"misrepresent" poems
walking on shards of glass whenever we interact
i am unnatural, nervous
usually feel so authentic and perfect
you mix my energy like a bartender
misrepresent my ability like my father
leading me to walk on shards of glass
sweeting the darker moments in the past
it is easier like that
it is easier to unpack
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 8:47 AM UTC
gimme your gap tooth and breath that i admire
darling please, allow my reverie to reconstruct
a world in which i needn't ask or plan for your presence,
but one where your body is certain
and words misrepresent the truths we hold dear.
simply stated, exist around me
so that we may stay one, together.
place your fingers tips above my brow
in the early morning light
and comb my furrows clean with that identity all your own
soothe my worried soul in ways no abused substance has
and show me the calm that rests deep within this chaos.
simply stated, press your skin against mine
with the weight you choose to carry.
lovely, remember what I whispered
before I kissed your forehead.
that my love for you will change,
but never did I say quite how.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
stolen verses blanket the floor space
encircled by the inspiration of others
tastelessly faceless
pests controls fail
as the numbers overwhelm
everyone thinks there are special
and the selfies are there to prove it
zit faced miscreants misrepresent mankind
in asexual fodder and anthropomorphic
suburban camo
turban wearing wash-outs
hold court over newbies
attempting to sew again
hippy seeds
their stench, deafening –
sandaled dirt clods
scamper
seeking selfishly surrogates
someone to birth their ideas
raise and tend the dreams
fund the movement
all the while recognizing the futility
feverishly fapping the frail phallus
frequently finding foolish *********
flipped in their folly –
********* the finale
freakish frogs filibuster
night creeps in as the soft sound of mating toads
fill the air
stars dot the moonless night
complete in its absence of clouds
only the wash of the milky way
holds hearts –
pandering to the philanthropist
looking longingly in giving eyes
for a scrap of dignity
and bread –
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
yes i have to admit it
Black is beautiful
ya **** right it is
not just
"The Black People are beautiful" but
**** it "Black People are Beautiful"
we have a everlasting Black beauty
that live inside of us
say it with clarity and
say it with gusto
say it like you really mean it
ain't no shame in my game and
ain't no sunshine when she is gone
you gotta work on your
pronunciation phraseology and semantics
to truly represent it
listen i know what
the hell i am
talking about because
Black Folks have their own
definition of Black beauty and
it ain't in no **** Webster dictionary
its more spiritual then anything else
most Black People know
what i am talking about
Cleopatra was a very beautiful
Black African Queen
even the Roman emperors
feared and respected her Black Beauty
(Mark Anthony for example)
the ancient Romans had a real crush
on this beautiful jett Black Women
thus made a man drop to his knees
with the power and glory of
her Black Beauty
unfortunately in the mass media
Cleopatra is always portrayed or depicted
as a Caucasian European woman nevertheless
so wonderful is our true blackness
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Black Beauty is our reality and
we own it until the end of time say amen and
thus we are still admired by the world again
we control our Black Beautiful souls
we must create our own
Black Beauty Products and
stop given our money away
to other people that misrepresent us and
don't give a **** about
how we look on this earth
Stop taking our stuff
make me mad the way
they treated Michael Jackson
you know about the derogatory
insensitive racial jokes
so we shall be the judge and jury of
all shades of our rainbow race
don't be scared anymore Black People
its ok to be Black and sometimes
words hurt but we must hold
our heads up high with dignity and respect
i know just how you feel and
i know we got some real Black Sheep
in the family tree claiming to
be something that they ain't
remember this Black People
we are the Black Roses
that shine for thee
in the Garden of Eden and
the true reflection of God's light
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
I think God might
Be a little prejudiced
To divide the world
Into many names of himself
For once he asked me to
Join him for a walk
But said his name was Divinity?
There was no mention
Of this fellow called God
Or why the Christian God
Or Allah were particularly key?
All Gods misrepresent nature
Where there is injury, pardon
And where there is doubt, faith
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is strife, unite
You don’t need a God to do it
But just a bit of goodness, humanity
I think God might
Be getting a little old
For the pope to finally accept homosexuality?
I think God is a bit of a buffoon
Unless you can sow love, for hatred
And show charity not only for your people
Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist
I think they all pray equally well
Though even the anarchist and agnostic
Hope for a better world than this!
I think God might be a bit out of date
Maybe it’s time to write a new book
And call it scripture, call it holy
To be understood, as to understand
To seek to console, to be consoled
To be loved, as to love
It’s all really the same.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
what is it when every time witness your image.. minutes feeling like forever, when i know everything is finished. reflections may not be as vibrant as they use to be, you know everything seem to turns translucent. lucid, but losing what it exactly meant to an extent. lingering somewhere rather known dwelling deep inside. let alone all i confided just a piece is missing, when it comes to reminiscing. i know it doesn't make any difference. past tense to present.. the significance lost its value.. its not a coincidence. just dont misrepresent
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
The sands of time,
far more numerous than the sea,
outweigh the odds,
cast back the fleeting,
see things as they are,
the truth of all things.
If time is a cage,
then truth is the key,
and if what you need is change,
then release the safety,
and break the bulwark,
the safety you've always known.
The grass is always greener,
things are always better from the outside looking in,
always better from far away,
good things do not come to those that wait,
they are snatched by those willing to reach.
In time all will come to know the sting of sadness,
the ache of regret swelling in their veins,
but know this,
time heals all wounds,
and death is not the refuge you seek,
fear is for the weak and stupid,
the reaper comes to collect,
not to free.
Don't fight the flow of time,
accept its crushing embrace,
forge from the fires someone you respect,
a persona worthy of your love,
and cease murmuring of what you hang on your cross.
Never take it sitting down,
fight fire with fire,
strike down conspiring fates,
be your own person,
never heeding popular demand.
You are who you choose to be,
tendencies may exist,
but raise your fist instead,
there is you and there is your shadow,
choose the better of the two.
Slice it down the center,
tear apart all conventions that misrepresent,
seek only truth,
don't change for anyone,
change only for your own sake,
fight for what you believe,
that's the only advice I can give you.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
There was a time that I
Would laugh at the word
Known as the curse
Of the world—
Humanity
Destructors,
Murderers,
Abominations
Heedless,
Reckless,
Unspeakable
Without any doubt
In grandeur
Thoughts of themselves
Among artists—
Animals,
Innocents,
Irreproachable
Here for but
Love and safety
Nothing more
Humans—
Dreadful,
To the core
They have emotions of greater capacity
Empathy beyond explainable magnitude
Yet with humanity are neglected
In the case of convenient
Vile manipulation
Here I’ll ponder thoughts in nostalgic regret
Why give staggering, mighty, beauteous emotions
To only those who misrepresent
This bestowal of divinity
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
not quite a girl
not quite a woman
not really a witch
for lack of a better word
she's quite the witch
her feet
and the sound of her voice
rise and fall
with my patience and libido
for lack of a better way of explaining it
she knows I love her but she doesn't care
for lack of a better method of shutting me up
our lips will meet, greet, say “ta-ta”
off she goes
other side of the room
other side of the globe
her behavior seems to say
“for lack of anything better to do
I misrepresent myself
and choose YOU”
I'm not her plan A,B or C
but lonely punctuation
behind those she'd rather see
our time together haunts me
and took ownership of a part of my brain
I call it love while my physician gives it a different name
for lack of a better way to keep me sane
he feeds me poison and tells me it's okay
I hear her voice
I see her eyes and she sees mine
she smiles, nods and turns away
for lack of a better way to say goodbye
she tells me she'll always be a part of me
anger hurt, searing pain
would be nice to see her again
she was never mine but I was always hers
for lack of any desire to be polite
get em by the throat and never let em go
it is too soon but I was too late
for lack of a better way to give advice
what else is there to say?
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
*Was there ever anything in nature
So sweet or so exquisite that it must be
Resisted before it can come to fruition?
Within natures covering malice cannot blacken
One’s heart nor shall ignorance misrepresent it.
Even such as it is I must slave for nineteen
Hours out of twenty-four with the remaining
Time to be spent reckoning for the first nineteen.
There is nothing in the world that I loathe more
Than to be interrupted in the middle of a story
Except and unless the same interruption happens
While I am dreaming the end of a story
Before I have ever written the first verse.
This is not a distinction without a difference.
For Instance ...
If I had on my head a three-cornered hat
With one and a half brims turned up
And one and a half brims turned down
Would you say that I went off half cocked?
What if I had two brims turned up
And one brim turned down would you then
Say that I was two-thirds cocked?
If this is true then if I roll all three brims up
Then I suppose you’d say that I am fully cocked.
I tell you that I can be neither half cocked,
Two thirds cocked or fully cocked
As long as my hat is on my head.
For ‘tis only when my head is bare as a
Baby’s backside can I even begin to ponder
The gray matter uncovered by some old hat.
In any event it matters not a bean’s stalk
Whether the old hat is half cocked
Or if it’s a half cocked old hat.
The difference is in the definition of
An old hat as well as in the definition
Of what cocked really means.
And you’d best be careful how you mix the two
Otherwise if I laid my old hat on the bed
And cocked it just right somebody could
Get the wrong impression.*
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
force-fed lies by those elected to protect
reddens my raw throat
hoarsely shouting into the void
that oddly enough looks like
the populace at large
blank faces, replaced
gone are the impassioned speeches
and marching masses
instead we see
the insane rallying troop movement
my glass house sits very near
to the danger zone
and fall-out patterns –
asteroid minors look at a distant blue dot
thinking of simpler times
and solid foods –
Republican miscreants misrepresent
minorities
mandating moratoriums
on malt liquor
and manicures –
purest snow falls on the Peruvian plains
toxin free
drinkable
peasant farmers are handed land claims
on generational farms
today, PEPSI owns all precipitation –
hope fades
and faith dwindles
the reality of a global super-power
restraint less
and hungry –
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
This is partly because of a communications network called NEON (New Economy Organisers Network).
Neither affiliated to Labour nor Momentum,
this organisation has been working hard behind the scenes to train left-wing experts, community organisers and activists
in direct action peoples power
Corbyn’s anti-Semitism crisis and the proliferation of the extreme left factions proves one thing:
The old Stalinist gang is back in charge of Labour
Those people, whose lives were fundamentally shaped by a Labour government determined to keep them out of the UK because of the colour of their skin, might be surprised to hear the claims in recent weeks, from different quarters, that Labour always has been or was an anti-racist party.
This is a label people in Labour have long claimed. And to prove it, there are particular facts they point to. The introduction of the UK’s various Race Relations Acts all happened under Labour governments. The Stephen Lawrence inquiry was established in the early years of the Blair government – crucially, though, after years of campaigning by Lawrence’s family. And even though it was often met with a frosty reception, there is a rich tradition of anti-racist and anti-colonial organising within Labour;
A little over 10 years ago, New Labour politicians were describing children whose parents were seeking asylum as “swamping” UK schools, running a campaign that declared Labour as on “your side” and the Lib Dems as “on the side of failed asylum seekers”, treating people of colour as not belonging to the nation, defending colonialism and overseeing policies that made asylum seekers destitute. And then there was the post-New Labour “controls on immigration” mug under Ed Miliband.
If we allow people to misrepresent the past by erasing the racist politics that have caused pain, economic degradation and treated people as “other” because of their skin colour, religion, immigration status or “culture”, then we won’t see racism – including anti-immigration racism – as structurally embedded and systemic. These fraught histories are ones the left, within and outside the Labour party, can learn from. Declaring yourself something doesn’t mean you are that; it takes work.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
"Jewel"
Watched it all through the lenses
of a boy without defenses.
That’s when the world was ugly,
and I hadn’t developed senses.
Crippled imagination,
built up wisdom with cunctation,
my peers all mocking smugly.
Assent, their single fixation.
I survived adolescence.
Thoughts, a cultural excrescence.
Could everything be broken?
Just a jest of convalescence.
I knew I’d end up finding
how to loosen up the binding.
And when the words were spoken,
swift, the future went unwinding.
“I do.” She said. And I too.
We wed and were reborn anew.
But where would we set our sights
but a happiness overdue?
The life we’d made extended,
though after some life had ended.
She swims through days, sleeps through nights.
Loved as I’d always intended.
A mystery, pain, torment.
And virtue, we misrepresent.
Fire is hot, and ice is cold.
And naught I can do to prevent.
But love is warm. Courage, cool.
So allow these to be your fuel.
I’ll teach her then, to be bold,
shine in the sun like a jewel.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Write in pen, not in pencil.
Such as in life,
we cannot erase.
Only mark, and scribble, and
smudge it away.
But the mistakes persist.
We write new lines,
new words,
new stories,
past the darkened marks
of our accidents,
in hopes we remain perfcet
onward, afterward,
only to misstep, miswrite,
misrepresent who we are and
permanently leave imperfect
marks upon the pages of
others' lives.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
(In Honour of Prof. Buchi Emecheta)
For the joy of consciousness
I read you countless
I smelt your grievance
I felt your episodes
Scenes and synopsis
you took from the stages to the pages.
Sussed from a bitter side of womanhood
A world growing wild like tendrils
To be or not to be;
Africa must have been accursed
Smuggled through the ditch of venoms
by her neighbours.
The voice of the voiceless second-class citizens
Ọnyèbụchi Emèchetá
..You lit a candle
In the dark room of dejection and whispers
..You broke the silence and spoke loudly;
that even the heavens could hear you.
To the ring that betrays the fist
..the sheep that bleeds by the sword of its shepherd
To the dreams that were murdered in cold-blood
The falsettos that misrepresent womanhood
..and the narratives that quells Africanism
You spoke!!!
© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2017
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
Ashes of the sentiments of her core
fall through the black hole
& for protection she goes to close the door
which falls through the hole
freedom, she cannot afford paying for
gravity pulls her to the hole
when it's time to heal it hurts more
she tries not to fall in the hole
......................
Dark signs are drawn on the urn of her soul
alone she holds the secret of her downfall
the dark eyes of her misrepresent her intentions
the shaking and breaking she never mentions
...............
Ashes of the sentiments of her core
fall through the black hole
& for protection she goes to close the door
which falls through the hole
freedom, she cannot afford paying for
gravity pulls her to the hole
when it's time to heal it hurts more
she tries not to fall in the hole
........................
Thirsty to death, she went to the water well
whilst saving herself, unfortunately she fell
that was the story of her dark lashes & eyes
it is tragic that she dies and they rise..
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Today feels so so surreal.
The pain is so so unreal.
So painful that I have to deal more than some ordinary feeling.
I'll remember this feeling that it's more than pen and paper intriguing.
I needed a sad song to help me resonates with what I'm going through for reassuring that I'm still living.
Imagine I couldn't be so broken and go through what I go through that anything, that drives away will put my muse into transmission instead of reminiscing of this ignition that engines in some sort of remission.
I want to find my omission on this planet which helps me calls my mission.
To know this suffocation isn't the end if this petition.
I gladly know there nothing left to say but to this but be submitting of all of this dedication of this precognition.
With or without written dissertation to someone's else permission. Either to decline nor precise superstition neither to my own future preposition. Expect to a precondition to a certain expectations of neither my rights of a preconceived notions definition.
Can't sway nor hide my any persuasion.
You see you can create things and still called it intrusive, but it how you introduce it as any perspective like it not any other electives. So I'll hear my respective not to misrepresent it. I'll gather my witnesses and still find it by many few selective.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 10:03 PM UTC
I misrepresent the evidence
She smiles
Like an atom bomb
Waiting in The catacombs
What am I dying from
I contemplate which road to take
Her hands between my thighs
I drive
Disregard the gods
Warning
All the passers by
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
**What relevant?
The message never sent
A glance at the light
But my mind never bent
It ran away
And i dont know where it went
The message never sent
A lie saying "lifes super man"
But no relevance to Clark Kent
Whats relevant?
The world beating you so bad
Even your car gets a dent**
*The message never sent
In your heart lays resent
Tell me who it is
That put you in torment
Go ahead trust me
Tell me what you underwent
Well trust misrepresent...
The message never sent
Whats relevant?*
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
What's up with our government
telling us how time and money's spent.
I work longer than 9 to 5
just to try and stay alive
Slaving away with no perks
Killing myself with endless work
No funds for flash, no time to play.
Hittin' the bricks 12 hours a day.
It's hard not to feel this rage
with this out dated minimum wage.
How about you give a ****
How many need to throw a fit
Let's trade places for a bit
And you can take these fuckin' hits
1 trill spent on the war on drugs
Only to find you are the thugs.
To the top once percent
Laughing at our torment
You misrepresent, you reinvent
It's a break of trust
with fraudulent intent
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
When I become passive and unenthusiastic
And my already blackened soul darkens to an even darker shade of black;
When the unknown tears misrepresent my sorrows and my cold sweat is no longer a medal of effort and triumph
When my nails are basically non-existent from my fears eating them away and my hand gets the shake
When people start to have “sympathy” in me and try to understand my tears
When all forms of mental sanity has been terminated, my noggin inside my head but my mind outside my body
People will come and pay tribute to my empty shell, maybe shed a few meaningless tears,
Oh well, its too late now
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
I took your heart and broke it
Occasionally I offered reprieve and stroked it.
I took it out and poked it.
I did this without intent
I tried so hard not to misrepresent
Scared by my own discontent
My failing not yours.
You are beautiful....
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
The scalpel is much like the pen,
In the hands of caring & skilled surgeons.
Tuna, Sturgeon, Trout.
If you loosed a seam
Stitch it or cauterize it - heal it,
Otherwise it's all down-stream.
If you offend,
Make right by making amends;
You are stricken by lightning.
If you misrepresent,
Apologize & correct your error by proper interpretation
Or to the caves be sent!
Judge not the judges,
For you are one & this inclination is only a natural one,
Lest you receive an unjust verdict.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 1:18 PM UTC