"massively" poems
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
***** girl. godly beast.
I couldn't be
one of those
beautifuls
if I pleased.
tribal bones stained
with European empirico
I am black death disease,
just human trash
that learned to read
& I believe bootleg genius
is being
massively reproduced
more cheaply & as we speak
is being weakened
so as to be spoon fed
to the cool kids.
yknow they
couldn't do it
by themselves.
never sweated.
laughed instead
yes
I seen em
inchin to the edge
but
I didn't
do anything about it.
I kinda feel guilty
cause I didn't
do anything about it.
It's just a ****** up
awful sound,
a whole generation
hitting the ground
at once.
Man. it really
puts things in perspective.
kinda makes you wonder
what's coming next.
medicine medley
ineffectual
malady infectious
witch hunt etiquette,
I think in pictures
disney depictions of
apocalyptic ****
yet to be decrypted
I rip myself to pieces
every day.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Sitting in our tutorial
Just me and Nick
Both surreptiously
Watching the seconds tick
"Kevin", Nick pauses,
I'm glad he's got something to say,
"What's it called when girls ****
OK, wasn't expecting that...
I ponder for a second
To consider my response
I'd quite like it if I don't have to say the word 'wank' myself
Or any synonym.
Fortunately, spurred on by his youth,
Nick saves the day:
"Is it called *********
"Yeah I think either one would do
Now let's get back to this history,
Where did ****** bomb in 1942?"
So the lesson continues
Just Nick and me
Both surreptiously
Massively relieved
PS
Strictly speaking, 'fingering' is when someone else's hand is involved.
'To finger oneself' is the equivalent to ************
I have no regrets that I failed to make this distinction at the time.
Part 2 (a few weeks later)
"Kevin, this might sound like a funny question, but
Have you heard of a ********
Me: "er...No"
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
On of the things i commonly see that disturbs me massively
Is a man wanting full control over a woman
It upsets me dramatically and i would never desire such a horrid concept
I want my girl to be free, as she bows to no one.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
Strange insecurity
overflowing backwashing traitors
skilled by entities
willing to viciously ******
massively diminish minds
whom without say-accept
what's to be overturned
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
I have a friend named Ana.
She made me be like her.
She tells me what to eat,
When I eat that is.
For most day she tells me,
"You don't need food to live,
All you need is to be skinny
Other wise you won't be pretty
And no one likes the ugly girls."
She taught me how to fix myself,
And now I stay on her tallest shelf.
She has glued me to my seat
And told me that I cannot eat.
For if I eat then my thighs,
Will massively grow in size.
She told me I can never leave
And now I'm stuck with her screams.
She taught me how to be like her
And I'm afraid there is no cure.
Now I sit and remember her words,
"No one likes the ugly girls."
Then I realise suddenly
Ana isn't her,
It's me.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Winds whipping certainties into,
Tiny hurricanes,
Spinning around every drop of thought she
Disowns, discounts.
This turmoil, the only survival she's ever known,
Keeps her in the air, suspended, ambiguous, beautiful or terrifying?
So she shakes and cries in fear,
Of the day she stops spinning.
Surrounded by biting cold fronts,
Pushed around by sparks of warm relief,
She's a hot mess, sticky, humid, and alive with electric charge.
Her pleas bellowed into thunder,
Static shock breaking her voice,
Into something massively engulfing.
The kind of sound that makes a grown man feel small.
You can feel her coming from miles away.
She knows the weight of her presence better than anyone.
So lonely and heavy is her grief,
So bright and menacing is her capability.
Ironically, just the right balance of
Hot,
And cold,
Positivity,
And negativity,
Swiftly reacting, turning, changing her,
Into this rain ridden,
Angst swollen,
Ferociously complex storm system,
Stealing the heat she can,
Clinging to any energy she once drew on.
Never releasing her festerings.
Standing above a world she cannot touch,
Without destroying.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Martin Luther King's dream means:
Massively
Less
Ku Klux **** members
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
I can't say that I'm sorry,
Or wish that I'd written a different story,
The stars may not align,
But at least we can say we tried
I don't see you knocking at my door,
You must be slightly jaded or massively bored,
I hear no voices at all,
Just a whisper of what we used to call
"Love"...
I walked straight into your town,
Before the dust had a chance to settle down,
You never voiced your concerns,
But had enough air in your lungs to hurt
This must have just been some game,
For months now it hasn't quite been the same,
You fade the more that I blink,
Is this what I am destined to think
of "Love"...
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 10:56 AM UTC
(in life)
who am i to warm a cave of darkness with my lust?
or assume your darkness mine to dissipate?
as if a sacred candle burned behind the windows of my heart
and ****** its light through tip of flame beyond
,above the piercing point to spark our confirmation in a universal eye
invisible, but seen as heat you flail about
and cause to quake the melting, sliding crust i am
you have wandered by to rupture me from my serene espy.
to quarrel with mycenterself i turned into myself i am a fool,
how can a taint intention claim essential gravity to good?
encumbered with a blinding zeal
i almost rage amid to satisfy
irrupt, and only drape with words i barely see defined
to justify the greed
in unknown passions gathered out to sun,
eyes aglint of golden maxims worn
by public distorts, magisters of lies
spilling over paths..the voyeuristic farce of virtuosity and virtue mating there
commodities of ****** pride and shame
that cater to ambition's lurid lure:
massively conjoined our worlds, aswirl
transform the pulsar-vortex at the base of me
from threaten-fount to million-twiching node
it sears the face from all our superficial doubts,
gluts us writhing mercy in oblivion.
...transparency collects an inner soot
as we devour red-tip wicks in wax we puddle with our sport--
the outer glass respires steam into the winter nights
--hot against the skin
in flesh embarking in that window *** at last,
we smudge our bodies over every icy pane
--entwined, concupiscent flames
to blacken out the world we claim as only there for us
.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Stone of massive solidness, shards of gemlike flint
Crystalline refractions flash in noon day's sunshine glint,
Obelisk in grasses green, immense in grey repose
Has lain in place for centuries here, how long, nobody knows.
Created in the hellfire deep and ****** up from below
Molten in its’ infant form to flow with orange glow.
To work its’ way down mountain flank to plunge to cascade’s grasp
And tumble, grinding river stone, worn smooth in torrent’s clasp.
Rolling swift in flooded flow to beach by river’s edge
With grasses green against it’s’ girth in shade of leafy hedge.
Seasons come… cold rain and snow with baking heat in summer past
Millennia doth flow on by to leave untouched this boulder, vast.
Until this day I happened by, perchance beneath a clear blue sky
To rest my bones upon this rock, remove my boot and empty sock.
Admiring, in the midday sun, the snow clad peak and river run,
In wilderness of debris strewn from high volcano past it’s noon.
To notice with discerning gaze the rock, on which I sit, is glazed
With crystals of refracting fire to capture, now, my eye entire.
What secrets lie within this stone that lies so massively, alone?
What history has passed it by beneath its centuries of sky?
What stories could this boulder tell should I remove its silent spell?
Bemused, I tie my boot and yield,this obelisk to chosen field…..
Marshalg
On the timeless bank of Taranaki’s wild, wild Stoney River.
25 November 2013
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
An ideal he seeks to truly live because he has everything to give, though worlds pass by before his eye.
There is less time to be had, no lifelines to grab but he isn't sad, he chose to be a nomad.
But today he is astray, and unable to convey his dismay, all may fall into disarray.
A little more regret each day, things he wished he could've said, they weigh down on him like lead, for he carries the burden of the dead.
Stars wheel overhead and dark dreams rule his head
Has he lost his feel for the real?
A growing concern the fruits of his mind are beginning to peel.
He steps over the ominous ledge, so massively tall, in his lonely fall he cries out, for he'd barely lived at all.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
my blue bones are wit
and it means less to keep things
and nothing is quiet.
we rely on knit springs and
disingenuous
copilots.
we're prone to the oath
of our fears
suckling the dent in our collective breast.
nursing the suffering
of our sharp pillows
and the terrors of our happiness, windswept.
we cherish the swamp-sweat
of outlines...
chalking the missing
body.
instead of dem crocodiles, we have golden calf-fish
slaughtered on the lawn
of our untarnished rush...
prospecting -
and jumping the claim
to our gummi
worm.
we tumble in tandem,
and massively mismanage our enchantments.
my bones are blue
wit
and it means less
to have at
it.
we jab Stats and lack Data, but clap atoms
to a mad hatter.
we raid the pantry of our miffed ladder
against the side of
a barn
gone.
leaning in the twilight of
our genuine
sun.
surly pixies in the black sugar, kinking the last nerve of our entropy.
dem crocodiles, grinning rigid menace
in the murk... instead of dem -
let us first disperse
where the hurt, hurts; and be first
to do less worse than
a farcry
or an up-close
word
a tad mean. lets collapse things
that expand, burning all this,
instead of dem
secrets...
un-ghouling the riddle of our dead wait
in the infinite room next to the room
with the last view
of a naked
girl.
where the world is this world. and we're on it.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
On the lightly scarlet skies of April
All bright pink petals scattered as they seem
Under the Peach tree I opened the seal
Drawing different bridges to a dream
Across are various majestic temple,
Behind are the footprints of the past,
Inside are those long beloved people ,
Around are pink petals that fall so fast
As I take foot, the wind blows massively
The chimes clamor and the river rages
But still look as it shines the scenery
Beyond complexity of the ages
Whatever bridge my comrade cross I look back still
To see the beauty of the Autumn in April
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.
Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
The calm was worn out of her.
For decades, jesus **** ---tens… of … fucking...years,
She had abstained, held back, postponed and missed out.
Somehow she had become the Mother Theresa of kind gestures,
The one who helped
And healed
And hovered
And hoped,
Oh god how she had hoped,
Until standing in front of the mirror
In Bloomingdale’s basement,
Her lips chapped and her mouth parched,
In some obscene sort of spiritual dehydration,
A pre- catatonia,
And sensing the up swell of a hurricane of self-hatred,
So overwhelming
That it numbed her fingers and made her nose itch,
In this instant she could not tell
Which side of the mirror she was on.
Was she looking at herself or was she the reflection of herself.
In this messiah moment,
When a massively disinterested sales clerk asked her
If she had found what she was looking for,
In this exchange with a stranger with a name tag on,
Her life stopped.
And for the first time ever she responded, yes I think I have.
So she bought the dress which showed way too much cleavage,
Wore it out of the store and into an uptown bar,
Where she surveyed the 5 o’clock crowd,
Found the face of a man she had never seen before
And walked up to this stranger in a suit
And offered to buy him a drink.
He accepted, Jesus was it really that easy.
They exchanged maybe twenty words,
She knew exactly what she wanted,
And she shivered twice,
At the end of a dark corridor,
Bent over a cold aluminum beer keg,
A fistful of her hair in his hands,
Her ******* wrapped round one ankle,
The dress now a sash about her waist.
And so her secret life began.
She didn't tell her husband,
Or her priest,
She took a part time gig
At a massage parlour with the happiest of endings,
And she felt powerful and a little insane.
Sitting at Sunday dinner, smiling and engaged,
She wondered if she was a sociopath, a closet ******
How could deception and promiscuity
Bring her happiness,
Where honour and fealty had failed.
She worried about others finding out,
It would destroy her life if they did,
Disgrace was a terminal disease at her stage,
Her heart would panic each time she entered the salon,
Each time she had to parade nearly naked,
In front of a new client,
The moment before she entered the room,
Would she know the man on the other side of that door,
Was the risk worth it.
Time after time she decided it was.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
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Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 4:03 AM UTC
Your caress has turned to mold,
to keep me good you said:
"someday, if only.."
this way,
I vivisect,
my dead soul with your
increased failed words
while I shelter
on this avenue that you walked on,
once with hopes for your return
and....going going gone.
The bad habit of my fantasies
a stillborn hunger
so massively
I wish for you
to do me violently,
in the back of your car
like a deity,
like that cigarette that never leaves your mouth
Inhale me deeply
blow the smoke out
and let me spread
from your lungs into the hole in your heart.
Drive me far - I won't object,
lick at my scars as to infect and
indulge yourself with me,
tangle in the kiss
that eyes grace
upon naked skin
dazzled by delicate writs.
As your most needed need
force me to please.
And I will cry
when the rain falls,
I do it once more for you
as if taught
to obey teardrops,
so pure
I lay them in front of you to hold
buttons to be pushed, no,
tear them apart
won't you?
-11
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
One simply
Cannot
Fall in love
Just an illusion
Emotion
Craving for
Adoration
Is it a verb
No
One cannot
Perform love
It's a noun
A silly
Invisible
Object
Do people
Feel it
Some do
Others
Fake it
If it's only
A feeling
Why
Do we all
Want
It
Why
Do our
Lives
Depend
Massively on
It
When they say
Love
Is all you
Need
They're wrong
Aren't they?
They have to be
Wrong!
But
Your soft hands
That secure
Mine
Carefully,
Your hands say
The opposite
No
They must be
Wrong!
But
Your caring eyes
That sincerely
Blindly love,
Your eyes say
The opposite
Too
Maybe they're
Wrong?
And
Your carelessness
Unawareness
And all
That's funny
About you,
They say
The opposite
So maybe they're
Not wrong?
And
Every little bits
Every piece
And
Every reason
Why I admire
You,
They too
Say the opposite
Are they really
Wrong?
They can't be!
Maybe
They're right
Maybe
I myself
Had fallen too
And maybe
I do need love
I do desire
It
Maybe
I'm wrong.
-djs
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
Master Piece
To get to the level of mastery
A must urgency
Needed necessities
a master fee/
master time master weakness master craft
mastering/
all the short comings
over come
catastrophe blasphemies/
master strength master length
The duration it takes to overtake
It's important
master these/
the nay Sayers
what they say?
Correct this too takes mastering/
convey compute portray transmute
No further dispute
Now that's masterly/
listen... First priority
the highest form of a master fee/
pay attention to their actions
the feel... tension?
If it's the last thing
master these/
Observe you'll already
be ahead of the curve
massively/
Master the little things/
Every inch you give is a mile gone
Turn those inches in to millstones
Master fully/
never to be locked down or in always a way to win
Now thats a master key/
They laughed at first now no jokes
Master stroke master-ease/
Within the master class
Enrolled contemplate
Confine till you find
That's master mine or mind/
Eventually/
you will be
A master of ceremony/
The silence will increase
When you piece
it all together
Now that's a master peace
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
A richest mother,
who let
her children suffer,
she is, a tallest
than a tallest Palm
and Dates trees,
For those
who are near,
her shadow is useless,
And those,
who are very far
benefitting massively.
It's my richest and,
a giant mother
Nigeria
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC
They go thru flow cells
and return a million read
Weekly poems sent
anonymously to be sequenced
in a massively parallel
batch job
The hits come back
in blinking dots,
ephemeral likes, individual
happy flashes from
bar-coded singlets.
But how to know
when a solitary spot
has read our entire
genome?
Have you binged
on the DNA
of our identity?
Can you tell us
who I are
and
where I are going?
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
i'm so head over heels in love,
i've forgotten about myself-
about my grades,
about my work ethic,
about my friends.
my grades have definitely slipped massively.
i call in sick for work when i feel like being in bed with him is better than paying the bills,
and i feel like i only talk to my friends when he has done something cute.
who am i
anymore? the only person i have,
i forget about you each time i am
caught up in something good, i
love you so much but for some reason,
i am in love with others before you.
you are single-handedly, the most
beautiful, and more important person
ever. i am sorry, i must take better, better care of you -
*"if you don't ******* take care of yourself," he had said as he was scratching his messy bedhead, "i'm going to have to." and although that was the most loveliest of thoughts, the me from a year ago cried out in anguish: "no! don't you dare put your own well-being in the hands of someone else ever again. we both know how that could end."*
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
In newer, modern-digital ages - it may seem more and more so - brainwashed thoughts are being driven into the wall, and they are being expelled like snot, because the hated counter-argument can also splash back at any time if one is not careful. In newer modern ages, the persistently nauseating flattery can rather give birth to massive ***** than to chemically pure ******* massively praising the law-makers. The given era regularly snaps the ant-men, like an unwanted cigarette **** saying; they will be just fine - even among themselves -, they will be an ashtray.
Because the newest digital ages, like strings, bind and weave through the lives of simple, melancholy average people, like some everyday, negligible little package, not to fall apart, because the rhythmic intoxication of croaking frogs is clearly audible. Because - I fear - even sincere confidences may have less and less room among merely conscious, unsettled cell-molecules.
- A person would become a collapsed block if he constantly cried on the secret channels of tabloid media about who managed to successfully **** how much? How did he gain weight, who earned more? Maybe sometimes it is better to be consciously present and permanent loneliness trapped within four walls, not disturbed by a smartphone, smart TV, or laptop.
What is the better solution: social loneliness next to someone whose body and mind can still tolerate it, or to consciously chase away and exclude everything and everyone from yourself?! Many useless, yet essential, questions to be decided. In the flight of a kite, one should still catch a few more bold moves before the big leap into the phlegmatic infinity.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
rest of title...Parkland, Fla.,February 14, 2018
One more senseless mass homicide
twas the sole arbitrary aim
as a former student nonchalantly
sauntered empty hallways
seconds preceding blame
brazenly intent to maximize total killed
matter of factly telling police
(his incomprehensible)
(ill) logic he did explain
when cornered, he willingly,
unflinchingly, reticently admitted guilt
Nikolas Cruz rocketed
to instantaneous infamous fame
pulling a fire alarm
("FAKE") emergency,
then going leisurely ambling
along his killing spree
total of seventeen slain (comprising 3 faculty
and 14 students)
mercilessly gunned down
as if they were wild game
when handcuffed, an innocuous
19 year old did readily admit
emptying one firearm after another
at a fairly rapid clip
then at some predestined
or spurious moment didst dip
and dive out amidst
the chaotic madding crowd
before reality flopped then did flip
as lower teeth he nervously bit upper lip
made feeble getaway
at a nearby eatery casually flirted
with cashier and made no move to flit
upon his seizure as cornered prey
subsequently large tract
massively cordoned off
strong arm of the law
slightly halting in speech
detailed his gambit
deliberately staking
a stance to maximize hit
and once again afflicted parents lit
up with rancor and rage pit
toughly battling sorrow
which will not quit
til death doth bring peaceful rest
sans, those grieving family visit.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC