"maliciously" poems
He means very little to me-
on a regular, uninterrupted day.
But when he talks to me,
he is maliciously welcoming.
He's toxically enduring
and determinedly warm.
It's possible Stockholm Syndrome,
it's definite injustice.
Sweet, sweet injustice.
Sweet interruptions.
My sweet bitterness to his sweet nonchalance.
And then;
sweet realisation that I may not be alright,
but merely distracted.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
We once burned witches...
No.
We burned people who were accused
of being witches or practicing witchcraft...
never proven but still burned....
burned alive...
wether or not they were witches
will remain unknown
and why should it
have mattered if they were,
what excuse was that to have
behaved so maliciously hateful and cruel
I will tell you this though
if I had been a witch
or knew any kind of witchcraft
the first thing i would have done
is work out a fire proof charm
perfected an unburnable spell
an I can walk through the fire
and feel a hell of a lot better
after doing so spell
a my blood and bones
burn hotter than the sun spell
a you better get that
little matchstick outta my face spell
before I show you how to burn
THE REAL MONSTERS here spell
the monsters with the lust
to watch flesh turn
to cinder and ash monsters
the monsters who feared
the unordinary who showed
any kind of extraordinary monsters
the monsters of the masses
with crosses that burned
like torches monsters
the monsters who screamed ******
in the name of....
monsters
the monsters who could not see
their own reflection
for the hideous creatures
they were monsters
the same monsters that still live today
on this side of the looking glasses
under our thin skinned social structure
still burning witches
subtly now
with words of disdain
full of pernicious intentions
towards the lost and the lonely
with the cold staring eyes of indifference
and hearts without an once of compassion
towards the homeless and hungry
with the revulsion and abhorrence
towards those who love
the ones they love
the witches being any unordinary
that show any kind of extraordinary
still being feared for their difference
still being hated
reduced to nothing but
pill size suicides
red ribboned wrists
rope neck ties
for feeling too much
pushing too far
flying too high
dancing in cinder to ash
being burned
burned for being alive
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
<>
a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
<>
I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
Who knew that getting a Starbucks gift card would turn out so harmful and mean.
When pleasant, harmless, innocent me fell for the spell of treacherous caffeine.
Like a hype with a spike
doing harm to his arm
I was hooked.
Leaped before I looked,
goose was cooked.
Now I'm here to play the blame game.
Innocent me, walking in free, joyfully,
just getting a coffee.
Then wham!
or should I say bam!
It hit me.
I walked out a quivering, craving, slobbering creature...
maybe not literally but like I said it was done treacherously, maliciously, instantaneously, I was a caffeine *****
So here are some of the reasons why I'm unhappy with Starbucks:
--- Starbucks caffeine influenced my body by elevating my heart rate (I'm not sure why I expected anything different).
--- Starbucks crafty, subtley and slyly habitualized me ( Oh god, I'm a creature of habit!)
--- Starbucks (If possible) is too friendly
--- Starbucks manipulated my accommodating nature (I just wanted to be friends, but now they feel more like, dare I say it... family).
--- Starbucks slandered me ( by assuming I'm lazy. "Sit, relax, make yourself at home, stay as long as you like").
--- Starbucks exposed my weaknesses ( l feel naked to coffees influence).
--- Starbucks made coffee hip and cool (I'm going to go ahead and count that as a bad thing).
--- Starbucks crippled my will power (my will power walks with a limp now).
--- Starbucks blew up the sun!
--- And the final reason I'm unhappy with Starbucks...because they're probably going to sue my *** for writing this!
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:44 PM UTC
They have now thronged brimful, all the barazas
In their elderly gear, in a move to cut off my thing,
The Maasai chiefs and elders have their fangs now,
More glowing in the crudeness of despotic culture,
Their foul circumcisers’ tools sharply menacing,
All focused on my ****** ******** the only joy of my nature,
They want to maliciously cut it off in their selfish solace
Minus mine consent the right of a young girl,
Chided by evils done in the name of culture,
Kwani? a maasai and culture who creates the other?
Can’t we create culture that is so darlingly to rights of girl?
Other than receding back to crookedness of un-gendered past
Denying I your posterity the rights to self worthiness,
Kindly I beg that you don’t cut of my ********
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
I am lost
In the wilderness of my youth
I fight
with every ounce of my might
To keep the dark forest of desires away from haunting me
I try to flee
To the right path, I see
but thorny branches of nightmarish trees grab me so maliciously
And reach my heart
To pour some venom
I sink
Into a shuddering oblivion
The soulless devil invites me to his enmity
I refuse
As I hearken the sanity
My Lord had provided me
And I cling to it like ivy
Indeed, My Lord helped me to seek Him
Before the devil and the sinful hankerings sought me
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:19 AM UTC
a single momentary lapse of memory in a noisy skull,
just bones, flesh and a shaky consciousness.
slipping awareness and slowly
swimming bloodshot eyes. you're the teenager, the
sleepy head that angrily paces the room. agitated and
stressed out - to the maximum. tightly
balled fists, ready to fight the oncoming storm.
*'so long and good night. but before i go you should
know that if you carry on like this, you'll surely do yourself
damage.'* 'what of it?' taunts the little voice within the
closed in, confined walls of the skull.
**'it's too late.
you're too stressed. forget it.'**
and then there's the shouting now, not taunting, **'for the love of god,
bite your tongue and SHUT UP!'**
and again, from within. whispering, but maliciously forceful...
**'you're desperate and pathetic.
stop crying, you idiot. you're being so ridiculous. no one wants
to hear your ridiculous whining. choke those words back down, they don't matter'**
the violence that racks through your bones makes you
stressed and scared as hell, your eyes bloodshot and makes your
chest so painful that even breathing hurts.
unable to stand anything, at all. wanting it all to STOP.
it's not enough, screams the voice. that's another
sleepless night. another night lying awake, tormented and ridiculed
by a voice telling you *you'll fail, you're **** give up now before
it gets so much worse*
scream at the top of your lungs, tear yourself apart, if the voice
inside hasn't already stripped you bare of confidence and
everything that once made you, you. it's nearly too late.
and the voice still spits hatred at you.
always.
selfish.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
The young maiden,
with eyes the color of the green-blue sea,
porcelain skin,
and the face of an angel.
She had a hyacinth in her flaxen hair.
She is the hyacinth girl,
with beauty words can't describe,
and the grace of a princess.
Today somebody called me the hyacinth girl,
words nobody has ever said to me.
Glancing at the image in the mirror,
I didn't believe her words.
grotesque,
revolting,
and disappointing.
are all compliments that I have received generously.
hyacinths - however, I have never received.
"words with malicious intent, were never actually intended maliciously", they said.
they led me to believe,
that I could never be the hyacinth girl,
that I see deep inside of me.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
I can feel the rough surface of your goodbyes
Little monsters who bite at my flesh
They scar me and cut me and snag the little parts of me you loosened and I nearly let come undone
But at least I get to keep a little reminder of you
Even if it is a wound
A little something left of you to cling to
I can taste the bitterness of your unsweetened words
Their sour expressions like acid on my tongue
As they collide with mine, yours spilling from your lips, mine from mine,
and though you said you wished it and dreamed it, our lips, they never touched
Words words born of ink or vocal chords
Both vicious weapons and a divine form of healing
I can hear your silence
It whispers softly to me
It’s cold and sounds like the quiet night air when you are alone
And make a wish on a star even though you don’t believe for a second it could come true
I inhale the scent of your regrets
They haunt you and plague you like disease, ghosts and demons they stalk you in various states or consciousness
And their drifting aroma reminds me of the final day of autumn before the very first snowfall
I can see your mean streak
It cackles maliciously
Your shards of cruelty
They are silver and glint in the candlelight like blades
There is one intangible thing of yours that I can perceive in you that I really wish I couldn’t
I can’t taste it, or feel it by touch, sight, scent or sound.
It is not quite an idea
Nor a thought
Nor a concept or a fleeting feeling or emotion
But whatever it is It is swirling around your aura
Rising from your mind like steam from the fragile surface of a cup of Irish tea
And it stings so badly
Because whatever it is
I can sense it somehow with my soul
I can sense you not Missing me.
Not one little bit.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,
I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.
What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.
Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.
Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?
To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."
"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."
To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?
Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.
Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.
2.6k
Taking place where you calumniate
with hidden mask behind interface
An embolism hidden behind your lines
Where a falsetto lies your charm
How you create isobaric pressure degradation between your monodical screaming mee-mee's
Creator of sheol , abode of the dead poets
So supine in way and thought
Where will your Valhalla be
You valetudinarian
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Caluminate - to utter maliciously false statements .
Interface - a shared boundary across
embolism - a swelling of a blood vessel due to blockage
isobaric pressure degradation - lines drawn on a weather map marking increasing or decreasing air pressure
Sheol - the place of the dead
supine - failure to act due to moral weakness
Valhalla - Norse hall of God's where slain hero's are received
valetudinarian - one who shows unduly concern for their health
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
the shadows of others
which maliciously
dance
upon the walls
point and laugh
at my human body
that sits in my room
watching
they use their
shadows
fragments of their
true self
to shame and degrade
this person
my self
because I do not hide
my flaws
in darkness
the teasing
shades of human
criticize and belittle
myself and
the other few
who openly exist
as exactly
who we are
these shadows
fueled by
fear
spite
negativity
make every observation
of exposed flaws
I can only imagine
that the humans
who are casting these
shadows of hate
to be
biting their nails
and looking away
as their
shadow
becomes them
while I was
openly
exposing my true form
I began to hate
that of who I am
taking the shadows critique
to heart
when they are too weak
to expose
who they truly are
their shadows
came for me-
as did
shadows
of my own
instead of
hiding myself
becoming
the same as them
using my
insecurities
as fuel for hatred
to burden
upon others
when
the darkness began
to encroach upon me
it fueled
to make me hate myself
instead of others
now,
I have begun
to understand
my own shadow
will no longer
swallow me in darkness
as it is just
my own
embodiment of hatred
a version of myself
that isn't real at all
and the
shadows
from others
who spit fire
to try and burn
my flesh
will fail
as I now know
that if they exposed
their true self
as I have done
everybody
would be able
to see
that the faults
they accuse of
only exist
within them
and I
am just simply
me
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
A personable person propogated passion
Beneath my heavy heart
Alas, cried the caterpillar
You are not dead!
Though I have spent hours molesting your windowsill
Rapeseed!
Huckleberry!
Gingerbread Pie!
All these things and more have I maliciously misunderstood
But the lies of the soothsayer are frequently true
They are passionate pomegranates from me to you
The obelisks of oppression overpower your heartstrings
And there's nothing you can do
My villain!
My thief!
The princess of my misery!
The fiery orb and the blasphemous pirates!
Staring at your shoulders I see only my reflection
Turning on your heel my eyelids sparkle and linger at your doorstep
It's Goliath's head
Salmon and bread
Those deathly ideas which you purposely said
Tic tac guru
Just what is he to you?
And which of my words have you read?
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
Laughter
Laughter explosions
Diabolic cruelty
That crude red carving
The grinning maw
Of the purity devouring beast
Know best for his face
His maliciously insane
Irrational thought patterns
He laughs at a two word phrase
As he caves in a woman's face
Sprays bleach and mace
from a fake flower on his chest
Lobs hand grenades recklessly
Muttering jokes that only he fully understands
Minions bent to his twisted humor
Severed limbs and organs sent
With personally crafted limericks
Fourteen inch barrel
.44 Magnum revolver
Crash a clown car into rush hour traffic
Feed the mayors poodle
To a pack of hyenas
Grease paint white face
Toxic green locks, slicked back
Red Cheshire cat grin
Ear to ear
Like the mouth of a demon of madness
Do not ponder why he laughs
He laughs because he must.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
I was once accused of being the devil under a darkened moon on a foggy night
Now, I've met the devil and let me tell you
The devil once beat me with a curtain rack over my back until I bled
Only to pretend it was in the sport of the game
I've met the devil
In fact, the devil used to show my mom love from the end of a fist and in the sunrise after a long night of crying
Would convince her it was in the name of his love for her
I've befriended the devil
The Devil once taught me how to pick locks and marks minding their own business
And to prey on these people, nay,
Opportunities
Like my life depended on it
I've lived with the devil
The devil kept once locked me in a house-shaped-prison before flinging me into the world unprepared, and dazed
Only to blame me for not watching the outside close enough from my foggy window
I've loved the devil
And eagerly, I gutted myself in the devil's name each time she asked me to see my still beating heart
Only to be confused as to why she hated the mess that followed my orders
I've sacrificed to the devil
I've taken my own heart and soul, and impaled them on a blade made of pure jaded spite, only to lay them with all the other hearts I've stolen and pierced
Unknowingly, yet undoubtedly maliciously.
I've kissed the devil
And in that deal I sealed my fate a lifetime of servitude to a soul I helped created
And created a bond with the devil that was forbidden for good reason
I've lied to the devil
Only to have my mistakes return and slash me across the face like the blade that is the sun's beams shedding light on a long night of forgetting problems
No matter how justifiable he claimed I was
I've seen the devil
He watched me from the bottom of an orange tube only to switch his view finder to something he could swim in
And once more, even now,
As it dances on the end of my blunts
I've met the devil
And I've met the devil many times throughout my lifetime
I've met the devil enough times to identify it by smell, or hearing
Despite it coming with a new assortment of blends, a new chirp every time it appears, and a new look complete with me words
**** at one point, it was me
But I know this Now:
I am not (currently),
Nor will I be ever again,
The Devil.
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 1:11 AM UTC
I am fine, Until . . .
That gentle voice - pretending helpfulness
Maliciously whispers
In my inner ear
And suddenly my world is shaken to the roots
In the smoke of its lies I am almost convinced.
My friends are
Untouchable strangers
Who only tolerate my presence
because telling me to sod off
Would be awkward for them.
My intelligence dissolves
Until I am nothing more
Than the fool that inspired
every blond joke ever invented.
I become a nuisance
Even to myself
And wonder why I should
even bother
Trying to make it to 50
Sometimes I try to fight back,
Using reason and light humor
To beat back the dark monster.
But even though I can usually force it
back into its dank hole,
It mocks me while backing off
And shoots a parting remark before
Sliding into the depths
To await its next opportunity at my sanity.
And I am left
hurt and confused.
Trying to clean the doubt out of my mind
As if it were a small bird rescued from an oil spill.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
In the distance a Bright Blue eye blinks with greed at the enticing tickle, of a seemingly fickle, wisp of eclectic lightning.
Torn out of actuality, the sky's emboldened hue, makes way for this wistful energy of new.
As the bolt of light, not really caring, rips the sky of Blue, like a Blood-red Herring, dives viciously, however not maliciously, into--
Transition now your mind to a darkness not unkind. Where silence is a splendor and your entire being is a sensor. Where gravity takes rest and gasping lungs aren't always best; a blanket of muffled harmonies vibrating soundlessly inside your bones, flesh and arteries--
FLASH*
... Like a birth, like a death-- like the pause between your breaths-- for a moment, just for an echo of a glimpse of a moment, the flash of silver blue, that out of darkness quickly grew, pierced-- with exacting delicacy-- the bottom of this darkened sea, then disappeared instantly...
Flash-flash {{Glow}}
Flash-flash {{Glow}}
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
... Where the bolt did land-- on the sea-floor sand-- a beating rock, electric blue from the shock..
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
And in that instant, new life was made...
While on the surface nothingness reigned...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
It's a cosmic dance, disguised as chance--
Or lucky breaks that breed romance--
And to move along its endless song, without blind views of right or wrong,
Is to truly feel with unbiased zeal
The uniting pulse of the Universe.
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC
What will it be like
when I first see you in december
how will it feel to touch you again?
will I touch you again?
will it ever be the same?
Our lives will have changed so much over these couple months apart
will the sound of my name still leave your lips in a rose hued haze?
or will it fall flat only to be realized a moment too late?
When will the sadness end?
waiting staring at the clock tick tick tock
it keeps going non stop tick tock tick tick
yet gets slower every time I look back
tick tock tick
A month can go by in an instant
but the thoughts of you are slower than time can comprehend
so it maliciously stops and lags and makes me think of you incessantly
and never lets it end
until it does
But not for long
not longer than a couple quick moments because time doesn't make sense
it never has with you
and now it's proving its point
Well I don't need any **** points to be proven
let me sleep or I'll die of desperation
let me sleep let me sleep!
but time's not that kind
you deserve this it says
you deserve this for falling in love
So I deserve this.
I deserve this massacring of mind
because I fell for you
But I can't stop thinking
what will it be like?
to see you to touch you to feel you
how will you respond?
The night that special night
in my bed
the last time we saw each other
before we both left
that magical night
words were spoken bodies were touched
but none of the words mattered
none of them could make sense of our emotions
nothing came close
no sounds could describe what we were feeling
So we lied there on my bed and you slipped your fingers
inside me
and you showed me stories instead of told me
and you showed me my body
and you opened my soul
and you took out my bruised heart
and you held it so tightly
and you whispered to it
it's alright
everything will be alright
the bruises will heal far sooner than you think
and some won't
and that's ok
because I love you
And that's how I accepted it
our parting
because you whispered into my heart
into my soul
my body
that
you loved me
you still do
and I do too.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
i.
a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.
she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.
another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow
ii.
on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and
i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because
i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off
azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well
those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that
sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.
iii.
death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream
but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.
iv.
when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.
v.
i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.
i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
and i am bitter.
vi.
i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.
i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.
i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.
i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.
vii.
ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest, and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:40 AM UTC
Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely pesuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
– Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
quipping maliciously
the learned scholar
outdid himself
and keeled over backward
into a huge barrel
of seething criticism
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
It all starts with a kiss on the forehead from the devil.
A curse so deadly that The Grim Reaper would fear for his life.
Togetherness is a lost cause for sanity and my mind.
One of them, if not both, has been absent.
I've killed many and many before.
Homicidal cravings have polluted my veins.
Empathy has fled the scene of this heinous crime inside my head,
As the voices so gracefully moved in.
Frequent scenarios are projected in my dreams,
Like some spooky yet ****** film.
Two vampiric women kiss so maliciously,
As their lips are painted with blood.
This vision makes ****** ********
The blood flow has not yet been drained from my vision,
As it stains the cotton of my memory.
Remorseful thoughts convert to an addiction.
I need to accommodate another fix, before my inevitable conviction.
I've once felt the feelings of the peaceful,
But reality has stolen my conscience.
A lovely soul transformed to atrocity .
This lantern gained a shortage of oil,
causing me to become lost in a field of misery and pain.
Minacious laughs frolic in my ears,
Though these giggles I'm quite familiar with.
I heard them often, so joyful and so free.
But now they've turned to evil.
An inability to move my hands when desired,
Caused by attire not aimed for warmth.
I'm a prisoner blocked by a wall of darkness,
So deliberately detaining my sanity.
I have loved a time, so long ago,
Where happiness was my most valued acquaintance.
Yet something inside of me awoken so suddenly,
Shamelessly demolishing any remote heart I once possessed.
Possession is such a polite word to use,
describing demonic forces taking ownership of your soul.
But I consider it a blessing in disguise,
Due to the unescapable fact that who I was could not be an acception,
To those who hold superiority over me.
A monster I was?
Or A monster I have became.
It would never be determined by the others.
All they fathom is that a monster is contained,
And lives will no longer be stolen by the guilty hands of this monster.
But what gives human life it's worth?
I will forever ponder that thought.
For I am the star of this so called Hell,
And where I'll be when my time has come,
No sane human would dwell.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Those who maliciously destroy
Reputations. They slime their way
Over the Internet. Completely
Lacking in courage, they go behind backs,
Lashing out at their victims with
Scurrilous versions of "the truth".
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
HEY YOU! STOP, LOOK & LISTEN!
Whatever, I don't care if you pay attention
I'm prone to come, **** **** up & just leave
& yes, im well aware at the glares I receive
I'm tiny in size
But that's quite obvious if you have ******* EYES
There is more
Just wait for it, it's gonna POUR
The shadow lurkers , those who live in the darkness ..
Their PAINFUL screams forever echoing, maliciously & voiceless
They never just go away..
they just endlessly stay
hisses & shouts, salt unhealing wounds with every word
& STILL undefeated, I'm prepared to battle with what is yet to be heard..
I have no choice but to continue
**** IT! I gotta do what I gotta Do!
I won't quit, I plan to go hard & attack...
The Shadow Lurkers left me with a cold heart
& I'm giving that **** right back..
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
i slice wedges
and suddenly realize
i am not unlike
the tuber i'm cutting so
-maliciously-
this chunk of earthy flesh
takes many shapes&forms;
constantly changing
yetalwaysstill
a potato
a seed unto itself
ready to spread roots
wherever it may land
living in dark solitude
yet always reaching up
towards light-
towards life-
i find a hidden bad spot
and carefully [eradicate it]
such a good potato
should not go to waste
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 7:09 AM UTC