:23 AM UTC
The Road Less Travelled
Some people say Im mad I just blame the L-RAD Attacked by services syndicate post grad Breaking the code of conduct that's sad Criminal cause nullify's the collaborative ad All privileged storm troopers got more than I have Is the conscience alive while watching that sat-nav? As a key worker your care is what we have But straying for a kickback is a dent & bad The mental health stigma is the foot soldiers weapon Labelling us mentally ill with the DSM con Exclaiming we're mental while the victim is alone Stigma comes from the compound hear us groan Hearing me everywhere have traits of a stalker Attacking innocents with energy weapons lawbreaker Violating human rights piggy back hijacker The conspiracy hypothesis is the startler Whats the biological molecular structure Of a mental health disorder A caucus of people of who can shout louder Followed by misrepresentation from a reporter
0
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
Stigma
Just because shes confident with her body doesn't means she's a **** It just shows how much of a judgemental ***** you really are. Just because he's into guys Doesnt mean hes against god It just shows how closed minded you really are. Just because she dresses differently Doesnt mean shes depressed It just shows how obilvious you really are. People arent what they seem So stop labelling and start accepting.
0
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:04 AM UTC
Labelling
Judgement left, right, left, right, forwards, backwards As our footsteps are clattering with noise, click clack, clatter, we hear ourselves move forward to our destination Doing anything to help us get there, laugh, smile, frown, dance, recording every precious moments of our life Than you hear something, not behind you, not beside you but with you Judgement creeps with you, it’s always been with us, its not just darkness its more More emotions clattered together, that something forms up, into each and everyone labelling someone as a something When this occupies our mindset, we start seeing reflections of ourselves, what we made ourselves to be, but we don’t want society to see something else Why would we rather be called “beautiful” than “ugly” when we ourselves always look in the mirror and label it “ugly” why would we assume that others won’t see what we see Perception, the way we are presented to the world is different than the way we are presented to ourselves Maybe its the thought that we judge ourselves, that makes us think that others are also perceiving us that way Judgement can be dark, but if we change the way we think of ourselves maybe judgement could come out positive
0
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
Judgement
The smell of iron at 9:19 am, disgusting Unresolved, I Would have given you the palm of my hands, there Was a parade of objects in hibernation, and The wire was made of plastic I couldn’t Walk, Tiburtina Railway station blew up around me, the Upside-down lilies hanging and dangling, you Were sewn inside My chest and pushed Broken You were breaking my ribs, shrieked, I Was thinking about your hair The embrace The window The cat On the other windowsill (As if he knew) And you Moving forward in the smell Of the smoke, expanding And she Keeping on, she was filling up All the cans Was labelling and talking and talking Pretending she had never Existed, she Had been Transfigured Hidden inside the white, she I miss you, you kept saying, it Couldn’t be done. Don’t you understand? It couldn’t be done.
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
The smell of smoke
Strumming my pain with this paintbrush; While singing my life with these chords ‘You are killing me softly’ By discriminating my sensuality towards my creativity! The societal concept of embracing movements And identifying the aesthetic value of the mind Or the aesthetic concept of a painting with just Two colours ‘Black and White’ Labelling the imitation of nature; changing the concept of gravity. You see! The mind-set against me Is killing me softly! Why don’t you just love me! Accept me and my uncommon norms That expresses all elements of society. I am not all about practicality but theory and ingenuity. Can you imagine how I turn your boredom into entertainment? Can you imagine if I was dead? Your misery, would be such a misery Because I contribute to eliminate Misery by turning such misery into artistry. But the perception of me is not just 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th position but far- fetched and non- existence. Watering the marketing fruits Of medicine, accounting, law, mediocrity and other fruits that are eligible to your nature. While I sit on the side of civil agony, fighting for your attention; for you to water me. I’ve been discriminated And violated by the words Of the hegemonic community Who strums my pain With their mouths; While I sing my life With these chords ‘You are killing me softly’ I am more than just your Rolly Polly-Jambalassi- masquerader or One drop movement I am not just your pick me up When you want me to tell your La Diabless story or sing to you future fantasy! I am more than just your ordinary Kotch pon di programme, bubble gyal ah bubble, Misty Blue, All of me, Turn down for what lullaby! I am more than just a Point or Flex! You see the point is - society need to Adopt me, nurture me, dispatch all Hegemonic forces against me And Flex on my actions Because right now “THIS ARTISTIC STRUGGLE IS TOO REAL"
0
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Hypocrisy in Democracy
Strumming my pain with this paintbrush; While singing my life with these chords ‘You are killing me softly’ By discriminating my sensuality towards my creativity! The societal concept of embracing movements And identifying the aesthetic value of the mind Or the aesthetic concept of a painting with just Two colours ‘Black and White’ Labelling the imitation of nature; changing the concept of gravity. You see! The mind-set against me Is killing me softly! Why don’t you just love me! Accept me and my uncommon norms That expresses all elements of society. I am not all about practicality but theory and ingenuity. Can you imagine how I turn your boredom into entertainment? Can you imagine if I was dead? Your misery, would be such a misery Because I contribute to eliminate Misery by turning such misery into artistry. But the perception of me is not just 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th position but far- fetched and non- existence. Watering the marketing fruits Of medicine, accounting, law, mediocrity and other fruits that are eligible to your nature. While I sit on the side of civil agony, fighting for your attention; for you to water me. I’ve been discriminated And violated by the words Of the hegemonic community Who strums my pain With their mouths; While I sing my life With these chords ‘You are killing me softly’ I am more than just your Rolly Polly-Jambalassi- masquerader or One drop movement I am not just your pick me up When you want me to tell your La Diabless story or sing to you future fantasy! I am more than just your ordinary Kotch pon di programme, bubble gyal ah bubble, Misty Blue, All of me, Turn down for what lullaby! I am more than just a Point or Flex! You see the point is - society need to Adopt me, nurture me, dispatch all Hegemonic forces against me And Flex on my actions Because right now “THIS ARTISTIC STRUGGLE IS TOO REAL"
Continue reading...
56
Such a taboo it was never discussed that forbidden topic so how how? was I to identify understand accept what I felt that tender age Gay! negatively tossed about playgrounds freely pushing that thorn ever deeper inside burying those give-away's convincing myself otherwise moulding to average for the ignorants acceptance why? so not to feel those terrifying branding labelling Eyes.
0
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
Taboo?
regarding labelling. we are not what people think of us, it goes deeper than that, we are not the words people say, it goes deeper than that. we are not made by our history, it is something, deeper than that. then in a picture, it is not what you see on the surface, it is far deeper than that. #repeated. sbm.
0
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
#christine (2)
People take ownership of your words your memories and make them theirs Subtle shifts in intonation detail and substance Not untrue not really a lie but not yours Not anything that has your essence in it And they weave you into them through those fond ‘remembered’ words and false fabricated moments Taking something from you labelling it in their own hand blotting the ink dry with integrity absent or not they parade that part of you appropriated Like a head on a stick a scalp on a belt or a heart on a sleeve depending on their need And you can’t reclaim something stolen as softly and stealthily as that it would be churlish it would be cruel Perhaps their desire to have you as a jigsaw piece of their making in their sky is the greatest compliment and is worth becoming part fiction condoning a myth
0
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
Myth Makers
Girl,   You be throwing yourself on the wrong guys, Then you subject me to your pitiful cries. It hurts me knowing, you're playing the fool... You shedding tears 'cause you thought he was cool. Girl, Why you be letting their fake smiles fool you? Nothing coming out of their mouths is true Why you throwing yourself on the wrong guys, And ignoring Mr right whose under my disguise? Yeah, That's right I finally came clean...  I mean, Girl, it's been like this forever, this feeling... I've given up waiting for its leaving, So I've got to say what my heart's singing. All they offer is temporary happiness, But I offer laughter, that will leave you in a lovely mess... All they do is leave you, with your heart raking up scars, And I'll give your heart some healing with these bars... Girl, You've been throwing yourself on all the wrong guys, And I've had to watch it all with my own eyes, You've been wasting golden tears, on boys who have no cares... And I've had to watch it all these years. You've been playing the fool, Labelling me as friend. You've been playing the fool, Telling others we'll never be. This confession ends our friendship, And could cue a courtship ... I'm ready to take the risk 'Cause of those tears, It's you I wanna whisk, It's you that's the subject of my cares. Because the friendzone's not for me And you and I were meant to be.
0
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 5:09 AM UTC
Risky confession
Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Walking down your street, what do you see? A little old man, who you think is crazy. Have you ever talked to him once? Do you even know his name? Do you think you are God? Do you find Judgement to be some sort of game? When the truth rises to the surface, you will see, that this man was in the Middle East, killing Iraqis! Fighting for your freedom, by killing other men, getting blood, on his innocent hands. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover, perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Your walking through the mall, what do you see? A teenage girl, pretty as can be. But by the magnitude of her beauty, your mind concludes, that she is a ***** and is very rude. Have you ever talked to her once? Do you even know her name? Do you think you are God? Do you find Judgement to be some sort of game? For all you know, she could be bruised to the bone. With a father that beats her, he likes the way she moans. But you know nothing, and still you judge. Holding against her, an imaginary grudge. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Your nature disgusts me, labelling people like it's your job. I'm asking you to trust me, stop making people you don't know sob. Why judge the book by it's cover, when the words inside are worth so much more? Why consider every man a **** or every women to be a ***** Words hurt like sticks and stones, if the person throwing has a good arm. They have been known to break bones, leaving your self respect to be disarmed. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Who made you a God? Who do you think you are?
0
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
Perception (Co-write with Ryan Kotowski)
Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Walking down your street, what do you see? A little old man, who you think is crazy. Have you ever talked to him once? Do you even know his name? Do you think you are God? Do you find Judgement to be some sort of game? When the truth rises to the surface, you will see, that this man was in the Middle East, killing Iraqis! Fighting for your freedom, by killing other men, getting blood, on his innocent hands. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover, perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Your walking through the mall, what do you see? A teenage girl, pretty as can be. But by the magnitude of her beauty, your mind concludes, that she is a ***** and is very rude. Have you ever talked to her once? Do you even know her name? Do you think you are God? Do you find Judgement to be some sort of game? For all you know, she could be bruised to the bone. With a father that beats her, he likes the way she moans. But you know nothing, and still you judge. Holding against her, an imaginary grudge. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Your nature disgusts me, labelling people like it's your job. I'm asking you to trust me, stop making people you don't know sob. Why judge the book by it's cover, when the words inside are worth so much more? Why consider every man a **** or every women to be a ***** Words hurt like sticks and stones, if the person throwing has a good arm. They have been known to break bones, leaving your self respect to be disarmed. Perception, perception, mother of deception, and not like one of them Megatrons. Perception, perception, mother of deception, strangers trying to tell you who you are! Perception, perception, judging the book by it's cover. Perception, perception, making false facts about each other! Who made you a God? Who do you think you are? Who made you a God? Who do you think you are?
Continue reading...
96
Remember all those peaceful nights in hazy candlelit glow, expressing all of the rights; factors you now pretend not to know. Expressing great gratitude at the partnership we had found, it’s funny how your attitude changes drastically when I’m not around. “I need to be selfish right now” you say it like it’s a new development, and your mind is blank to how I was alone in the room with an elephant. I did everything you could need without even a second thought, gave my sweat, tears and would occasionally bleed, and the one thing I asked for I never truly got. We made a life together, we dug a hole with two hands, you promised me it was forever, those were some very speedy time sands. I sacrificed all I could for you and still you obviously need more, I don’t know what it is you plan to do, I hope they discover whatever you’re looking for. The only thing you can say to me is that I could raise my voice, avoiding the issues that were clearly frustrating, ignoring the times I made another choice. Never listening to a possible solution, not taking one step in an alternate route, just instead labelling me toxic pollution, or a disadvantage like blindness or gout. “I need to make a life for myself” we both agreed on that for two years time, but unlike you for me, I was there to help, I thought of it as our life; not yours or mine. I did everything you could need, without even a second thought, I was tending and watering the soil for the seed, you were too occupied deciding on the *** We made a life together, planned a future for shared dreams, and you’ve turned me to a worn in sweater, that you picked apart the threads and seams. I loved you more than anyone, and put you above the sun in the sky, and out of nowhere you claim you’re done, abandoning me like a passerby. You act like you don’t even care, but six years is a very long time, to suddenly decide your not there, to pretend I’m not yours and you’re not mine. And while your robbing me of sleep currently I’m confident one day that you’ll lose yours, ‘cause as easy as it is to pretend the fault lies on me, I was opening every window and always holding open your doors
0
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
The Olive Theory
Remember all those peaceful nights in hazy candlelit glow, expressing all of the rights; factors you now pretend not to know. Expressing great gratitude at the partnership we had found, it’s funny how your attitude changes drastically when I’m not around. “I need to be selfish right now” you say it like it’s a new development, and your mind is blank to how I was alone in the room with an elephant. I did everything you could need without even a second thought, gave my sweat, tears and would occasionally bleed, and the one thing I asked for I never truly got. We made a life together, we dug a hole with two hands, you promised me it was forever, those were some very speedy time sands. I sacrificed all I could for you and still you obviously need more, I don’t know what it is you plan to do, I hope they discover whatever you’re looking for. The only thing you can say to me is that I could raise my voice, avoiding the issues that were clearly frustrating, ignoring the times I made another choice. Never listening to a possible solution, not taking one step in an alternate route, just instead labelling me toxic pollution, or a disadvantage like blindness or gout. “I need to make a life for myself” we both agreed on that for two years time, but unlike you for me, I was there to help, I thought of it as our life; not yours or mine. I did everything you could need, without even a second thought, I was tending and watering the soil for the seed, you were too occupied deciding on the *** We made a life together, planned a future for shared dreams, and you’ve turned me to a worn in sweater, that you picked apart the threads and seams. I loved you more than anyone, and put you above the sun in the sky, and out of nowhere you claim you’re done, abandoning me like a passerby. You act like you don’t even care, but six years is a very long time, to suddenly decide your not there, to pretend I’m not yours and you’re not mine. And while your robbing me of sleep currently I’m confident one day that you’ll lose yours, ‘cause as easy as it is to pretend the fault lies on me, I was opening every window and always holding open your doors
Continue reading...
56
Does my skirt provoke you? Are you scarred by my top? Does the length and depth define me, Could I do a better job? Am I made by what I wear? An outfit I compose The paint I layer on my face The cut of my clothes. You say I have no self control, No power of restraint, You place me in a little box A student with a male teacher or peer. It’s her fault he could not. Hold himself away from her Chain himself to the chair labelling her his object Instead of averting his stare I’m not defined by cloth it’s purpose is warmth Nor the body underneath It is me and my intelligence Does my existence provoke you Fill you with disgust Because my ability to choose Is simply not good enough For the standards you set me The body I must have, To be considered ‘pretty’ To be considered ‘bad’ My skirt can not be to short My shirt not to deep Because a low neckline Will prevent my ability to speak Does my happiness provoke you My confidence in who I am Because it’s taken a long time To love myself
0
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 1:36 PM UTC
Provoke You
time gives way to the broken sensation of loud electronica its thriving Bass has no consideration of humanity or emotion but we can all relate to that its just a fact that ours is a generation of apathy whether it be; apathy in contentment or apathy in despair we just don't care and i am sick of those words "i don't care." its pure but subtle poison fed to us from some iron tower that will never see rust and it will never stop transmitting it's signals to you though it seems the message is getting through and I'm not labelling you, lets make that clear But I'll tell you my biggest fear: that we're all going down a drain and its one without love, the one without pain 'cause its the easiest path to travel fear consumes me at this thought for we're being turned into something we're not but in this grey suburbia air there is no raindrop with a pair and i can't find somebody to love of that; this lonely Vancouver rain will always remind me its eternal forests dripping up from the sea i need to unwind and find the time. goodnight suburbia...
0
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
4:20am
Because it's the only way to find some release... to write down the words... Life is simple, but the human mind, our heart and our hormones (usually raging) make it seem complex and confusing. And this society we have built for ourselves? To help us progress... It doesn't help either. It merely adds another variable to the logarithm called life we're already breaking our heads on. Writing poems, penning down your thoughts or even just labelling your confusion by giving them words... it's all writing, it all means 'to create something'. Depending on what one wishes to create, they write a poem or a passage or an essay or prose, or even a book. It's an individual's choice. It's that person's choice. The words come. Even we writers do not know where they come from, but they do. And when they do, we write. On paper or tissues or newspapers or any means available to us, like desperate beings, finding an outlet, we write... People write about a lot of things, feelings, things they're attached to, about people as well, when the only way they can bear the words to flow is rhythmic, maybe because if those intense words came out raw, *they'd devour the speaker or the speaker would eat them up. It's confusing even to us...why do we write?* Just remember, if you've ever been a muse in someone's work (be it a poem or prose or a song or a photograph or a drawn/painted picture), *know that you've been adored and cherished and you've touched that person's life and left an imprint.* One he or she wants to immortalize in the one way they know how to. Do not take that lightly. *Words mean something to us writers and blank pages make us ache, and even we don't know why that is...*
0
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Why do I write poems?
Because it's the only way to find some release... to write down the words... Life is simple, but the human mind, our heart and our hormones (usually raging) make it seem complex and confusing. And this society we have built for ourselves? To help us progress... It doesn't help either. It merely adds another variable to the logarithm called life we're already breaking our heads on. Writing poems, penning down your thoughts or even just labelling your confusion by giving them words... it's all writing, it all means 'to create something'. Depending on what one wishes to create, they write a poem or a passage or an essay or prose, or even a book. It's an individual's choice. It's that person's choice. The words come. Even we writers do not know where they come from, but they do. And when they do, we write. On paper or tissues or newspapers or any means available to us, like desperate beings, finding an outlet, we write... People write about a lot of things, feelings, things they're attached to, about people as well, when the only way they can bear the words to flow is rhythmic, maybe because if those intense words came out raw, *they'd devour the speaker or the speaker would eat them up. It's confusing even to us...why do we write?* Just remember, if you've ever been a muse in someone's work (be it a poem or prose or a song or a photograph or a drawn/painted picture), *know that you've been adored and cherished and you've touched that person's life and left an imprint.* One he or she wants to immortalize in the one way they know how to. Do not take that lightly. *Words mean something to us writers and blank pages make us ache, and even we don't know why that is...*
Continue reading...
52
Don't cry baby. Your daddies gone off hunting. He wants to get a trophy. Just so you can see. What a clever boy he's been! Introduction to a child of everything that's mean. Daddy tell your little kid. Of all the vile things you did. Bet you can't, bet feel ashamed. Of taking part in cruel sport and labelling it a game. "Son, daddy fox is called a dog. Mummy fox a ***** Baby foxes little cubs soppy as a kitten" A spot of education.. Hell hounds have a job to do, apparently. Together, language of us common folk will paint the sky bright blue. "Jackanory". ***** story. Written by the Tories. For fox sake keep the ban. Speak out loud while we still can! (c)Livvi
0
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
LOBBY
"Don't you ever dare to call him black again." It's not the colour of our skin, that defines us.
0
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
Labelling Prohibited
the architecture: our design, our formulation ~ **we design as we go along. plans develop themselves organically. somehow, we formalize, organize spontaneity. learning-as-we-go, ourselves teaching each other’s selfs. celebrating, locating our tangent intersections, plotting points on the X Y axes of us. labelling our quadrants, past, now, planned but yet-to-be, the unknown unknowns, all upon blue lined graph skins. a formula of a celebrated curvature, two unknowns, solvable, we are quadratic. the precise precious precarious solution, a single square root, that intuits the wee of our innate relationship. our solution is annotated for all mathematicians as the** square root of us. 2/18/20 6:25am somewhere in the internals
0
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC
the architecture: our design, our formulation
let me rant awhile for what good it may do to open the valve if only briefly for as one wave after another of sheer indignity is reported survivor guilt courses through me yet even this was not mine to choose for I don't happen to have been born Jewish or black - and that doesn't make me more - or less - worthy of dignity but I can observe closely what it is like to be pilloried and persecuted for one's peaceful contacts and communications holding personal beliefs at odds with a regime and a rage courses through me on contemplating 'man's inhumanity to man' - though written long ago that the world would be so, where hatred would replace kindness, love, empathy I deplore the way an ideology of one disturbed, possessed person can lead to millions donning a uniform, henceforth labelling one sector of humankind 'persona non grata' to be mercilessly pursued in legitimized genocide, even savaging little children frightened lads caught on the run made to hold arms for food mamas with babes in arms forced to watch them dashed to pieces then buried alive underground their infant cries still heard while their mothers were ***** - as beleaguered, beautiful Estonia was brought to it's knees... and I weep and rant feel knives in my gut blood pulsing swift - then take hold of myself seek to understand, if that be possible, even a smidgen of such distorted thinking to delve into the mind of a hateful deviate for but a moment and remain intact so I scan his written mantra and come to see that all deeply held convictions must have at its core RESPECT lest it attract the weak and easily led, or those forced into submission seeking to simply stay alive and they find themselves taking part in a forest fire of polluted propaganda a flood of merciless devastation, while their deluded leader continues to spout forth venom in the distorted notion that they would actually be acting in society's best interests or worse still: 'in the name of God' (Acts 5:39; Hosea 4:1-3)
0
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
dynamics of genocide (strong themes)
let me rant awhile for what good it may do to open the valve if only briefly for as one wave after another of sheer indignity is reported survivor guilt courses through me yet even this was not mine to choose for I don't happen to have been born Jewish or black - and that doesn't make me more - or less - worthy of dignity but I can observe closely what it is like to be pilloried and persecuted for one's peaceful contacts and communications holding personal beliefs at odds with a regime and a rage courses through me on contemplating 'man's inhumanity to man' - though written long ago that the world would be so, where hatred would replace kindness, love, empathy I deplore the way an ideology of one disturbed, possessed person can lead to millions donning a uniform, henceforth labelling one sector of humankind 'persona non grata' to be mercilessly pursued in legitimized genocide, even savaging little children frightened lads caught on the run made to hold arms for food mamas with babes in arms forced to watch them dashed to pieces then buried alive underground their infant cries still heard while their mothers were ***** - as beleaguered, beautiful Estonia was brought to it's knees... and I weep and rant feel knives in my gut blood pulsing swift - then take hold of myself seek to understand, if that be possible, even a smidgen of such distorted thinking to delve into the mind of a hateful deviate for but a moment and remain intact so I scan his written mantra and come to see that all deeply held convictions must have at its core RESPECT lest it attract the weak and easily led, or those forced into submission seeking to simply stay alive and they find themselves taking part in a forest fire of polluted propaganda a flood of merciless devastation, while their deluded leader continues to spout forth venom in the distorted notion that they would actually be acting in society's best interests or worse still: 'in the name of God' (Acts 5:39; Hosea 4:1-3)
Continue reading...
98