"misuses" poems
People say that I'm not the average black girl...
And I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment
Am I not the average black girl because I am so well-spoken?
The fact that I am able to articulate my words...
Or that if a person misuses a word that I simply correct them?
Am I not the average black girl because I don't wear a weave in my hair with noticeable tracks?
Or that instead of me shaking my *** for the world to see...
I choose to make something of myself without diminishing myself?
Am I not the average black girl because I chose a path different from the other black girls...
The path of the dropouts, and being baby mamas at the age of 16...
What is the average black girl?
To me, there is no such thing as the average black girl...
The word "average" is what society has pegged a black girl as being the norm of what black girls are seen as or are supposed to be.
But me, I'm just a black girl
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Kicked up clouds of confusion
Truth misconstrued
Lies are egregious
But truth has
more manipulative misuses
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
My lambs wool jumper.
My merciless mind goes traipsing through my time bank of bad memories.
Other people's bad management, misuses from my past .
Coming from nowhere. Coming from everywhere.
The memories just keep on coming .
My brothers . My mother . My father . And my sister.
Not a nice memory . Not a nice word form me.
Egregious individuals. And a devastating pack .
Three letters came one school morning.
I was six and my brothers a little older
The postman posted three brown envelopes
All a little weighty .
With a little bit of money .
We all three got a sixpence.
We all three got a letter.
So unexpected. A complete surprise!
The excitement of a letter.
The two older boys got theirs from God .
They were good boys .
Mine came from the devil .
I was a bad boy .
I was a humphy backit wee nyaff .
In writing . From the devil .
But thought I was a lovely boy .
Big brown eyes brown hair and dimples .
I never felt bad .
I never sought danger or conflict.
But I was .
In the middle of a battlefield.
Theirs .
You are a bad boy . I am a good boy .
You are being a sook . I am being a good boy .
You always want attention. I am an ill boy.
You always show us up . I am a funny boy .
You are stupid and lazy . You are trying to break this boy .
There I was as their swords flew and I battled their rages.
In my armour.
Made from my grandmothers soft wool jumper .
So soft and gentle and protective .
She let me choose the soft lambs wool.
It wasn't jaggy .
It didn't irritate.
It wasn’t abrasive.
And she made up the cost .
With every stitch .
She stitched with love .
With love for me .
Her boy!
The battle rages on inside .
The shell shocked boy now a man .
Still wrapped in the warmth of his gran.
And her protective lambs wool jumper.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Here I am
Again
Mumbling excuses
For my misuses
Of any likeness
to rhyme
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
There is no fantastical world in which civility between us can exist. Civility, of course, being perceived in the sense that we can coexist pleasantly, without a romance topped with jaded raspberries and peppermint liqueur.
After a generous amount of sneezing and crawling and crying in the moonlight with half embered cigarettes hanging from our dripping mouths, I saw this. A grievous vision of Hank Stamper clawing at my back end, a still-life embedded someplace dark and dank, a cradle so forgotten and filthy that only a mother woven from dirt-covered cloth could love it. We built some ridiculous, disgusting house and made love in it. Day in, day out.
In the end our urinary tract infections infected our kidneys and became fatal when paired with the dysentery. I will always remember your name paired with dysentery, my love.
I promised myself endlessly that I was laying in such a softer settlement without you. Your reckless lifestyle was grimier than mine and our paths collided and collapsed with validity, I was sure of that. I am sure of that. However, it seems my insistence that I recover from you, brings with it some kind of ****** up honor to be dealt your way. Should I write a song about you? No, I'd soon hear it in your trapeze act. Should I make a film about you? No, the lead would be sinfully attractive and further engorge your rather large head. Should I write a book about you? Should I? Have I? Can I? I doubt you would see the honor here. In fact, if you were to look for anything other than consistent misuses of punctuation in my writing, I feel sure you would find solace and comfort and silence would soon follow.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
It’s funny, you know you shouldn’t do it.
But then, when you lay there at the end of the day,
With your head spinning,
You know that you blew it.
Tin after tin assisting the spin,
Memories within kept under your skin,
Revolving and turning and wearing you thin,
Those long lost has-beens,
Inducing your sin.
You see, for me, I’m an ideas man, my brain constantly thinking,
Amplified and catalysed by the substance I’m drinking,
But it’s the thinking that’s linking my drinking to ink in,
These words,
While you sit there mistaking my wincing for winking,
...absurd.
Excuses excuses,
While abusing the juices,
Cause mere minor muses,
To produce abstruse bruises,
Your conduct confuses,
Peering, peers peruses,
Refusing acceptance induces,
Further misuses of boozes.
The taste is wasted,
On the embracing flavours,
As without haste you lay your,
Minimum pay wages down,
On the bar for more inebriation,
You try but you fail to
Waiver your behaviour,
But instead pave your way,
To your bottled slave labour.
It didn’t start out this way, it provided fun out of the blue,
To the problem I was blind as the issue grew and grew,
One turns to two,
Three increased to more,
Upon fixed shoulders heads askew,
Same face, different man, I assure.
Down the hatch they say, bottoms up, cheers!
As the liquor disappears it descends and it sears,
Wipe away the tears from the boozey souvenir,
And await that blissful place with no anxiety, no fears.
I understand why some find it bizarre,
How a soul can solely seek only for the jar,
My own experience has brought me in this far,
So now, this time, it’s time for me to start...
...Raising the bar,
By erasing the bar!!
Now I’ve admitted I have a problem,
I’m committed to drawing a line at the bottom,
Of my past I can’t be acquitted but of my future I can blossom,
No truth dismissive in reality this autumn.
So that’s it for now, I’m wagon bound,
I’m on off this big adventure,
I’ve been a clown, to let it get me down,
Too long in this game I’ve been a contender,
Feet on the ground, I’ll no longer frown,
From the pleasure faked, with measure after measure,
Sorrows no longer drowned, I’ll be around,
And my life, from now, will get better.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Saw thousands of hues
Advertised words and colors abused
By the faceless who sell us happiness
In overpriced shoes, orchestrated cues
Service with a smile imbued
But all in fact bruises, silk nooses
On susceptible brains, adolescent misuses
Of maturity delayed, adulthood paused
all a massive stifling ruse, thus lighting my fuse
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Goodbye, goodbye, how I wish I said goodbye that night
when your eyes were twinkling in the reflection of another.
I watched as she slapped you jokingly on the arm,
as she laughed quietly like she were sharing a secret with you.
Goodbye, I should have said goodbye.
Goodbye to the old me, and hello to the one who flies free
wishing among the stars for something, someone, somewhere else
other than for the one who plays footsies with other girls
and misuses the word "care" as if it might bear truth.
Why was it so hard to let you go?
My disquiet was still ripe, I suppose.
Oh, how I wish I said goodbye
without explanation,
just goodbye
so that I could smile at myself
with a chin facing towards the sky
in preparation for tomorrow's sunny day.
A day where finally
the sun doesn't hint towards your eyes
and the clouds clear up so the blue no longer hides,
a shade brotherly to the tint of you but not quite so
so that my goodbye may promise more than your words,
"I'll miss you,"
yet find truth in my own,
"You're lying."
Adieu!
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
growing up sideways
not up or down
still recovering from mishaps
misuses, mistakes.
im not her anymore
im not really sure who she was
but she made my life difficult by choice.
at night, dreaming of a past life,
fixing the horror caused-
making everything alright;
i then wake,
to a world unforgivable.
i sob and
scream-
im sorry
why cant you believe me?!?!
ill be seeing you.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:16 PM UTC
**Sometimes we are told
enthusiasm the ego fires..
but in examining more carefully
one such enthusiasm
we might find its make-up
as a temporary oasis
in the luminous field
to which it seems
to point..
Yet indeed misuses seem thriving:
ego's opportunities do unfold..
But for now
the pointing just mentioned
seems so much more
appealing...!**
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
How small of a toss
Can create such great loss
The wrong words to a boss
Showed meaning with cost
A tiny young boy
Misuses a toy
States things that are cloy
On food too much soy
An older girl rants
She needed new pants
The seeds that she plants
Itch like some red ants
You can't find your ring
Shouted words in a string
Accusations that sting
... You sat on the thing
How much did you gain
In time of long pain
Heard the howling of rain
No songs had you sang
Life gave you pleasure
Though Lacking in measure
Like clinging a tether.
Than none it was better.
How fun has dwindled.
Love that sloped downward.
Loss casts And it shadowed.
'Til no more has remained.
Loss.
Cost.
Gain.
Pain.
Pleasure.
Dwindled.
Shadowed.
Words. Lost.
mgm 1/10/2016
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
The words I trust you
Those mean more to me than anything
But this selfish ******* misuses the trust of the one he loves more than not....
All for selfish reasons I'm not even sure myself
Pity, is tht y I misuse it?.....
Don't think so
Because I thought something the wrong way?.....
Nope not that either
Maybe I'm just.....a bad person.....a bad friend.....
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
We are the definition of TOXIC
We hate to be around each other
But are so madly in love
When we kiss
Its like fire is dancing happily around my mouth
When we hold each other
It's like the world stops moving and its only you and I
When I look into your eyes
I see love
True and honest
Without question or reason
But EVERY TIME we open our mouths to speak
Nothing but insults
Hatred
Heart ache
Horrendous misuses of words that can't be taken back
And even knowing all that
I'd still take you back every time
Because when we're quiet
And we don't say a word
And the silence of you and I existing together
It's love
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
How do you prove an immunity to
a recurringly exhumed seclusion
when the noise of static, so intrusive when unmuted, easily confuses
and a skewed view produces only illusion's futile ruses?
Can't hands, seamlessly and when misguided, be abusive
from refusing their own bruises and contusions,
manifest and fuse into a multitude of misconstrued, misled misuses?
Yet I will argue choosing to humor the tune communicating through the intuitive music and movement that amuses-
what is heard echoes clues for harmony and hallowed union's
mutual congruence,
even in the crudest beauty and pursuit of human improvement and what we knew, uprooted.
Doubt, when reducing to delusions, always loses when refuted,
and though humility means fragile ****** included,
elusive truths all allude to an absolution through this-
what diffuses, what we keep, and how we do it the conclusion.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 3:12 AM UTC
We breathe like we bleed
Living to plant seed
The only way to succeed
Is to pass it on
But ragged breathes
Equals bloodied chest
Coughing red phlegm
Is such a dying problem
The plague that is us
Destroys and distrusts
Mentally able
Yet we see are facilities rust
From dis and misuses
From sad bad abuses
Till we bleed more than we breathe
Ceasing to be
Less than alive
And more like a painful memory
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
You made excuses and ruses
And egregious misuses
Of all we hold sacred;
You misplayed it to the hilt
Until you almost killed
Almost all of us with lies.
So many were unwise
And fell for each guise
Every smiling mask
And gave them what they asked
So they could bask in false glory.
We didn’t notice our story
Did not match the tale as told
And before the ink could grow old
Each criminal prophet grew more bold
And, changing the names of blessings
They continued messing around
Until our Constitution was on the ground
Trampled in the dirt by those
Who cannot ever be hurt.
Because they bribe those of us
Who have missed the bus
Somewhere back in elementary school
When they didn’t play by the rules
And we didn’t learn what cheating looked like;
Didn’t tell the cheats to take a hike
And let us get on with making better
The world they were destroying by the letter
Just as they tore up the words
Of those who started us all and heard
Our voices of blood and pain.
They are greedy enough to want us to fail again.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC
We smile, laugh, joke together in these times I believe in happiness though you mistaken a common opinion with a strike for intrusion confused I asks questions to you they seem surreal thoughts are now victimized and encouragement turns to congregation doubts pass I want you to understand a simply misuses of words my challenges are defeated with sharp interruptions in a roar but seldomly spoken so you prance in your wonders of solitude as I sit debating my rights
Another day shoots like a star among the scarred sky and kicked up dust is hidden the trails we have provided for those
We smile, laugh, joke together in these times I believe in happiness
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Kiss me when we're in life's fabric
kiss me with life's fabrications
Hug me when there's nothing more to hold onto as everything gets covered by the mist
Look at me exhaling your last breath to say those three words that everybody misuses
" I love you "
Promise me that the darkness won't cover your eyes and you'll continue to see my action of love
Rome in mance
Romance
By: Leory Santana Dawn
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
How the heart hurts and how it is heavy,
how I long for the strength rather than the dreary.
It never subsides and it never heals
but, rather I feel the weight of the burden
that the memory cannot seem to halt, or repeals-
the disgruntled and mislead, carried and uncertain.
The poison I have drank cannot be blamed
for it was me who let the poison sink from within;
For it has grown wild and insane as if it had rained
down hard on myself, down hard on on my skin.
Crimson, cherry, dark hues lie tauntingly on my body
to appease the voices, the thoughts that taunt and scream.
Left alone? Never could I dream of a day's peace where I embody
the strength, the will, the power where it remains a dream.
I bid these thoughts in high regards.
They accompanied me when no one around
cared to see, cared to follow,
instead leads, lies, misuses and remarks
the time, the darkness that was once surround-
ensured me, I was hollow.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 1:34 PM UTC
of all transgressions recognized,
the worst is what misuses most
the power of a lie disguised
as love
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 10:55 AM UTC