"loathers" poems
Stink up the beer house with unadorned putrid self-thoughts.
Poppy-eyed and hating others is easy for blue bottled buggers.
A sweet thing for you!
A growing circle of six-legged empty.
Filled to the brim with puffed up space. A white brim with a shiny red exoskeleton.
Oh, what a dreadful sight!
Hair strewn across a face and hooked into the teeth of the blushy lullabied insect screech.
Clear liquid not blood, but blood all the same on an empty stomach with full vein-shot bones.
Not milky bones with calcium-love..
A dead, deficient, cracked, neglected, insufficient skeletal frame, limp.
Yellowed with hate-smoke and old book notes.
Splintered, crazed and buzzed through the gridded bulging eye-window of every single one of those insect like Self-Loathers.
Chosen out of pure sympathy "We should talk more"
.......To the sun, the moon and the stars?
Every star mocks,
Every beam scoffs
and every moon likes to deride on the pain that hides beneath the lies of human bug eyes.
A simply formed pound of vertebrate flesh leaks soft plasma on the scaly moth floor.
Oh how we are dusty and unsure!
Forestry consisting of a Sitka Spruce and of a Japanese Larch was a claim I made from the start.
Over gardens of attention arachnid lurking selfish bugs and even those half winged "friend people".
The bell has rung the scariest of chimes and with every soul wrenching 'ding' a furry fang digs at the blotchy eyed, softly fleshed girl.
Oh such a sweet thing to be surrounded by selfish bugs who spin webs with tear stained tissues!
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
some kind of sting in my chest
some kind of buzz in yours, no doubt
like a businessman dashing after a train
i missed a cue, and i'll miss you too
is it as easy as it looks? how does it taste
to hurl your affection at someone who deserves it
than some rusted pipe dream, cloaked in pollution
stains from lovers, loathers past
if you had gotten under my skin then, and not now
ink in the creases of palms already so tainted
if i had let you get your hands on mine
wondering would i, could i have ever compared
you find someone else
you have no thread or needle, you cannot fix
only make do, trade in, replace
a better model, every part included
maybe you were right to jump ship
after all i am glad to sink with the wreckage
**** you and **** him, more so, but
i do not doubt you would take that as an invitation
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
I wake up and feel something is askew.
Then I remember what I heard last night on the news.
Then I push it aside and turn on the TV.
I’m sure someone can deal with it better than me!
Our politics are failing. Society’s flailing.
Getting’ crushed under the weight of our own pompous detailing.
But I don’t mind, there’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just grab a bite, get another tattoo.
Maybe by the time I’m done, it’ll have worked itself out.
If it hasn’t I’ll just shut my eyes and think of something else!
I guess I could try to make a difference,
But I’ve got more important things I have to deal with.
Like the season finale of my favorite show,
A bottle of Jack to finish and a party to throw!
I guess I can try to help out, if I’ve got the time. We’ll see.
Hey, look! Beer over there is buy-one-get-one-free!
I gotta stock up for the big game tonight.
Gotta go. I’m sure you got the problem covered, right?
Drunks and liars and posers, you’re fired.
Idiots, ********* worldwide mob masses.
Outcasts that walk alone, self-loathers, homophobes.
Jesus freaks. One more drink. Intelligence levels sink.
Dumb jocks and ****** Gangbangers. Guerilla wars.
Drop the dime, save the time. Pretend you’ve lost your mind.
Uppers and downers. Immigrants, minors.
Emos and cheaters, and ******* wife-beaters.
****** ex-girlfriends, freaks, frauds, text message sends.
Alcoholics relapsing. Governments collapsing.
Oil spills, anything for thrills. Hold on, just one more ****
Suicide bombers, no mothers, no fathers.
This world’s so ****** up, how will it end up?
I don’t wanna know, don’t wanna see.
Don’t make me face reality!
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
To the self-harmers, self-haters, the loathers, the detesters,
Our homes were the hiding places of things sharp, pointy and jagged.
Things to take away the pain with more pain,
the fear with control,
the uncertainty with decisiveness.
Because we did decide,
to take ourselves apart.
Bit by bit.
Like their mutilating stares weren’t enough.
Like their toxic words didn’t burn away our innocence.
*What would you know you’re ********
You’re so fat a cow couldn’t compete with you.
Hey there *** yeah run to mommy.
Hey **** did daddy not love you enough?*
But how could they know he isn’t ********
his mind is a beauty you could never compete with.
And that fat girl hasn’t eaten a bite of solid food in eight days,
because the word beautiful has never known how to never stick to her skin.
And the *** doesn’t have a mommy to run to,
she died fighting a battle he would never wish upon anyone, not even you.
And the **** only wants to feel normal,
hoping she will if only she can carve out enough of the bits that feel different.
But if normal is you then normal is the worst thing in this world.
Normal is a bully hiding their truth behind venom.
Casting out into this world all their hatred, all their pain.
Not caring where it lands.
Whom it bruises.
Whom it kills.
The numbers are rising.
Higher than a mountain we can ever climb up to.
There are children on our streets.
We don’t look twice.
Our phones are outdated.
We worry.
What if our self isn’t enough.
Maybe these shiny coins will get us our attention.
Maybe then we will be enough.
Because the person staring back from the mirror is a friend who never was,
a stranger too familiar,
perhaps a ghost with our truths
dangling from the tips of its claws.
Worry about yourself,
because we will learn to be enough.
We already learnt to sleep on the streets.
Under the skies, near blue seas.
They said we wouldn’t make it.
But look at us succeed.
We are already enough.
More so.
So much more.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC