"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.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
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.
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
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
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
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.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
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.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
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.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:23 AM UTC
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
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
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.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:04 AM UTC
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
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
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.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
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"
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
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.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
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.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
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
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
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.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 5:09 AM UTC
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?
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
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
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
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
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 1:36 PM UTC
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...
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
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...*
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
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
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
"Don't you ever dare
to call him black
again."
It's not the colour of our skin, that defines us.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
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
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC
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)
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC