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Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,

plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories

abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects

rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door

a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out

he imagines when he grows old there will be a pencil grown into one hand and a paintbrush grown into the other they will look like extra fingers grown out from the palms extensions of his personal evolution little children will be horrified when they see mommy mommy look at that man’s hands!

what if we are each presented with a complete picture of a puzzle from the very start then as our lives proceed the pieces begin showing up out of context sometimes recognizable other times a mystery some people are smarter more intuitive than others and are able to piece together the bigger picture some people never figure it out

i wasn’t thinking i didn’t know to think nobody taught me to think maybe my teachers tried but i didn’t get it i wasn’t thinking i was running reacting doing whatever i needed to survive when you’re trying to survive you move fast by instinct you don’t think you just act

many children are relieved when their parents die then they no longer need to explain prove themselves live up to their parent’s expectations yet all children need parents to approve foster mentor teach love

she was missing especially when her children needed her most she was busy lunching with girlfriends dinner dates beauty shop manicure masseuse appointments shopping seamstress fittings constant telephone gossiping criticizing she was too busy to notice she was missing more than anything she wanted to party show off her beauty to be the adored one the hostess with the mostest

i dreamed i was condemned to die by guillotine the executioner wore black and wielded an axe just in case the device failed in the dream the guillotine sliced shallow then the executioner went to work but he kept chopping unsuccessfully severing my head this went on for a long time

1954 Max Schwartzpilgrim sits at table in coffee shop on 5th floor of Maller’s Building elevated train loudly passes as he glances out window it is typical gloomy gray Chicago day he worries how he will find the money to pay off all his mounting debts he is over his head in debit thinks about taking out a hefty life insurance policy then cleverly killing himself but he cherishes his lovely wife Jenny his young children and social life sitting across table Ernie Cohen cracks crass joke Max laughs politely yet is in no mood to encourage his fingers work nervously mutely drumming on Formica table then stubbing out cigarette in glass ashtray lighting another with gold Dunhill lighter bitter tastes of coffee and cigarettes turns his stomach sour he raises his hand calling over Millie the waitress he flirtatiously smiles orders bowl of matzo ball soup with extra matzo ball Ernie says you can’t have enough big ***** for this world Max thinks about his son Odysseus

when Odysseus is very young Dad occasionally brings him to Schwartzpilgrim’s Jewelers Store on Saturday mornings Dad shows off his firstborn son like a prize possession lifting Odysseus in the air Dad takes him to golf range golf is not an interest for Odysseus Dad pushes him to learn proper swing Odysseus fumbles golf club and ***** he loves going anyway because he appreciates spending time with Dad once Dad and Odysseus take shower together Dad is so life-size muscular hairy Odysseus is so little Dad reaches touches Odysseus’s ******* feeling lone ******* Dad says we’ll correct that make it right Odysseus does not understand what Dad is talking about at finish Dad turns up cold water and shields Odysseus with his body he watches Dad dressing in mornings Dad is persnickety to last details of French cuff links silk handkerchief in breast pocket even Dad’s fingernails toenails are manicured buffed shiny clear

Odysseus’s left ******* does not descend into his ******* the adults in extended family routinely want to inspect the abnormality Mom shows them sometimes Dad grows agitated and leaves room it is embarrassing for Odysseus Daddy Lou’s brother Uncle Maury wants to check it out too often like he thinks he is a doctor Uncle Maury is an optometrist the pediatrician theorizes the tangled ******* is possibly the result of a hormone fertility drug Mom took to get pregnant the doctor injects Odysseus with a hormone shot then prescribes several medications to induce the ****** to drop nothing works eventually an inguinal hernia is diagnosed around the age of 9 Odysseus is operated on for a hernia and the ******* surgically moved down into his ******* the doctor says ******* is dead warning of propensity to cancer later in life his left ball is smaller than his right but it is more sensitive and needy he does not understand what the doctor means by “dead” Odysseus fears he will be made fun of he is self-conscious in locker room he does not comprehend for the rest of his life he will carry a diminutive *****

spokin alloud by readar in caulkknee axescent ello we’re Biggie an Smally tha 2 testicles whoooh liv in tha ******* of this felloh Odys Biggie is the soyze of a elthy chicken aegg and Smally is the size of a modest Bing cheery

one breast ****** points northeast the other smaller breast ****** points southwest she is frightened to reveal them to any man frightened to be exposed in woman’s locker room she is the most beautiful girl/woman he will ever know

Bayli Moutray is French/Irish 5’8” lean elongated with bowed legs knobby knees runner’s calves slim hips boy’s shoulders sleepy blue eyes light brown hair a barely discernable freckled birthmark on back of neck and small unequal ******* with puffy ******* pointing in different directions Laura an ex-girlfriend of Odysseus’s describes Bayli’s appearance as “a gangly bird screeching to be fed” Laura can be mean Odysseus thinks Bayli is the coolest girl in the world he is genuinely in love with her they have been sleeping together for nearly a year it is March 11 1974 Bayli’s birthday she turns 22 today Bayli is away with her family in Southeast Asia Odysseus understands what a great opportunity this is for her to learn about another culture he knows Bayli plans to meet up again with him in late summer or autumn in Chicago Dad wants Odysseus to follow in his footsteps and become a successful jewelry salesman he offers Odysseus a well-paying job driving leased Camaro across the Midwest servicing Dad’s established costume jewelry accounts Odysseus reasons it is a chance to squirrel away some cash until Bayli returns it is lonely on the road and awkward adjustment to be back in Chicago Odysseus made other plans after graduating from Hartford Art School he is going to be an important painter after numerous months and many Midwestern cities he begins to feel depressed he questions how Bayli can stay away for so long when he needs her so bad the Moutray’s send Mom and Dad a gift of elegant pewter candleholders made in Indonesia Mom accustomed to silver and gold excludes pewter to be put on display she instructs Teresa to place the candleholders away in a cabinet Mom also neglects to write a thank you note which is quite out of character for Mom Bayli’s father is a Navy Captain in the Pacific he is summoned to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia the Moutray’s flight has a stopover in Chicago Bayli writes her parents want to meet Odysseus and his family Odysseus asks Dad to arrange his traveling itinerary around the Moutray’s visit Dad schedules Odysseus to service the Detroit and Michigan territory against Odysseus’s pleas Odysseus is living with his sister Penelope on Briar Street it is the only address Bayli’s parents know Odysseus has no way to reach them when the Moutray’s arrive at the door Penelope does not know what to tell them Mom and Dad are not interested in meeting Bayli’s parents it is not the first sign of dissatisfaction or disinterest Mom and Dad convey regarding Bayli Odysseus does not understand why his parents do not like her is it because Bayli is not Jewish is that the sole reason Mom and Dad do not approve of her Odysseus believes he needs his parent’s support he knows he is not like them and will likely never adopt their standards yet he values their consent they are his parents and he honors Mom and Dad let’s take a step back for a moment to get a different perspective a more serious matter is Odysseus’s financial dependency on his parents does a commitment to Bayli threaten the sheltered world his parent’s provide him is it merely money binding him to them why else is he so powerless to his parent’s control outwardly he appears a wild child yet inwardly he is somewhat timid is he cowardly is he unsure of Bayli’s strength and sustainability is that why he let’s Bayli go whatever the reason Dad’s and Mom’s pressure and influence are strong enough to sway his judgment he goes along with their authority losing Bayli is the greatest mistake of Odysseus’s life

he dreams Bayli and he are at a Bob Dylan concert they are hidden in the back of the theater in a dark hall they can hear the band playing Dylan’s voice singing and the echoes of the mesmerized audience Odysseus is ******* Bayli’s body against a wall she is quietly moaning his hand is inside her jeans feeling her wetness rubbing fingers between her legs after the show they hang around an empty lot filled with broken bottles loose bricks they run into Dylan all 3 are laughing and dancing down the sidewalk Dylan is incredibly playful and engaging he says he needs to run an errand not wanting to leave his company Odysseus and Bayli follow along they arrive at an old hospital building it is dark and dingy inside there is a large room filled with medical beds and water tanks housing unspeakably disfigured people swarming intravenous tubes attach the patients to oxygen equipment feed bags and monitoring machines Dylan moves between each victim like a compassionate ambassador Odysseus is freaking out the infirmary is too horrible to imagine he shields his eyes wanders away losing Bayli searching running frantically for a way out he wakes shivering and sweating the pillow is wet sheets twisted he gets up from the bed stares out window into the dark night he wonders where he lost Bayli

these winds of change let them come sailor home from sea hunter home from hill he who can create the worst terror is the greatest warrior
"One lie weakens a thousand truths."

"Time heals, steals and reveals."

"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."

"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."

"Help when you can. Pray when you can't."

"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."

"Honesty is in the alcohol."

"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."

"Sometimes the most valuable company is yourself."

"Instincts over impulse, always."

"The greatest comeback is the one least expected."

"Fear is a light sleeper."

"You can't change the past, but it can change you."

"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."

"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."

"The humble voice resonates the loudest."

"Write your failures in pencil, your triumphs in ink."

"Scars speak every language."

"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."

"Every tear leaves something behind."

"Courage brings you to the fight, wisdom wins it."

"Relationships start and end, but the lucky ones get to begin again."

"The devil doubts. The angel accepts."

"Biggie makes you dance. Tupac makes you think."

"Justice is money green."

"The only thing better than good friends are lifelong ones."

"I'm in a fight with life and I'm losing on points."

"We are remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."

"Every underdog wants to be top cat."

"Love never travels alone."

"Dreams reveal what thoughts conceal."

"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."

"You can't spell tragedy without rage."

"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."

"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."

"The past and future are distant cousins."

"Hope is always listening."

"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."

"Nothing will get you in better shape than a breakup."

"Time is a tattletale."

"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."

"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."

"We are connected by smiles and tears."

"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."

"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."

"The ego is a phony friend."

"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."

"I used to think life was hard, until life got hard."

"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."

"My train of thought has no conductor."
Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power;

Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
Unto him sending;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
"Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed.
Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.

"And for myself (quoth he),
This my full rest shall be;
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell;
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopped the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Amongst his henchmen.
Exeter had the rear,
A braver man not there; -
O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But, playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went -
Our men were hardy!

This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,
As to o'erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's Day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry.
O, when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen;
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?
Danielle Shorr Mar 2015
Woman is a title that comes with too many consequences shoved into the spaces between each letter. I have worn it proudly, not fully understanding the heaviness it carries, or exactly what it means. I still don’t.

Summer camp teaches me how to shave my legs when my mother neglects to. I am eleven, with hair on my skin barely long enough to pull out when my bunkmates coach me on how to erase it. "Boys don't like girls with prickly bodies," my counselor tells me confidently. I soon understand that to be woman means to be bare, stripped, and clean, always. Being woman means catching the changes of your morphing body before anyone else can point them out.

I am raised to keep secrets. We call the parts of ourselves that we aren't supposed to talk about private. I learn to be silent in more ways than one.

Haley is my best friend. Together we uncover the mystery of womanhood untold. She loves a boy two years older than us and gives herself to him in his parked car outside her house during one of our many sleepovers. I listen as she confesses the details to my eager ears. We learn more about *** from each other than we do health class.  The information given out is too much and not enough at the same time. We are taught enough to do it, but not enough to ease our unknowingness.

Condoms are given out for free. Tampons are not.

Virginity was a concept we were told to maintain from early on. At 14 I want to get losing it over with so I do, with a boy two years older, in between his childhood sheets. I am high enough to blur the details, but not high enough to forget it happens.

I learn how to cauterize undesirable memory with substance, the way too many women do.

When a sophomore girl comes to school with a broken face, everyone is quiet. We all know about the fight, the pushing down the stairs, the bruising that swelled violently like her love for him. "I think he's even hotter now," I overhear someone say.

The first boy I ever love treats me like ****. I let him because that's how it works in the movies.

I love a straight girl with curly brown hair and a smile too much like summer. She kisses me and then tells me about whatever boy she is pursuing that week. It confuses me to no end.

Mia meets her first love when we are 17 and gives him all of her too soon. When he dumps her, I come over ready with a box of popsicles in hand.

We play with Polly Pockets well into our teenage years. The dolls live out dreams impossible for us to reach.

I realize vulnerability is not an option, but something we are born wearing.

A friend shows me how to keep my keys peeking through my knuckles at night. I hold them through scared fingers as I navigate the side streets necessary to get home.

Mom buys me glitter covered pepper spray, "because it's cute." I know her unsaid words and what she really means. "There are too many bad people in the world to not be cautious, you can never be too careful."

When a girl I don't know well is attacked in a back alley by strangers, we sit nervously the couch and talk about the terrifying reality, how bad we feel for her, and how awful it must be to go through something like that.

I call my best guy friend immediately after someone I know takes my body without permission. I explain the details to him of what happened, still shaking from the shock of it. I wait for his response, hoping for open arms ready to hold while I shatter. He sighs and says, "you should have been more careful." I don't counter. I shower three times in a row, tuck myself into the same bed where it happened, and pick up the cracked pieces of myself in the morning. I tell no one else after that.

**** is the punch line to too many jokes.
I don’t laugh.

In an anonymous thread, I read as people discuss the topic of ****** assault. My eyes lose count of how many times strangers say, "just because you regret it, doesn't mean it is ****." I have seen doubt ******* too many faces hearing the stories of survivors with dull eyes from telling theirs over and over again to people who will never believe them. Their truth is taken with a shot of uncertainty.
They ask, "Why survivor? Why not victim?"
They say, “It doesn’t **** you, you’re not a survivor.”
I want to answer that survival is a choice made in the aftermath of destruction, that we either chew our way through the broken glass or swallow it whole, letting it break us from the inside out. I want to say survival is not as simple as we didn’t die. Survival is consciously refusing not to.
Instead I say nothing.

I know girls with too many piercings and tattoos because they had run out of room on their small bodies to let out any more anger. I watch darkness fill their skin with its reminder, young girls who know pain all too well.

A man on the street calls out to me. I shake my head quietly because I'm afraid of the bomb my response could set off. I have seen too many ticking men explode for me to want to fight back.

I learn about abortion when I am too young to understand it, too self-centered at the time to try to imagine the fear of unwanted growing inside of her. I have grown to understand the importance of choice.

A guy tells me that if a woman has *** with more than five guys in her lifetime, she's a *****.

Someone I hook up with shares with me about how his friends audio record their girlfriends during ***. He laughs, I shudder.

"Guys don’t like it when.."  is a tip I hear almost daily.  

School dress codes mark my shoulders unholy, my shorts too miniscule. I am sent to the principal's office in 10th grade when I refuse to change into a top that doesn't show my lower back. I ask what my body did to have to learn this kind of shame. I am suspended for the rest of the day.

Beauty pageants teach me that perfect woman is exactly what I am not.

My ex boyfriend calls me a ****.

My other ex boyfriend calls me crazy. I’ve learned that crazy is synonymous with “she had an opinion that did not align with mine.”

In my college lecture we talk about the origins of hysteria, remembering how women in history had their voices twisted into insanity. I think about how often “calm down” is used as a modern-day-tranquilizer.

Us weekly tells me every week, in one too many advertisements, how to lose weight.

My campus paper posts an ad for breast augmentation deals. "Get spring break ready."

The size of my chest is too much a reflection of my brain’s capacity.

Being woman means too much in a language I do not fully understand. It is skin and bones, it is raw and blood, it is a mouth filled with words unsaid, it is fear and worry, it is an unspoken connection between us all, it is 75 cents to a dollar, less for those of color, it is censored body, it is *******, it is being too much to handle, it is being equated with less, it is we are the same but we are not treated so, it is we are human in a world we call man’s, it is we have been struggling under the waves for centuries, it is not drowning, it is still swimming, always
Emily Budrow May 2015
today when i woke up i was frightened.
i tried to walk straight even though i felt hollow inside.
and although he wasn't here, he was still on my mind in the strangest of ways.

i thought of him and how he likes to buy things.
sometimes, and for a reason i'm still unsure of,
i mind what he buys.
say, for example, if it's for me i mind.
if it's for himself, i do not.

i thought of his old shoes and how he has yet to part with them.
i wonder why he buys things he doesn't necessarily need but only wants and refuses to buy things he does needs but doesn't want.
i wonder if people looking at his old shoes could make the same observation.
i thought for a moment but decided it didn't matter,
he loves his old shoes.

sometimes i think of "us" and how he looks at me as though i'm something really nice.
i think,
i am old shoes, too.
i know he doesn't need me but maybe it is enough for him that he wants me.
if he neglects the things he needs and only goes after the things that he wants then maybe i'm not so bad after all.
perhaps i, too, am i pair of old shoes.
perhaps it will also be hard for him to part with me.

i wonder if others could also make this observation.
August 31, 2014

I wrote this after sitting outside on one of the last days of Summer. I remember watching him skate in his torn up pair of Vans. I laughed at his continuous attempts at landing a trick before questioning him on his shoes. He simply said "they're comfortable, I don't want to get another pair because they just won't fit the same."
I hoped he thought the same about me.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.


Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.


Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.


The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.


It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.


The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.


Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.


The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.


The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.


As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.


The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.


The syllogism is not applied to the first principles of sciences, and is applied in vain to intermediate axioms; being no match for the subtlety of nature. It commands assent therefore to the proposition, but does not take hold of the thing.


The syllogism consists of propositions, propositions consist of words, words are symbols of notions. Therefore if the notions themselves (which is the root of the matter) are confused and over-hastily abstracted from the facts, there can be no firmness in the superstructure. Our only hope therefore lies in a true induction.


There is no soundness in our notions whether logical or physical. Substance, Quality, Action, Passion, Essence itself, are not sound notions: much less are Heavy, Light, Dense, Rare, Moist, Dry, Generation, Corruption, Attraction, Repulsion, Element, Matter, Form, and the like; but all are fantastical and ill defined.


Our notions of less general species, as Man, Dog, Dove, and of the immediate perceptions of the sense, as Hot, Cold, Black, White, do not materially mislead us; yet even these are sometimes confused by the flux and alteration of matter and the mixing of one thing with another. All the others which men have hitherto adopted are but wanderings, not being abstracted and formed from things by proper methods.


Nor is there less of wilfulness and wandering in the construction of axioms than in the formations of notions; not excepting even those very principles which are obtained by common induction; but much more in the axioms and lower propositions educed by the syllogism.


The discoveries which have hitherto been made in the sciences are such as lie close to ****** notions, scarcely beneath the surface. In order to penetrate into the inner and further recesses of nature, it is necessary that both notions and axioms be derived from things by a more sure and guarded way; and that a method of intellectual operation be introduced altogether better and more certain.


There are and can be only two ways of searching into and discovering truth. The one flies from the senses and particulars to the most general axioms, and from these principles, the truth of which it takes for settled and immovable, proceeds to judgment and to the discovery of middle axioms. And this way is now in fashion. The other derives axioms from the senses and particulars, rising by a gradual and unbroken ascent, so that it arrives at the most general axioms last of all. This is the true way, but as yet untried.


The understanding left to itself takes the same course (namely, the former) which it takes in accordance with logical order. For the mind longs to spring up to positions of higher generality, that it may find rest there; and so after a little while wearies of experiment. But this evil is increased by logic, because of the order and solemnity of its disputations.


The understanding left to itself, in a sober, patient, and grave mind, especially if it be not hindered by received doctrines, tries a little that other way, which is the right one, but with little progress; since the understanding, unless directed and assisted, is a thing unequal, and quite unfit to contend with the obscurity of things.


Both ways set out from the senses and particulars, and rest in the highest generalities; but the difference between them is infinite. For the one just glances at experiment and particulars in passing, the other dwells duly and orderly among them. The one, again, begins at once by establishing certain abstract and useless generalities, the other rises by gradual steps to that which is prior and better known in the order of nature.


There is a great difference between the Idols of the human mind and the Ideas of the divine. That is to say, between certain empty dogmas, and the true signatures and marks set upon the works of creation as they are found in nature.


It cannot be that axioms established by argumentation should avail for the discovery of new works; since the subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of argument. But axioms duly and orderly formed from particulars easily discover the way to new particulars, and thus render sciences active.


The axioms now in use, having been suggested by a scanty and manipular experience and a few particulars of most general occurrence, are made for the most part just large enough to fit and take these in: and therefore it is no wonder if they do not lead to new particulars. And if some opposite instance, not observed or not known before, chance to come in the way, the axiom is rescued and preserved by some frivolous distinction; whereas the truer course would be to correct the axiom itself.


The conclusions of human reason as ordinarily applied in matter of nature, I call for the sake of distinction Anticipations of Nature (as a thing rash or premature). That reason which is elicited from facts by a just and methodical process, I call Interpretation of Nature.


Anticipations are a ground sufficiently firm for consent; for even if men went mad all after the same fashion, they might agree one with another well enough.


For the winning of assent, indeed, anticipations are far more powerful than interpretations; because being collected from a few instances, and those for the most part of familiar occurrence, they straightway touch the understanding and fill the imagination; whereas interpretations on the other hand, being gathered here and there from very various and widely dispersed facts, cannot suddenly strike the understanding; and therefore they must needs, in respect of the opinions of the time, seem harsh and out of tune; much as the mysteries of faith do.


In sciences founded on opinions and dogmas, the use of anticipations and logic is good; for in them the object is to command assent to the proposition, not to master the thing.


Though all the wits of all the ages should meet together and combine and transmit their labours, yet will no great progress ever be made in science by means of anticipations; because radical errors in the first concoction of the mind are not to be cured by the excellence of functions and remedies subsequent.


It is idle to expect any great advancement in science from the superinducing and engrafting of new things upon old. We must begin anew from the very foundations, unless we would revolve for ever in a circle with mean and contemptible progress.


The honour of the ancient authors, and indeed of all, remains untouched; since the comparison I challenge is not of wits or faculties, but of ways and methods, and the part I take upon myself is not that of a judge, but of a guide.


This must be plainly avowed: no judgment can be rightly formed either of my method or of the discoveries to which it leads, by means of anticipations (that is to say, of the reasoning which is now in use); since I cannot be called on to abide by the sentence of a tribunal which is itself on its trial.


Even to deliver and explain what I bring forward is no easy matter; for things in themselves new will yet be apprehended with reference to what is old.


It was said by Borgia of the expedition of the French into Italy, that they came with chalk in their hands to mark out their lodgings, not with arms to force their way in. I in like manner would have my doctrine enter quietly into the minds that are fit and capable of receiving it; for confutations cannot be employed, when the difference is upon first principles and very notions and even upon forms of demonstration.


One method of delivery alone remains to us; which is simply this: we must lead men to the particulars themselves, and their series and order; while men on their side must force themselves for awhile to lay their notions by and begin to familiarise themselves with facts.


The doctrine of those who have denied that certainty could be attained at all, has some agreement with my way of proceeding at the first setting out; but they end in being infinitely separated and opposed. For the holders of that doctrine assert simply that nothing can be known; I also assert that not much can be known in nature by the way which is now in use. But then they go on to destroy the authority of the senses and understanding; whereas I proceed to devise and supply helps for the same.


The idols and false notions which are now in possession of the human understanding, and have taken deep root therein, not only so beset men's minds that truth can hardly find entrance, but even after entrance obtained, they will again in the very instauration of the sciences meet and trouble us, unless men being forewarned of the danger fortify themselves as far as may be against their assaults.


There are four classes of Idols which beset men's minds. To these for distinction's sake I have assigned names, -- calling the first class Idols of the Tribe; the second, Idols of the Cave; the third, Idols of the Market-place; the fourth, Idols of the Theatre.


The formation of ideas and axioms by true induction is no doubt the proper remedy to be applied for the keeping off and clearing away of idols. To point them out, however, is of great use; for the doctrine of Idols is to the Interpretation of Nature what the doctrine of the refutation of Sophisms is to common Logic.


The Idols of the Tribe have their foundation in human nature itself, and in the tribe or race of men. For it is a false assertion that the sense of man is the measure of things. On the contrary, all perceptions as well of the sense as of the mind are according to the measure of the individual and not according to the measure of the universe. And the human understanding is like a false mirror, which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolours the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it.


The Idols of the Cave are the idols of the individual man. For every one (besides the errors common to human nature in general) has a cave or den of his own, which refracts and discolours the light of nature; owing either to his own proper and peculiar nature; or to his education and conversation with others; or to the reading of books, and the authority of those whom he esteems and admires; or to the differences of impressions, accordingly as they take place in a mind preoccupied and predisposed or in a mind indifferent and settled; or the like. So that the spirit of man (according as it is meted out to different individuals) is in fact a thing variable and full of perturbation, and governed as it were by chance. Whence it was well observed by Heraclitus that men look for sciences in their own lesser worlds, and not in the greater or common world.


There are also Idols formed by the ******* and association of men with each other, which I call Idols of the Market-place, on account of the commerce and consort of men there. For it is by discourse that men associate; and words are imposed according to the apprehension of the ******. And therefore the ill and unfit choice of words wonderfully obstructs the understanding. Nor do the definitions or explanations wherewith in some things learned men are wont to guard and defend themselves, by any means set the matter right. But words plainly force and overrule the understanding, and throw all into confusion, and lead men away into numberless empty controversies and idle fancies.


Lastly, there are Idols which have immigrated into men's minds from the various dogmas of philosophies, and also from wrong laws of demonstration. These I call Idols of the Theatre; because in my judgment all the received systems are but so many stage-plays, representing worlds of their own creation after an unreal and scenic fashion. Nor is it only of the systems now in vogue, or only of the ancient sects and philosophies, that I speak; for many more plays of the same kind may yet be composed and in like artificial manner set forth; seeing that errors the most widely different have nevertheless causes for the most part alike. Neither again do I mean this only of entire systems, but also of many principles and axioms in science, which by tradition, credulity, and negligence have come to be received.
But of these several kinds of Idols I must speak more largely and exactly, that the understanding may be duly cautioned.


The human understanding is of its own nature prone to suppose the existence of more order and regularity in the world than it finds. And though there be many things in nature which are singular and unmatched, yet it devises for them parallels and conjugates and relatives which do not exist. Hence the fiction that all celestial bodies move in perfect circles; spirals and dragons being (except in name) utterly rejected. Hence too the element of Fire with its orb is brought in, to make up the square with the other three which the sense perceives. Hence also the ratio of density of the so-called elements is arbitrarily fixed at ten to one. And so on of other dreams. And these fancies affect not dogmas only, but simple notions also.


The human understanding when it has once adopted an opinion (either as being the received opinion or as being agreeable to itself) draws all things else to support and agree with it. And though there be a greater number and weight of instances to be found on the other side, yet these it either neglects and despises, or else by some distinction sets aside and rejects; in order that by this great and pernicious predetermination the authority of its for
Akira Chinen Jul 2017
It's a cold heart that neglects what horror and darkness a person must go through to even think about suicide as an alternative to living, to a mind that has gone numb from the terror of drawing in another breath, to eyes that have gone blind to things that were once beautiful, to a person who has been gripped so tight by depression that the silence of being crushed under the weight of the earth is the last sound they want to hear.
Living can be hard, for anyone, no one is free from suffering, illness, death, we all have our battles, both private, public, family, etc... and at the end of the day in that moment between sleep and dream, all of of us are alone.  Alone with our demons and thoughts and prayers and despair, some more aware and some more blissfully not so.  The world is a scary ******* place right now, there is a **** load of bad things happening every moment of every ******* day.  It's not the devil running around **** *** naked spraying his jizzum of evil down upon our heads but it's the evil of mans own invention and indifference to each other.  We should be moving forward as a species and a community and a world... together.  And yet, somehow, with all our fancy tech and intellect and possibilities... we're not.  I'm not going to lie... daily headlines and newscast make me somewhat envious of those who found themselves able to pay the price for the luxury of suicide.  I mean, ******* come on... how can you not think every now and then... **** THIS PLACE!... it's truely a **** hole at times, people can be ******* horrible and are ******* horrible far too often.  Human misery spreads like cancer and the masses eat it up like it's a candy necklace wrapped around some ancient deities **** causing poisonous sugar to rush through their blood to fuel an ideology of hate so old no one could tell you when or how it started.  And the saddest part, sitting on the couch being ignored like a nerdy kid back in the 80's, is love...  and no one wants to sit by it and get cooties.  No, we're all to cool for that.  It's all about pretending to have good intentions and insta-gratification and self-degradation and hey hey hey look at me me me first and gimme gimme gimme...
This isn't everyone, and the world isn't absolutely beyond hope... but you would have a hard time arguing that the shadows aren't overpowering what little beauty there is left.
And that's hard knowledge to live with...
Then add on top of that, private and personal struggles no one else is aware of, or worse shrugs off or dismisses as nothing serious.  The signs aren't always easy to read... speaking from personal experience, it is far to easy to carry a lot of weight and fear and self loathing while wearing a plastic smile in public.   Some things seem too personal or embarrassing or what the **** ever to share sometimes and its just easier to say "I'm ok" than try to explain how terrible and dark and alone our hearts feel and our thoughts get.  It's real easy for the whole world to feel empty when that moment we experience between sleep and dream follows us through ever waking moment.   And it's easy to be mad and ****** and heartbroken when we read the word "suicide" in yet another headline... but what's harder is to imagine what that person must have been going through in that last moment between life and death.  It's harder to be human and feel compassion and empathy towards the departed, it's hard to walk up to the nerdy kid called love sitting on the couch and say, "****, I'm sorry I neglected you and ignored you"... but it's going to be harder and harder to read that headline over and over again.  So, for anyone, anyone at all, the couch love is sitting on is pretty ******* big and its nice and warm and cushy, so if your world feels empty, come sit down, we can talk, we can cry, we can just shut the **** up and be empty and alone together... what ever you need, I'll be here.
Ian Cairns Nov 2013
On forgiving former loves-

I understand your worry for uncertainty
It consumed you
Emerged as an ideal that you could not abandon
So you abandoned me instead
And maybe abandonment is a strong word
But I'm a strong man and I finally have a grasp on this
A clenched fist gripping empathy, not animosity

I understand your intentions weren't reckless
But a blinded truck driver can't avoid oncoming traffic too long
And accidents still design destruction
No matter how sorry the driver is after the fact
And sorry is much appreciated but still neglects the fact that
Heart brakes don't stop collisions, they construct them

I understand your past problems peaked into the present
And interrupted our intimate conversations
I had no problem erasing the demons you carried
To carry your baggage to the nearest trash can
To make room for our own difficulties
But I know attacking these issues alone was your preference
And I admire an inspired inspector of treacherous ground

I understand your passion wasn't illuminating
Our relationship's mansion anymore
Your embers resembled smothered ashes on love's battlefield
Your heart- a committed commander to Independence
The sovereign state selected to attack happy couples
But I won the battle and the war this time
Because my troops are resilient for commitment

I understand your calendar didn't coexist with mine
Still I appreciate your treated tenderness
Your existence improved my experience
Your love surrendered waving white flags
Which I greeted at first reluctantly
But over time I've come to recognize
The importance of self-harmony
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
When the moth no longer meditates on the cloth
When the fish fails to flit when it’s caught
When the calling crickets lose the will to whip up noise
When the eagle’s eagerness is evaporated along with poise
When all of nature neglects itself, adrift on its track
You’ll know for sure those feelings aren’t coming back
When that spark flickers feebly before flailing out
Renae Jun 2014
Frustration does me no good
It hurts, neglects me & builds resentment
I want to overcome my frustration
I will do it too
But for now, I am too dang frustrated
to get over my frustration
anger breeds resentment and a strong dislike for those who frustrate
Alan Johnson Dec 2013
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: of the EBook THE BULLIED, by Alan Johnson
(The Nonromantic Man is the art form most often described as a character sketch.  It falls in the realm of poetry, which I call poessay.  For it is not poetry by itself or an essay.)

The Nonromantic Man
Non-romanticism is the inability to overwhelm one’s ignorance of the opposite *** needs or desires. The non-romantic man is one who buys his non-pool playing wife a pool table and soon thereafter invites his friends over every weekend to play pool. He calls women ******* and ‘hoes. He rises late at night to fix a sandwich, leaves the spilled condiments for his woman to clean in the morning, then after a cigarette, with mustard still being on his breath, wakes her up for a *******. He gains weight and then demands that she go on a diet. In harmony with his poor values, he neglects to compliment the new sexed up dress that she is wearing but does notice that she is wearing too much makeup for him. He has to be reminded of her birthday or any other should special engagement. The result his gift is not well thought out, so he buys her a cheap necklace just like the times before. He has no taste for poetry, sensual lyrics or the practice of setting the ambiance which moistens the trail of splendor. He takes his woman out to dinner and complains about the dinner’s high prices, and work, and her in-sensitiveness to his problems, and…At least once a month, he rolls off the top of her and falls asleep while she stares at the ceiling and prays for a difference.
Robyn Neymour Oct 2013
It’s irritating,
When words seem to be
Unfaithful blemishes
Of yesterday’s past,
And a constant annoyance,
Unwitting today’s unknown.

To think about your what if’s,
And should don’ts of,
Repetitive reminders from the scars,
Engraved in you’re witty,
But beating heart is a daring,
Challenge to an unfaithful mind.

The fear to hold joy,
When a dark rose neglects,
The power of a white one,
In it’s purified significance,
Unveiling the worth and,
And the death of its own demise.

But no one realizes the faithful
Beauty of a dark rose.
To sting, to warn to challenge,
To be truthful to the subconscious,
Of the heart that also has protection,
Held and brace by pericardium.

Even the heart needs to be comforted,
And the mind in need of consolation,
So remove the stones blocking your eyes,
From your visual death,
Of growth and compassion,
Love is blind,
The mind is weak.

Then there is fear,
You can overcome.
So overcome it,
With the passion in your eyes,
The smile that you have,
For the very truth of your wellbeing.
Juan Dec 2018
forgetting to notice
the freshness of rain on his skin.
a hug.
the heat of a coffee cup on his raw palm.
a smile given by a stranger.
the air.
a set of loving lips that wrestle his.

a man on a ledge
neglects simple pleasures
and looks down at the asphalt.
I think often depression is caused by the failure to notice the positive things in life, not by living an unfulfilling existence. There is beauty in everything, even a burn on your hand!
Sonali Sethi Feb 2016
"I want to be a boxer" he said
Stomping his foot, his face red.
Angry at God for not making it happen
Now! Before his resolve does slacken

"I've got the skills for it." he whines
He neglects his practice half the time
He doesn't realise, it seems,
The difference between a hobby and a dream

"I've won many a fight!" he shouts
Those brawls with friends don't really count.
He did once won the junior championship
And into each conversation, he lets that slip.

"I can make it!" he says, His gloats, incessant
His actions, childish, His views, arrogant.
“Life’s so unfair!” he always cries
Though with all his heart, he never tries

He’s chasing the rush of winning a battle
But at the thought of war, his courage rattles
“If only I could follow my dream…” he muses  
One day perhaps he’ll run out of excuses

His wistful eyes gaze at boxing rings,
Lost in the visions of glory they bring.
“It’s my calling.” He brags, unable to see
The clear path leading him to his “destiny”

On self -made hurdles, he always trips.
It seems on reality he’s losing his grip.
In this mind, there is ample confusion
On the difference between a dream and delusion

As time passes, one day it’ll be clear
That all that stopped him was his own fear
But until then, he lets the truth be unheard
For isn’t it easier to keep blaming the world?
There were so many times when I thought that it was crazy to keep writing and I'm just fooling myself if I think I'll be a writer some day. I thought it was stupid to keep believing in my childhood dream. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially hopeless, I feel like this poem is basically how the world sees me.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
Come, listen all -
listen to a very gentle fable
Of Donkey, Dog and Man
and the friendship
amongst these three

Donkey and Dog are loyal servants;
they’ve served the same master
all their lives

It’s night now and
Donkey and Dog sleep
in the courtyard
while Master
snores in the house

A thief sneaks in
through the gate
and donkey whispers
as gently as he can:
Hey, dog…There’s an intruder;
Why don’t you bark and let master know?

And the old Dog growls as
quietly as he can:
Why don’t you bray aloud
and raise the alarm?

Hey, but you’re the dog
and you’re man’s best friend,
Donkey whispers in the dark

Man’s best friend, eh?
says Dog.
But is man the dog’s best friend?
I’ve served the master for ages
and now that I’m old he neglects me
and is talking about taking another dog.
I bet he’ll have you skinned alive
when you’re dead!
To the dogs with him!
You bray if you like.


Oh I’ve never seen
a more ungrateful being,
Donkey says.
Master is the best
and though he treats
us harsh
it’s all for our own good.
But your ingratitude offends me
and for the sake of decency and justice
and for all the values I hold dear
I shall have to do
a watchdog’s duty instead.

And with that
the donkey brays aloud
and the cacophony is heard
in all the village
and the thief runs away as quickly as he can;
and the master comes running out with a huge stick
and seeing the donkey braying madly
with no cause but its own stupidity
the master beats the donkey well and proper
till all his own hands ache
and he goes back to bed

And now Dog and Donkey
lie down again together
in the courtyard
and Dog says to the quiet Donkey:
Looks like you just found out
how it feels to be man’s best friend!
verdnt Jun 2013
I love the girl who is too young to smoke cigarettes but lights them anyway. She sits on the high school bleachers at 9 on a Sunday night, gets tired of the smoke in her eyes, and tosses eventual death in the trash can.
I love the girl who has never enjoyed the taste of alcohol but feels like Holly Golightly when she holds a glass of Cabernet so she drinks it anyway. She sits in her grandfather’s lounge chair on a Monday night, plays the songs he taught her on the *****, neglects her English essay, and leaves the red remains in the bottle.
I love the girl who cannot stand the sound of my guitar, but pretends to like acoustics because she knows the music brings out the best in me, and that even if she asks me to stop, I will play anyway. She lies on the floor on a Tuesday night, wishing she were in another town too small to be called a city, listens to melodies that remind her of where she is, ignores my creations and leaves my heart in her hands as she finally falls asleep.
martha Jan 2019
Big parts of ourselves are based on what we know best
What we do
Who we love
Where we are comfortable

The safety of familiar

When a rock the size of a delayed trauma is thrown between those cogs
The machine is still capable of continuing the way it did before
Something just makes it break that bit more
Quietly camouflaged beneath the surface of certainty

Everything now slopes to subtle disarray
As if the plates you had been balancing this whole time have suddenly stopped spinning
And the poles are threatening to snap under the pressure

I have separated myself into sticks and stones
Promised to break my own bones with every unstable step I take towards something I’m blind to seeing shadows of

Talking about it is impossible
It comes out in tongues of unintelligible
Crashing on tired ears too kind to tell me how badly they need a break

Discovering that who you thought you were isn’t who you can keep being
Makes me envy anyone who has had their identity stolen by an outsider

Constrictions come with self analysis
My body now moves through an ever-changing state of inconsistency
My figure defined by dislocated assumptions
Curves contract the changes in all the wrong places

Worries spread their seeds under an ocean of unnoticeable
Trust is now a stranger in my own home
who has figured out how to cut their own set of keys every time I change the locks

Blame is a fallback and the only ones to place it on are those who taught you everything you thought you knew

Heaviness is a weight I can’t brush off my shoulders
I carry everyone else’s burdens on my back because at least it is something I can be good at
A care taker who neglects to take care of herself

Eroding with every passing hypothetical
Every second thought
Every doubt
And every 'what if'

My impermanence is solidified in the knowledge that where we came from will soon call us back

Constellations can’t hold conversations but at least I know they won’t worry half as much

‘Nothing is permanent’ is one tattoo I can’t remove with laser surgery

So now I look for the missing parts of myself in others
In sizes and figures and numbers

What I am not is always something I could become
There’s always been room for improvement
and the empty space is running low on oxygen

Comparison has her cruel hands wrapped around my throat with a thirst I’m incapable of quenching
Self-deprecation isn't attractive
Insecurity isn't ****
Sharing so many similarities with someone who is everything better than me has turned itself into an internal torture device
an omnipotent ‘almost’ that lingers with every non-existent like-minded interaction that will never happen

I place my worth on the pedestal of peoples perceptions

Nightmares show reruns every second night
of the possibilities that now manifest themselves in the lining of my limbs
Leaking toxins that won’t go as far as my throat in case someone else overhears them

An unspoken competition for admiration and attention
The hollow has started to build scaffolds in my stomach for further renovations.

Easing it is a process
I seek shelter in laughter and forcing to forget

And loneliness has become a friendly companion in their absence

Afloat with overthinking until it jumps overboard
Dissolves transparent in glass coloured water

And drowns in it’s own pretty poison
Shane Knubley Dec 2013
Her look is holding
Her dreary and depressed eyes digging into me, perplexing
The scarlet red rose petals that ring around her pupils entrance me
She stands tall, strong and contained
Strong like the world trade before it was struck down against it's will
She's only awaiting her time
She puts on a good act

Nobody can tell that
Behind her strength and pseudo-bliss hides a lifetime of sadness and self-hatred
The perpetual clock dictating her existence ticks endlessly until she too falls to the ground
Masks her bottomless pool of insecurities with a smile
Compensating for them with a false ego the size of the sun
Acts like she is better than everyone
But she knows that she's not
Her mind set on keeping all the feelings hidden

She rejects help
Neglects the ones who care
Thinks she can do it all by herself
But we know that she can't

Her wrists full of scars and regret
Her eyes like an endlessly flowing water fountain
Caught in a recurring state of despair
Despite all the people who love and who care

"Everyday is a battle", I tell her, hoping that she will open to me
"And it's mine to fight", she replies aggresively
I try to share with her my days
I subtlely urge her to do the same
I want to help her heart to mend
So all her hate and pain can end.
Hey there little puppet girl,
Sowing at your broken heart,
Puppeteer can’t pay his bill,
While you just fall apart,

Hey there little puppet girl,
I bet you where once new,
But now your cloth begins to furl,
And that heart of yours is two,

I see your dusty rags,
And patches of different cloths,
Your mouth it sags,
And you’ve been nibbled by moths,

Hey there little puppet girl,
Puppeteer he neglects you,
Once kept you shiny-now keeps you dull,
Puppeteer he forgets you,

But I see you reaching out,
Begging for his touch,
Mouths sown shut can’t shout,
And only one button eye can watch,

Hey there little puppet girl,
I know that you can’t cry,
But you reek of lost will,
And a need you can’t gratify,

Hey there little puppet girl,
I bet you where once new,
But now your cloth begins to furl,
And that heart of yours is two,

I see you little puppet girl,
Ripping at your stiches,
You’re no longer rational,
Your mind is specious,

Hey there little puppet girl,
Ripped to little pieces,
Puppeteers little pearl,
Your value he decreased it.
Shay Ruth Feb 2015
Walls were pressed and hammered
Therapy for workers, curing pangs of comforts
They sat between fleshy webs of knuckles
On lunch break they would pluck pouts of moldy fruit
If only she could hear summer of 98’
Glimmering puddles and sinkable reasons
She could test her strength with Goldfish and a drippy, chocolate cupcake
Matching deserts of skin covering joints young enough to bend
They spat against another, sweating. Tapping
Smoother than honeymooners in a convention center
Frigid or uncontrollable, no one could tell
The breezeway connected teeth, the left chipped in the corner from
A muddy softball game. Their team won 7-2.
Wide enough to squeeze uncooked macaroni shells between
Became the dusky neighborhood game.
Transitioning humans, males most likely, whispered fears between that gap.
He was different. He waited in outside the doors, near the trash bins
With grumpy janitors, muttering, “fuggin’ kids” and things like that.
She loved how ugly they were then.

Her thoughts trailed him, what was left of him, as he paced
Searching for the mug he left there, no
There, holding wet tissue, no
Soggy cupcake liner
Cupcake, shortcake, cake, cake liner
Rainbow or musty brown from 346 degrees Fahrenheit
Baking Therapy Class held in her kitchen
Maybe because she could pound at the dough and it would never fight back
She neglects the finale of rumbling coffee exhale since she knows
He’d never come back. Not here or any party she threw.
But on another hard drive she saved photos of September 20th.
She’ll flip mindlessly through a Cosmopolitan, until she can forget his name
two roses-
growing in the same bush-
surviving off the same soil-
growing into something beautiful-
becoming something greater-
growing as one

the sun-
shining bright upon them-
encouraging their growth-
lighting up their future-
calming their senses-
kindling the passionate affair-
moving them closer together-
more intimate and dear

the sun neglects its obligation to one of the roses-
refusing a light source for the bloom-
leaving it wilted and begging for nutrients-
brown and fragile-
dying as the sun proceeds to rise over the other rose

the second rose continues growing along with the sun-
in spite of the downfall of the latter-
almost mocking the lesser decaying bloom-
because it has a source of light encouraging its growth-
safe and sound-
not giving any pity to the rotting flower beside it-
soaking up its own source of light-
and not sharing any rays with the decaying blossom-
rendering it useless and unwanted

the selfishness of the one rose-
refusing to share its sunshine with the latter-
results in solely one rose-
instead of two roses
stop taking my light, i want to grow, too
Daniel Nikov Mar 2013
icarus breathes in
and he's afraid to move on.

the walls of (con)crete surround him; they have all his life
but he's carved out a place of his own, now,
and he looks forward to taking his small steps
small independent steps like
staying out until sunrise
and smoking cigarettes in his room while
scribbling his stupid stories

(but he knows the sandcastle walls he's built around himself
are teetering with the ebb and flow;
he wishes that he could collect his friends and put them in his own little world
where they don't have to leave him and move on, too.
to make barbie and ken dolls from his loved ones
where they don't exist outside the hangouts and parties
and they don't have faces until he looks at them.
he wants to wrap his life in plastic and submerge it in molasses
so he can keep up with the movement.
but time fires his life like clay, exposing cracks and pores he neglects)

icarus hiccups
(the wax drips on his back and wings turn to wicker)
but he refuses to pay mind to the burning heat
or the climbing speed of his descent

icarus breathes out
and he won't let go of his wings
but he knows the sea will rise to meet him;
he won't blame daedalus with his dying breath
Venny Mar 2016
And we held each other as we weeped for our earth.
Our mother.
Mother nature, she gave birth to us and watches us as society hurts us, neglects us, and abuses us.
Feeling her tears in the rain, and her pain in the cold wind, her worry within the brewing storms, and discomfort in the scorching sunshine.
We take comfort in one another knowing someday things will get better my beautiful sister
And no longer will we cry tears for our mother's creations.
For our mother's home.
For our bodies that the world is destroying.
late summer 1984 Odysseus thinks he sees girl resembling Bayli walking large black dog on armitage street he and Farina still puppy follow girl and her dog to oz park as he nears yells “Bayli?” she looks around replies “Odys? oh Odys! i can’t believe it’s really you it’s so good to see you i’ve missed you so much how’ve you been?” “oh god Bayli i’ve missed you so much too how are you? are you still married?” she answers “we recently divorced he turned out to be real **** secretly borrowed money against mortgage to our house to buy ******* he’s a drug addict we lost everything i’m staying with girlfriend from work then moving this weekend to north carolina where my parents now live” he gazes at her thinks how grown-up lovely she looks she wears tight black jeans tank top beneath short red leather jacket black pointed boots they chat while Farina follows Bayli’s ******* dog he invites her to his place nearby to look at some drawings she agrees tells him thrift-store shirt he is wearing is very cool he offers it to her on the way they pass gare st. lazare Bayli says “i love this place Odys i’m starved haven’t eaten all day let’s stop for a bite let me take you to lunch” he says “i’ll have a cocktail” they tie dogs to parking meter go inside sit in booth drink several screwdrivers smoke talk Bayli orders steak and fries Odysseus orders ****** mary madonna’s “like a ******” plays from bar speakers Bayli comments “there’s still innocence about you Odys i can feel it you’re like child full of gullibility wonder how have you managed to survive?” his eyes glance down speaks “oh Bayli if only you knew the truth it hasn’t been easy” he nibbles one of her fries explains “i’ve struggled Mom and Dad pushed me into commodity markets that was total disaster i’m trying to get back to my true self stumbling every step i’ve made some new drawings you’ll see let me take some water out to the dogs i’ll be right back” they hang out at gare st. lazare for hour talking ordering another round of drinks later when they arrive at his place dogs race up stairs Bayli peers around at drawings on walls “Odys you’re a real artist i’m astounded by your work you’re better than i ever imagined i wish i could say same for myself my life is in ruins man i married physically abused cheated on me stole 10 years savings $260,000 i need to go home to my parents rebuild my life starting from scratch” he kisses her lips they embrace she smells like vanilla he slides hand between her thighs in nurturing voice she says “slow go slow Odys” they tear off each other’s clothes he recognizes her knobby knees he so loves notices her bush has grown fuller ***** longer Bayli has matured into superb lover he adores way they relate over time Odysseus has drawn many sketches of Bayli yet he neglects to show her his thoughts run wild with lightness this afternoon he is so thrilled he dismisses all the things he wants to tell her his mind drifts in world of fantasy forgetfulness he fails to comprehend what Bayli means to him in numb dumb way in passion of  moment Bayli is just another piece of *** another colorless girl passing through his life he looks at her his most perfect ideal woman admires her body yet cannot see her does not realize brain does not register speaks her name Bayli the most beautiful sound his ears can hear but it is just another name how can this occur? they make tender passionate love then he asks her to model she consents he positions her lying down on her back with arms legs outstretched like she is floating he positions her on her knees with hands cupped then clasped like she is praying he positions her curled up on her side watches her get dressed leave go to her parent’s home in north carolina why doesn’t he beg her to stay rebuild her life with him? why does he let her go? what is he thinking? that is just it he is not thinking and for 2nd time it costs him love of his life there is no one to blame but himself when did he become so empty?
what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? once i was loved by beautiful sweet woman who was content just knowing i was happy Bayli was pure honest loyal i thought her a child yet she is more woman than i have ever known thought because she came so easily i could easily get better i let her go the one person in whole world who really loved me made me happy kept me in light i told her someday when i am recognized artist with money respect i will come for her until then we both need time to build towards our destinies it doesn’t matter what i told her she’s gone what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? how do i hold myself responsible for my own stupidity? i’ve had such incredible women offer themselves to me and turned away slamming door on love what kind of man am i to stalk the streets in search of love? i’m going to get so drunk i won’t be able to recognize myself in mirror
Olivia Jane Dec 2013
I'm tired of screaming
And not being heard
I'm tired on blabbing
On and on
It's absurd!
Just wake me up
From my forever sleep
And restrain from my master's keep
The dark forbidden tomb
That is my cascading mind,
Is trapped forever,
Frozen in perpetual time.
Striving for perfection
You get nothing but "perplextion"
It's my only relation.
As I wander in dead darkness
I feel the heat creep up behind me.
I feel the flame lick my neck
I feel the cold linger
No longer a speck
A speck of hope
A speck of fear
A speck of soul I cling to dear!
My love is my torch
My love is my lamp
Even when God's tears drip and fall
Trying to make my spirits damp.
But I tread on
Through that doomed sepulcher.
I tread on...
No one can help her.
They say God has a plan
One everyone must follow
Right up to the very man...
A plan called fate
A plan I hate
A plan that dooms us all in state,
The state of fear
We wallow in,
The state we hear of indifference...
Every night I hear the screams
In my commemorative dreams
The screams of my peers
That echo in my ears
They match my own
My silent screams
Thy mask my dream
Their silent screams
From neglect above,
He neglects to save me
For I fear to speak aloud
For I fear to be misunderstood
From what i suffer...
The count down to the ever-stated doom
Is pounding in my head
A heartbeat that is hushed
Am I really so dead?
Wish me luck as I travel to space
The **** goes tick
I have one wish
I wish for freedom
I wish for tears
I wish for more people with ears
Ears that will listen to the cries
Of everyone
Everyone that dies
But everyone must die
So now it's my turn
Wish me luck
Send me to space
Please! get me away from this place
I want to be free
So please
Let me be
Count down
say five
Don't drown
say four
Not from my tears
say three
Not for many years
say two
Just please Lord forgive me,
say one...
For I have sinned.
Xilhouette Nov 2010
Watch a blue bird flutter
Watch it over the gutter
He'll fly to begin
Something we call: Imagine

Watch them sing and dance
Under a soft trance;
We like to call dream,
Under the moon's beam

For all his life he will fly
Believing that he won't die
Unless he neglects his flight
To the eternally bright light

Until one day he descends
To the earth's bitter ends
Giving his wings an inflammation.
Don't worry just keep in mind: This is imagination
Xilhouette © 2010
Katie Miller Apr 2019
You are a boy of metal
One who doesn't recognize his own value
Precious metals all the same
Their sum only equals your eyes
And neglects the rest of everything you are
Pure silver ringed along your pupils
And gold dancing across the edges
Gallium words melt my heart
This periodic table of you
Guess you could say this boy and I have some... chemistry......
Ayeshah Dec 2011
Take your word..
You say.   But  She took Your word when
you told her- you loved her the most
in this world. She's your lady & baby girl.  You  gave ya word to her   when you told her your so in love and no other will do!
Not me nor anyone can replace her- remember you gave her ya word- huh?
hmm TAKE your word for it ?  You gave ya word to her and told her you'd do anything to please her! 
but  now I must-
 Take your word... ??
When You told her I'm nothing to you at all.
Your not in a good place right now  &  only she can pull you out!
Your missing her so much.
  You wish she was here  because your craving her touch.
& you keep on begging me to-
Take your word.....
When you've told her, her and her,  you have to stay because  your trapped.
didn't you tell  her this girl in that 1 - I'm not healthy+
I'm in a bad state-
( of mind because my mental psychosis ain't right)
  which is why you can't leave me  right now?!
This you say- Take your word...
When you telling
em  I'll never be as good as them.  (this girl or that  other woman) 
 You can't wait until your free.
Your playing pretend with me but they're  (her, she and them)  is really where you want to be?
Take your word.......
When once again
after you've lied stole and cheated
emotionally beat the love right out of me-
Yet you want me to
Take your word?!?  
I took your word: 
 when YOU vowed to
forsake all others  when you promised  to
love me in sickness& in health, for better & worst-  
asked me to love you forever  
if I'd do just that  (take ya word)  
YOU'D  "show" me
I could once more trust you or as you said  
(take your word) & you'll give me all of you
take ya word
on everything & it'll be us, me & you, through thick or thin
and you'd "show" me 
 I could believe in you once again too, that if
I take ya word-
you'll bring the faith I had in you- back to me,
  I'd take ya word  
YOU'D save me from your past neglects and FINALLY love me best!
   "IF "
I'd take ya word  - You'd never abuse, misused, or deceive me EVER again!  
that's the problem,
I did
you back even after all this...  
NOW I don't want to hear it...
  Ya words  hurt me...  
I was ya choice but never was I  1st!  
did I have 1st dibs
& for you,
it was easy picking
when you got hungry unscrupulous ***** nasty type chicks after you! 
 I was never number #1
I was just  1 of many   you played & used!
Yo your words ain't ****.  
Take MY word(s)  & listen good :
I can't and  I  wont do this to myself nor allow
you to
******* abuse me
I'm to good for you and this here mess!
BOY  Ya WORD and words no longer mean ****!
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright © Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®*
I've once more been put into a place i really dont want to be, Life's complicated enough with out all the bull'ish! I love me more than you all can ever imagine and i now think i dnt know what love is cuz i doubt this is IT!  yet... i stayed this long for nothing! im a fool of the 1st kind!
Kishan Ballurkar Jun 2013

His face is unknown, his voice is unheard and his walk does not leave footprints in the past,
He does not stand out, he’s one among millions and no one knows how many years does he last.
His problems are petty and often overlooked when compared to important matters at hand,
For he is considered a vagabond in debt who roams on our country’s land.
He votes, pays taxes and abides by the rules but he knows it’s all in vain,
For helpless he surely is and he knows he can turn to no one to ease his pain.
Every four years he hopes of change in the system that neglects him,
But he’s unaware he’s already a part of a system that considers him at the brim.
Nine to five and six days a week is his job and he eagerly waits for Sunday to rest,
Contribute to society a little each day to progress is what he does best.
Strength in numbers is a truth he knows but unity is absent in times to revolt against the law,
He knows it’s not his companions fault but a basic human thinking’s flaw.
There will be a day when he will have the power to change but it’s a distant dream,
For today he is captured in a glass bowl and no one but himself can hear his own screams.
So he walks everyday supporting the system that doesn’t consider him a part of the plan,
A system that never did care for the life nor the death of this faceless, nameless common man.
Josh Schrader Sep 2016
Searching, scattered.
Broken, shattered.
Floating debris in an angry ocean.

Medicate, obliterate,
Facilitate prideful hate.
Counterfeit reality, fleeting in motion.

Intolerance, slavery,
Damnation of bravery.
Ego-driven exchange, seems to be the notion.

Betray and conspire,
Jump in the fire.
The mask of foster, neglects true emotion.

Complacent, denial,
Appeasing the vile.
Pat on the head: "Good Dog..." Devotion!

Gluttons acquire,
The bigot empire.
An Icarus fate, will be dealt by the sun.

Add and subtract, obscure the equation.
Media diversion = systematic persuasion.

Branded by fear we await "The Explosion".
But looking out and not in, ensures death by implosion.
Chloe Dec 2015
Im never good enough unless I let people **** me.
I thought when I met my boyfriend he would actually respect me.
But If I don't get naked he just neglects me, why do I need to have *** for him to love me?

He says the drugs turn him on,
but he can't stay hard enough to get me off. Give him some lotion and ****,
all interest in me is lost,
now hes anything but soft.

Does this mean I'm gross?
Should I shave better or wear less clothes? Im over reacting, I know.
******* I hate all drugs,
I can't stand the lows.
Do I just let him touch me?
I can't spit out the word no.
My body belongs to him, but I'm sick of going with the flow.
I need to make it clear I have a voice of my own.
Falling in love with him gave me a rare sense of hope.
I thought I would finally have some control,
then I realizef I'm still a piece of meat,
an eager to please ***.

I felt his love was pure and I wanted it all to myself.
I thought dating a man who preaches how much he cares meant it mattered what I felt.

I got away from the party rapes and bottles of *****.
I thought a relationship meant i would finally get to choose.
Why am i still being used?
Maybe he'd understand after stepping in my soulless shoes.
I can never win, the outcome is inevitable, I was born to lose.

So do I lay down and pretend I want the ***,
or watch him choose **** when I refuse to say yes.
Would he notice me if I had implants in my *******?
Maybe I need to be a tan blonde with no heart in my chest?
We all know those women can **** the best,
I can't compare so I just lay down to rest.

And I don't mean going to bed,
I mean 6 feet under with a grave stone at my head.
Even from the casket all I can smell is ****,
the reason for his shiny upper lip covered in sweat.
I asked him to wait on taking a hit,
but he smoked it and failed my little test. It's obvious its the drugs he loves best.

I needed to see if what I felt could over power his want for drugs.
Of course he didn't choose me, but his drugs left pain in my lungs.
I didn't know I would fall apart so young. It's looking like all of my abusers have won.

I should of just put out because now he wants to sleep on the couch.
I should have let him *** in my mouth, because now he's scraping a pipe and I'm just trash waiting to be thrown out.

But that's just how I feel on the regular,
so used to being alone, even with him across the room,
this feelings so familiar.
I promised another abusive relationship would never happen again
but his actions are scary similar.

I know he won't ***** me over,
but I'm a girl who let a drug user abuse her. A girl beaten in the street, wishing he would shoot her. Forced to be a freak in the sheets, a girl who said yes even when it bruised her.

Is it happening again?
Or am I just selfish for not pleasing my man?
Now I'm over thinking
Deep down I know his love is an ocean surounding my land.
My protector, drowning out all of the bad.
After all, he even held me while I screamed with a blade in each hand.
I try to remind myself this but my brain calls *******.
My mind is built in a shape that reality doesn't fit.
So when he says I'm his baby I can only hope he means it.
Fearing he will think I'm not worth it, I work so hard to stay atttactive.
Going days without food, I eat like a ******* rabbit.
I'm dizzy and might lose consciousness,
my sleep pattern is ******* eratic.
This migraine has my brain mushy and muffled like tv static.

This pain in my skull is dragging me to sleep,
my body aches, from my soul to my feet.
I should have opened my legs and tried not to shake.

I denied him what he wanted,
thinking my man would love me fully clothed.
I can't help but wonder,
is it wrong to keep my legs closed? 
I dont ******* know.

Being in love has left me on the floor cold and shaking,
other men see what they want and take it. Never been given an option,
so used to my body being taken.
He made a promise that he's different, but what if saying no is what'd break it?
I thought a relationship would give me more choices.
Yes or no,
a question I was never asked by my dozens of rapists.

It all feels like a repeat playlist,
I know he loves me and I'm trying to embrace it.
But even completely clothed,
I'm feeling helpless and naked.
decompoetry Mar 2011
Little ******* on the boulevard;
they look so cool, they look so hard,
they look so mean, they have that green;
looking oh so bold while they wear their gold.

Little ******* on the boulevard;
clean shaven heads are on their guard,
standing out in a rugged front yard,
sporting Glock 9s that look so fine
in the crotch of their denim jeans,
where the end neglects to have a means


Little ******* are on the boulevard
and the cops are calling
just as their pants are falling
and amidst their crawling
they admit to sprawling

You haven’t a clue,
do you,
you little *******?
You’ve been reduced
to your recluse
in your boulevard,
Life’s so **** hard,
you little *******.


Little ******* on the boulevard:
rather face death than be barred,
even though they already are.

Little *******, little *******,
leave that boulevard,
leave it all,

leave that boulevard,
just go away,

you little ******* …

— The End —