"maltreated" poems
A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...
A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...
A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...
A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...
A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...
A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...
A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...
Sally
Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
There is a line
between
pain and
pleasure.
But when that line blurs-
When the pleasure overthrows
your inhibitions
and the pain numbs your body,
When pain becomes pleasure
and pleasure becomes pain,
how do you know when to stop.
I glorify it.
I crave the taste
of the sickness.
of the disease rippling across my skin,
boiling in my veins
and flowing through my blood.
Is it Healthy?
I love you,
I love it,
but is it healthy
To walk the streets at night
in constant fear
not only of what lurks in the shadows
but of you too.
Anorexic bodies
falling all around us.
Mine included.
Skinnier by the day,
yellow nails chipping and peeling,
grinding of the teeth
to procure a never ending headache.
Pale skin;
cold to the touch
from lack of circulation.
Weak in your arms
an intoxicated mind
and a heart struck through with daggers.
Blasting screams
and beats
to block out the world
and create a throbbing in our heads.
Your freak show;
My guilty little pleasure.
So sick
So satanic
So tenebrific
So twisted
so disturbed
so disgusting
so beautiful
so broken.
cradled by poison,
hold me in your arms,
a monster in the shadows
with thanatognomonic eyes.
With my thanatophobia
You manage to keep me alive.
You do it to feel the pain,
as a confirmation that you're still alive,
But I do it to feel nothing,
to feel all this pain
all these repressed emotions
disappear.
Overall we do it to stay alive,
and shred away
our pitiful sorrows
one by one,
piece by piece.
For inch by inch
we come closer
to meeting the same
fate
of our cold,
useless,
easily forgotten bodies
lying on a metal slab.
Soon to be greeted
by the maltreated Earth.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Someone moves like a python striking prey,
someone screams at the top of their voice moving away,
and suddenly it's as though I'm back to you and me,
and I relive all the things you'd do to me.
Someone brushes me by; touching my skin,
and a friend kisses me on the cheek with a friendly grin -
but I flinch violently; scared of what might happen, evergrowing eerier
because you used to leave not kisses but bruises laced on my exterior.
Someone is drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey
not caring about his actions which really are rather risky.
And I'm reminded of you and the way you used to drink
and how you'd blame It for the way you'd throw my head against a wall with a clink.
Someone spills wine onto the floor without a care,
but all I can do is panic and stare,
because had that been me when I was with you,
I'd have been your punchbag every waking moment - you know it's true.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
puffed out chest, ignorant, aggressive, and far too conceited
these are the traits of a man whose biggest fear is looking defeated
to admit fault and apologize is the same as having retreated
one can't debate these fools as the arguments will soon become heated
and odds are if you keep this up you're bound to be maltreated
it's like their brains are underdeveloped; functioning yet uncompleted
they don't learn from lawful punishment and the behaviour is repeated
my patience with some people is really becoming depleted
if only there were an ethical way to have some of them deleted
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
What's in the power?
What is below?
Frustrated,
maltreated,
victorious,
and on
and above
frustrating again,
the power
makes people
forget
To Who I Belong...?
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
this space this place
a shelter from the weather
wind the rain unclothed
the deer would huddle
in habitual restlessness alert
except when in the forests’ deepest
dark their great pale eyes would close
today this sheltering of souls
does not escape the weather
but life’s maltreated pattern
its daily flux and disarray
to sit in this observatory
of evening sky’s condition
seeking only quiet and rapture
on high-backed benches
settled as giants enthroned
pale orange light above our heads
glows within an architrave
to reach across the funnelled
ceilinged surface to the aperture -
a heightened vision of the sky
we close our eyes prayer-like
to meet our solitary self
where teeming thoughts begin
mind images stream
discarding all intent and reason
until we raise our lidded sight
to this single square of sky
travelling the past and triggered
by undetermined thoughts
speech ringing in the ears
words flood and spawn
so intense this skied perfection
we are drugged towards
a kind of sleep: time waits
then a wakefulness resumes
and all is sound spun turbulence
from trees above that calm and fill
replacing or confusing thought
inside the noise of rising wind: a single
oaken leaf is tossed within the chamber
where it skids and quivers at our feet
unlike the deer who lack imagination’s marvel
we take our thoughts outside this present space
this containment empty of distraction save ourselves
our so-slightly shifting hands buttocks heads limbs eyes
towards a nether world we have no words to share
the salient features of this dreamscape we might glimpse
that is ourselves: distinct alone apart beyond
slowly shifting colour from grey of day to blue of night
the small square accumulates ephemeral
memos sent from our seated selves perhaps
to fly with the wind-tossed crows to roost
somewhere in nearby trees we cannot see -
with the handshake of Friends the meeting ends
and out of silence shyly we reconnect with speech
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
I'm different
yeah I'm different,
I'm different
yeah I'm different,
been praised
since birth
for my originality
*****
mentality
bow down
to the freak of freaks
with the good techniques
compliments of god
just for being odd
think I'm plagued by benality
cursed by originality
they think it's the coolest
they think it's so great
they don't understand
how this twists my fate
I'm different
yeah so different
pretending to be indifferent
to being treated
maltreated
isolated
outcast
never understood
different isn't so good
and if I could
I'd be so much more generic
I'd have little simple thoughts
eco friendly watts
get starbucks on weekends
do my nails and hair
highlights down to there
and if you only knew
how it feels
to be so **** alone
you wouldn't be so prone
to envy my creativity
when it's met
with such negativity
to have no coherence
of proclivity
I'm a slave
in captivity
people come by and watch
but don't touch
they point
ooh and aaah
but they don't know what to feed me
how to care for mee
my biggest strength
is my biggest flaw
Since birth
I've been told
I'm so original
but I'm so broken it's clinical
almost criminal
these thoughts I have
living in a world so fictional
I'm so fuckin' lonely
and hungry
and slowly
freezing to death
with no one to keep me warm
or speak to
I'm cryin up a storm
because no one understands
no one knows my heart
no one knows my soul
you'd think with all this praise
I'd be able to climb out of this hole
but truth be told
lord behold
I am a long sad story
nobody can unfold.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Never had I seen such beauty like yours,
Such a worthwhile smile that shapes me like a file.
Never had I seen such wit as yours,
Such a rightful judge to the cruel misrule.
Never had I seen such persona, with playfulness, reasonableness, uprightness, and inquisitiveness.
Never had I seen perfection, the quintessential condensation of all great characterization, in balance with my imperfection.
Yet it is only wise to appreciate you with my eyes, as my body is apprehended by the past, the future, the time, and the agony.
The life I've experienced has taught me that love is futile, served with sadness and unhappiness and dolefulness with a side of temporary blissfulness.
The idea of success impedes me from obtaining happiness, from settling for ‘less’ and portray a smile nevertheless.
Warped by expectation, limitation, and exploitation, time isn't sufficient to provide you with my fixation, affectation, and ministration.
Sustainability I cannot devise for when I witness your brown eyes, brown like earth, which with the kiss of rain and the seed of love can allow the flourish of life and euphoria never dreamed of.
My heart accelerates uncontrollably, approaching me to a heart attack of which I'm never coming back.
I suffocate as you leave me breathless, yet you suppress my stress and hopelessness.
I so wish to warm your hand while wrapping around your arm.
I so wish to embrace you in my arms and promise you safety for eternity.
I so wish to feel your lips and your hips, never letting go until the last grasp of my fingertips.
I so wish to stare at the stars to your side, while I admire your eyes, hoping that our love never dies.
But being with you is an impossibility, in addition to an atrocity.
Separated by time, a history, and personalities, war would form and never end in peace,
For my peasantry doesn't deserve your royalty,
For my filthiness shan't nudge your pureness,
For my darkness can't cohere with your brightness.
I'd be put to trial for the exile of your smile, the most intact of the wonders of the world that would now be purled.
I wish I could love you but never will I deserve you,
Never will we be together, for we would be an incompatible tether.
I wish I could be with you but it is true that we are through,
Never shall our past be repeated, for it won't be greeted, but rather maltreated.
I wish I could but I've understood from our childhood where I stood and where I stand,
Never will I know, if I were… with you, know where it would lead to.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
I woke up every single day
Without nothing commenting on my way,
I tried so hard to go away
Envy, angry, everyday.
I always looked up; to fight my rights
But people I know they are my benight
Who, Where are my knights?
Why they leave me in this sorrowful night?
Do I need to use a punctuation semi colon;
To continue, but I was abandoned.
I grant a pardon to them and make some action
But my action treated like malfunctioned.
They caught me; I was a real spy
But no one can testify
Do I need to terrify?
From revealing what I classified.
Let me just simplify,
Don't be so happy and complacently feeling ahead
You're just still and stilled in my toe; instead.
I hope that this piece, won't you read,
Because I don't want you maltreated.
I'm a good person you know,
I can protect you, but now we're full of foes
I don't want to be your patience with this show
Just reserve it to your woe.
My time is close enough to making amends for,
My willingness for you to pay what's my depths;you adore
I know You lived and believed from the story that you bought into the bookstore
And now, you can't be with me evermore.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC