"mut" poems
I was is in second grade when Emily told me "if you where born a few years back you'd be a slave"
As if I hadn't looked in the mirror latley.
Oh how it felt to be the only brown girl in a white school
Minority
Misinterpretation.
A maybe
Is what I was
An outcast
4th grade
I visit my father and his family
My grandmother and aunt whisper,"Gringa" laugh laugh "Sangrona" laugh laugh
My mother hispanic and my father Mexican
6th grade
My best friend is disgusted because I define as Mexican yet can't seem to speak perfect Spanish
9th grade
I learned that bi racially I am a mut,
As if I don't have enough labels already
I must prove to my friends I am white, yet hispanic to my family
My second aunts snicker at my broken Spanish
No need to gain their validity
They can't believe my mother raised me away from their culture
Despair fills their eyes as labels blur mine
Must I prove myself every time?
What if I'm not either or?
Nor a mix
Nor white
Nor hispanic
Nor mexican
Nor latina
Nor bi racial
Nor sangrona
I don't seek your validation but your understanding
I'm not a unique exhibit
Only a 16 year old girl dealing with teenage drama and high school studies
A dreamer at heart
An artist who loves to show it
I have a name
I'm more than my skin color
Or that of my mother's & father's.
If I'm ever asked to prove myself
I will answer with only
"I am already proven
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Au(Or)al Tune
When (O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity knocks –
Ah, pour that tune into me
n(O)t
just write or speak
but
/zIg:zAg/
gut--
--teral mut--
--ter yarns
With
Mouth-churn--
--ing-beat-lick--
--ings.
Half-grown seedling ([her]bal:e(X)ssen(10)ces)
into sm(O)ke
adolescent (O)re worn from being p(o)(o)r—
it was nE(X)CESSary for:
battles
birds
beats
b(O)(O)ks
bottles
bucks
b(O)nes
boys
being(bad)
sm(O)ke-rings w(ear)y with surr(end)er
stripped
v(O)wel
for
v(O)wel
thr(OU)gh the yawn: (O)nly
“(O)h.”
(O)h
… foll(O)ws
the
You’re w(or)th-knowing-ONLY-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke.
VERSE/VERSUS: the
You’re-w(or)th-knowing-AT:LEAST-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke
VERSE/VERSUS:
for (u)s
it’s the worst type of verse
when it’s
them:VERSUS:us
(verses)
likewise -- (O)r worse --
it should really be about//
a bad in (u)s: Y(O)U:ME
(O)h after a
kn(O)ck
(O)h after a
t(u)ne:://
(end)-verse
for worse – it’s an
(end)-versus-us
type of verse.
(O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity
pouring
ringing e(X)cesses
like
ear-worms to
hear words to
heat hearts.
Ah::rest that mouth-verse onto me.
(restful//fluster)
Ah::rest that mouth
(silent//listen)
soulless gall(O)w r(u)ng
lipless v(O)wel sl(u)ng
like
ARTS::between::STARS
then
VOICES RANT ON::into::CONVERSATION
then
PAYMENT RECEIVED::yet::EVERY CENT PAID ME
worst-verse:
Y(O)u//like hanging
your dipTH(O)NGS
on (O)pportun(e)ity’s d(O)(O)r
like
sm(O)ke-rings
like
being(bad)
like
Y(O)U:ME
like
(O)h. n(O).
(end)-verse:
worst-verse:
L(I)ttle.Kn(O)wn.V(O)wel::
n(O)(O)se big for (u)s
ALL.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
I saw the smooth hands of children grow calloused,
sanded by the empty hopes
that the cold has whittled down and sharpened into crucifixion nails.
Dragging their feet through broken glass and street waste, one shoe one sock,
I thought they were just urban children, or the ones
in malaria countries. But I see them stagger now, older, defeated
baring their bodies and chewing on their brains, teaching the little ones
how to polish shoes and hide in alleys that smell like **** and assault.
That one looks like me, his guardian about my size, so I pull my coat closer.
I recognize him from school in the smell of unwashed hair and the gurgle of
A self-digesting gut, nothing to soak up the acid that burns his throat.
I watched the world ******* them into hunched shoulders and boney legs
that have forgotten how to hug and run, trapping them in a constant state of shuffling
to the music of moans and cries for help. They come together in an urchin clan underneath bridges and on the exit ramps of highways.
Prophets of the future clutching at signs about war and veterans, the bad economy and the children they can’t feed.
Ten dollars to the one with the mut. Offer him a smoke.
Politicians act like clean-up crews, counting them like statistics;
This one is gone, the one on Brown street died,
We got rid of the one looking for cans in the student neighborhood.
Charity elevates them into a an opportunity—
A little money to the unfortunate is like bleach for your soul. Just enough
to get the smell of affair out of your hair, or to clean up the poison in your veins.
God helps the outcasts; five dollars ought to do it.
I shudder at our similarities. Brown hair, brown eyes, smart.
His sign ignores no rules of grammar and deserve credit for its precise calligraphy,
The dog at his side is ***** and worn like the stuffed toy
I covet from the nights in my crib—the same. He is a victim of people, I am a victim of people
Both someone’s child, both like dogs.
I watch as he turns into a younger man, and then an old man, and then a woman,
A child with no shoes and crucified hands, the boy in my class with eyes that devour.
I walk home, wondering what kind of charity will save me from myself.
And that is the problem.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
my mouth hung like an overwhelmed option
i swivel at the window facing
and stay out the entire day in this one gawked position
amazing heat and an ugg shy of thought
withdrawn in a mut of mental paralysis
by an alcoholic system
on a day off
the day dunks into the eve before i shift any movement
having sifted the ull
i mix a jar of *** and orange juice
in the open fridge door
Mar 13, 2024
Mar 13, 2024 at 5:58 PM UTC
Though I wear no crown of decadent jewels pressed down around my brow,
It can be said that I am beautiful.
Needing no assistance from a mask of make-up and every hair doing as it pleases,
I am told that I am beautiful.
Without the burden of corsets, push-ups and garters; no cocktail dress draping my shoulders,
I look in the mirror and am satisfied.
I wear blue jeans, t-shirts and tank tops; tennis shoes, flip-flops and high-tops,
And still my legs are long and lean; my shape curvy and full.
And while I walk by, a southern sway in my step, you know you take more than a cursory glance.
I have attitude, and bluntness inherited from my line of honest folk.
I am country. I am bold. I am ruthless.
I am simple in the way that diamonds are simply compressed carbon.
I am beautiful in the way that only a southern girl can be.
I am a huntress with my 243 across my lap in a camo blind.
I am an actress as I smile and say “Bless your heart.”
I am a lover if there ever was one.
I am a fighter when the chips are down.
I am my father’s nightmare and my mother’s dream.
See me with my mut from the pound that’s better trained than your frou-frou, AKC registered pom-poo.
Join me as I sing the hymns my granny sang with the same tone and inflection.
I am educated with my poor country grammar I use only to spite those who think I’m ignorant.
I know more about tracking a blood trail than I do about propriety,
But I’m studied in the art of being couth.
My southern charm is mixed with brazen straight forwardness.
I am proud. I am American. I am beautiful.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:50 PM UTC
Das Leben ist eine weite Reise, so sagt man,
eine weite Reise über das Meer,
ein Anstieg bis auf hohe Berge,
ein Hinabsteigen bis ins tiefe Tal.
Das Leben ist eine Reise, so sagt man,
eine Reise ohne Wiederkehr,
die jeden Tag nur vorwärts schreitet,
bis zum letzten Lebensziel.
Das Leben ist eine Reise, so sagt man,
die einen Anfang kennt und auch ein Ende,
voll Gefahren und auch vielen Mühen,
mit guten und mit schlechten Wegen.
Das Leben ist eine Reise, das weißt du,
deine Reisen, die du unternehmen musst,
die allein dir aufgetragen ist
und die nur du zu Ende bringst.
Dein Leben ist deine Reise, das weißt du,
mit vielen Stationen von Anfang an,
sie alle kennst du und sie prägen dich,
was aber kommen wird, ist noch verborgen.
Dein Leben ist eine Reise, das weißt du,
mit vielen Windungen hin zum letzten Ziel,
geh nur mit Mut und Zuversicht,
blick doch nach vorn bei jedem Schritt.
Das Leben ist eine Reise, das ist dir und mir bekannt,
ich wünsche dir, dass du das Ziel erreichst
und dass dein Weg geleitet sei
von treuem Schutz und Segen.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
*Uncelestial anxious oppugners', critics on their own
Wangling little dysceptic inklings';
Havesting in my throbbing head
I urch and search resolution
An escape of palputations
I skirm in sleep mode like earth-worms in the ground
The rings around their bellies; a suffocating mark of identity
Slime and **** I mope like the straying mut
My growling topsy-turvy gut, off shut;
Claiming demands so supple
A nimbled and unfleshly sensation, I feel light to the touch
Splotchy clod's that lurch my lungs
Short breath that ache and lunge through ribs
Where they've sprung sprighly from their cage, they trick me, they're fibs
Leaches latching on to skin suckeling blood from an anemic
thin too thin, light headed again
Personification galvanizing so astute
my anxiety has eatin it's way to brood*
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 5:52 AM UTC
Squeals cry out as the ax smashes her guts
Dog barks loudly in multiple fears.
The man shouts, "Shut up you little mut!"
Her last breaths are heard as her eyes form crystal tears
A week later passes, the man notices his dog no longer runs
A month passes, his dog skips meals
"Papa, we must take Enzo to the vet!"cries ones of his sons
"It is obvious your dog is mourning from a loss and is suffering from PTSD" the veterinarian reveals
The worried man looks away in guilt
He quivers to continue the dialogue
Tears shed down his face as he remembers gripping the tilt
"They were best friends. Oceana and the dog. At times she surprised me for a pig how she could outsmart a dog."
A year later...
"Come along Enzo and Denver, supper's ready!"
The new piglet of the family snorts happily as the dog and his new best friend munch on their meal
"You did the right thing Papa." as his son yawns grasping his teddy
The former farmer kisses his son goodnight as he goes back to work
on his new zeal
A sign written, "Animals have a heart and soul just like humans. End all animal abuse for their kingdom is just as precious as ours."
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
10/14/11
Instead of treating me nicely
like i’m your innocent puppy dog,
you brush my fur backwards
and then don’t smooth it back.
why the **** won’t you smooth it back?
you inconsiderate *******
because i can’t reach it.
that’s like trying to **** your own ****
it doesn’t work.
you need someone else’s help.
so, i need you to fix my fur
and pet me nicely
like your princess puppy dog.
there you go.
that’s nice.
but i’d never actually say that to you.
dogs can’t talk.
and i guess i’m a mut(e).
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
I dont know
Who I am
And if I lost myself
In the recourring events.
I'm somehow
a blurred fingerprint
out of millions
On a telephone screen
Or a mut on the the street
(Unable to be defined as a certain breed)
Or a speck of dust on a window pane
Observing everyone.
Its like floating in an endless turquoise ocean
distancing from the people on shore
While they couldnt care less
or even notice
they just keep playing
their games and staring into the sun
until its too late.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
Cats eyes line the meanders, drifting off right, wondering left.
Clutching fog lamps, casting back a luminous dot to dot;
morse code decorated trenches: cracks in the trails ahead.
White noise peters in as waves crack the shore,
salt water droplets - tortoise and hare; that game
you played as a kid willing the underdog to win.
The dogs on his back in the backseat, legs in the air.
Underneath him the blanket you wore the first time
we jumped from the pier to the sea, a pair of young fools
romantically free, not strung to the walls of marital tension,
mortgage loans, pensions pressing the wind out your lungs
and life out your heart; the bond we shared has drifted apart.
Crash on the land, the pounding waves;
gush of the tides shivers down your braids.
One hand on the wheel, one hand on yours
you take it away as we brush past the moors.
Rumble over rubble, our suspension knocks
wooden slats creek as we speed past the docks.
Turn to me teary eyed nostalgia, I swerve between the bench
and the toll booth, two dodgy dogs notice running and flailing,
as the last fence approaches. The tiniest movement, a twitch
of the wrist could take a toll on our carriage of bliss.
The carnage we left, lit from the west
your glistening pupils and rain soaked vest
tinted gold from the sunlight and pink
from the sky. The clouds above part as prepared,
those adulterous pedigrees, tore our peace treaty
your cuffed hand reaches over muffled screeches
that beloved mut in-the-back, most bedraggled
of creatures howls as you pull the hand break
twist the wheel our tires carve etches.
At the end of the structure, we howl with the dog,
and the tyre with all the punctualness rendered
functionless with two deep punctures
hisses and sinks with much of a muchness.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
I GOT a dog and the dumb dog drown;
And I think it drowned its not breathing;
SO, why did it not swim for? It was brown,
With a leather lead it was always eating;
These little white socks! Why did you drown-
Not like I need you, dumb dog! Why?
You lived on your own on the balcony,
Why silly mut! You coulda lived with me?
I tickled your ears and under your belly;
Why not live loudly, barking cats up trees?
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 5:04 AM UTC
så mange mennesker
der går med smerter
indeni eller udenpå; overset eller identitetsdannende
skævheder, sammenkrøllethed, bider det i sig
indelukkethed, folk som er låst fast, har givet op på en drøm
en rusten forventning
til hvad livet nu vil bringe en
livet vil noget andet med en, tag imod **** på **** sammen, stå fast
en stille hjerteskærende eksistens, siger ikke meget men hvis nu
man tager sig tid,
studerer, bemærker, dykker ned
står smerten klart frem
modsatretteder længsler; det nemme
og det, man virkelig vil
sikkert eller spændende? livet er kompromiløst og man
kan ikke få det hele
en ømhed, noget småt men betydningsbærende
hvor så du dig selv være nu? ikke her, ikke med
de mennesker, ikke som den jeg er blevet
jeg håber aldrig, at det bliver mig med skår i hjertet på så mut en facon
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
skylandskab; en person med begge ben på jorden, frostudsigt, overstået oplevelse, forvildet hjemve, ufatteligt fænomen, forvasket følelse, lavthængende skyer, vinterstemning, en håbefuld pessimist, indirekte rettelse, kultur-clash, udmattende velvillighed, brat slutning, frustrerende kultur, klarsindet stress, overdreven pædagogik, uvelkommen tåge, mut venlighed, sprogbarriere, menneske-mur, vendekåbe-mentalitet, uventet følelsesløshed, pludseligt perspektiv, typisk kommentar, sikkerhedsorienteret mentalitet, velkendt landskab, nyopdagede fremmede, utroligt solskin, uoplagt inspiration, rodet tilstedeværelse,
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Pouta oli lientynyt harmaaksi liejuksi ojanpohjille ja taivas ryöpytti vettä kaksi harmaata viikkoa putkeen
Ripustin matot kuivumaan parvekkeelle tuolien selkänojille mutta mun pesukone taisi olla jotenkin rikki kun ne kastelivat lattian likomäräksi yön aikana
Vähän niin kuin skidinä kun halusin täyttää koko pesuhuoneen vedellä ja ihmettelin kun vanhemmat ei antaneet
Eikä nuo olleet mitään takaumia siitä kun mut pistettiin soittamaan hätänumeroon kun ne halusivat työnnellä toisiaan portaista alas
Musta olisi vaan ollut tosi kätevää jos meillä olisi aina ollut uimahalli käytettävissä
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Get up, change the feel
Explore a world, quite not real
Encapsulate who you what
Let free, the purebred mut
Cliché, name of the game
The fray, seems always the same
Drowned in light, halted in time
What is yours, not truly mine
Run the reel
Change the feel
Cast a shadow, reveal your range
Believe it's time, to feel the change
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
She never let the sun go down
Her eyes were almonds in the spring.
Her arms were always by her side,
And when we sang her arms would swing.
But by night her lips were flamming,
A fire burnt so cold,
Her dreams were utmost frightening,
And her stories,
Not mine to be told.
She paced through life like a diamond,
Roughed out to the perfect cut.
She didn't look down,
For she felt that the ground,
would soil her back to a mut.
I held her hand for a moment,
And she smiled,
So I released.
She didn't want my help,
Just knowing I was there was all she'd need,
But then she soon fell low,
Down through the ice, water; snow.
She fell beyond my grasp,
Her smile forever last.
She walked a path on her own,
I learned I must let go.
Its every nightmare I know,
When you bargain "no",
But there they go.
Off on the path that alone she paved
..and alone she swore she'd trough.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
A wing
Carved of wood
An inch in length
Painted black
With red and blue details
Swirls and dots
Bought at a beach
From a street vendor
Selling hand-carved trinkets
Bought by her parents
When they were together
Before their child knew of their disagreements
Before chaos entered
The last good thing
Embedded in that little trinket
That little wooden Pegasus
The girl decides
Then places it in a box
Upon a soft blue cloth
The box; black with fern patterns
"This,"
Decided the girl,
"Shall go to the best thing in my life."
So
She prepared the gift
For her love
Meeting with him
Talking, spending time,
Then him having to return home
Seeing the girl in a few days
Forgot the gift with the girl
The child promising to bring it with her to him
Leaving it where she would remember
The girl goes to carry out her day
Forgetting it
Until she looked out her window
Seeing the remains of the gift scattered
Shredded outside her window
In pieces in her backyard
Her dog standing over them
Wagging his tail
Shock and disbelieving
The girl runs out to the remains
Trembling as she picked up the pieces
Relieved at finding the gift itself intact
The only thing ruined being the box
Once so beautiful
Now ugly shreds
Returning indoors
The little wooden pegasus wing in hand
She wept, her tears falling to the floor
For the last good from her childhood
Was almost ripped away from her
This last good
She wished to give to her love
As a symbol of trust and unity
To show her affection
Yet
It was so close
So nearly stripped from her
Almost swallowed by the jaws of a mut
- Jay M
November 23rd, 2019
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 2:39 AM UTC
Exquisite inferno grip,
Canst thou holdeth mine hand and bringeth me adjacent to thine legs...
To locketh ring finger's
Connecting brain's.........
I shalt awaiteth as a ghost to his lost widow....
I'll bury mine head
Beneathe thy pillow
Longing back for thy affections....
Spiritual ressurection.....
As thine genious psyche is turned on just from me hiding.....
Though thou shalt let me out
A mut from his crate,
We shalt be sedated on fine date
Drunken by allegiance not in hallucinogenic form
But in authenticity's greatest law....
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
Spurious microbes in green tank's maketh blunder's by the inch, The mut eateth their own secretion, whilst frustration of the crowd groweth hungry for martial law take-down. Strayed away by liver decay, consevator to their likeness awaits them, yet they just debate him as some unknown source....The war-torn aeroplanes art diverted by their own bucolic, idealistic and yet sadistic ways........ They play political course action.. As Lucifer is their stand in man....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
Woe to you, unfaithful witness, did not even Enoch portray your endings? Falsehood friending's shall overtake homes of love...
Look above,
Oh shalllow man, doth thou not knowest the one who holds thy keys to hell and the grave? Continue in thine way brutest of beasts...
For weeping, and gnashing of teeth shall uproot you.Gomorrha once again...
Media trends, you live and compass by, for thy universe is in parrel you mut of dirtied hands...
Seven golden candle sticks do palm in his hands, as your temperature shall arise!!
Humanities own suicide...
Thine estate's shall fail, skin turned pale by your own nuclear fusion, dust bowl intrusion.
Filthy rags shall be your soup bowl, while the homeless you give no home, haveth thou not heard of charity? What disparity!
Clouds you are without the rain, your the salt of the earth, yet why art thou unsalted? For don't you know your savour isn't there?
Murderer's, complainers, do you seek thine own lusts? For repentance is a must, when the fire's down below!
Howl and moan you speaker's of evil dignity, for thy pride and thou pity shall you muster up in confidence, all countenance..
You mock, though doth not receive, bury your own for you shall grieve,
Your own futuristic nightmare of course!!!!
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Das Land verbreitet Hass Tiraden,
Jetzt ist der Zeitpunkt, stellt euch auf die Barrikaden
kämpft für euer Glück
ihr bekommt es nicht einfach so zurück...
Es ist klar das es nicht einfach wird!
Habt keine Angst und zeigt euren Mut, tut nicht so als ob ihr nichts hört
ansonsten sehen wir alle Blut
wenn ihr jetzt nichts tut,
schürt ihr nur weiter die Glut...
Die Welt ist eins
Donald Trump nicht nur deins!
Ist Freiheit nichts wert ?
Ist das der Grund warum jeder weiter fährt ?
Wollen wir uns wirklich selbst zerstören?
Es ist an der Zeit zuzuhören!
Wie konnten wir es nur soweit kommen lassen ?
Wir haben doch keinen Grund zum hassen...
Nach all den Jahren nichts gelernt aus unseren Fehlern
die Friedhöfe werden voll sein mit Gräbern...
Macht und Gier, das ist es worum es geht
eigentlich verwunderlich das sich die Welt noch dreht
es gibt genug Grausamkeit auf dieser Erde,
der Grund warum ich nicht aufgeben werde.
Denkt nach was wir erreichen können wenn wir frei von Vorurteilen sind
Freiheit zu spüren klingt unglaublich, wie das Wunder von Kind
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 3:32 AM UTC
Hoffnung hintern Berg vergraben
hörst um dich herum tausend stimmen die etwas sagen
Jeden Tag fröhlich pfeifend losmaschiert
im trott drin, den Schmerz mit einem Lächeln kaschiert
Der Rückweg zeigte jeden Tag das Ergebnis
war meistens für mich ein traurig Erlebnis
Stumm mit leisen Tränen
der Körper ausgelaugt
kaum zu sehen, nur am gähnen
war tapfer daheim,
zeigte keinem mein trauriges dasein
Wenn ich rede, wird es schlimmer,
da standen sie mir drohend gegenüber, die Gewinner
mit ihrem breiten Lächeln geschmückt
waren von meinem leid mehr als nur entzückt
Genießten die Macht die sie umgab,
immer wieder aufs Neue, jeden verdammten Tag
Seele brutal zerschlagen
nicht nur die Taten, auch das was sie zu mir sagten
ohne Rücksicht auf die Auswirkungen die kommen werden,
hatte mir in der Zeit mal vorgestellt wie es wäre zu sterben
keinen mut mehr zu haben,
sich unter seinem eigenen wert zu vergraben ...
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC
Alternate persona
Smart for someone
"Spitting Fire"
But can't even light a match
Swipe
Swipe
Snap
Your chance just broke
An unfufulling fire
To couple with your unfufulling verse
If a battle of blades you desire
Then don't worry about your precious little knife
It won't be dented as it will never touch mine
My sword will split you
Head to toe
Let me build up some lyrical ammo
Throw on some camo
I'll lyrical burry you in snow
In the spring food for crow
Just, so you know
Ain't no "bandersnatch" gonna scare this country kid away
I'll take your mythical mut
Hunt it
**** it
Gut it
Deep-fry it
Serve with some pork gravy
And a some iced tea
So maybe you should call off your dog
Before it ends up on the dinning room table with my family saying our pre dinner prayers to God.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC