"normalities" poems
In society,
Women are always told they are too much.
Too angry, too calm
Too quiet, too loud
Too big, too small
And we are all of these things
We are angry.
Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be.
And we are too calm.
Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry
Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's
You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm.
We are too quiet.
We are silenced.
Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet.
And we are loud.
We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be.
We are small.
Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger.
Because we are big.
We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
Did I win or lose?
Perhaps-maybe nature won.
One less spin cycle,
Gallons of life water saved.
In my intellectual hemitage
I find a difference can be made,
Oh underwear,
Spirit of nature,
First I wear you proper,
And the day is good.
I walk forward into the morrow
And turn the world backwards.
Yes the tag now goes to front,
And wedgies aside, all is well.
In the instantaneous moment
Ina departure of normalities,
Confronted with a bundle of reflections,
I move into day three,
Inside out.
The days have dispersed,
I wreak of the third day,
Still a difference has been made.
I take off the underwear,
Crispy and tainted,
With a lump in my throat
And a little hope I made a difference,
The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Swiftly like the night
or some **** like that
he ran
into the dark, like a proverbial Kenyan
he jumped
over trees
and swam
in the dirt
like a beautiful sea creature in murky depths
drank in the worms
all wriggling and fleshy
lunch
to a man by any other name
who wouldn't smell as sweet
he was hideous
like a jack o lantern
thrown off of a roof
of a 50 story ugly-person hotel:
vaccancy if your face has broken a camera lens-
he likes
eating roots and shoots
and tell him otherwise
and he'll chop your limbs off
and his name
I don't know
he's too perfectly abstract for such normalities
we'll just call him
morality
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
Don't sleep
Don't sleep
I begin to
Like you
A little bit more
I shift and sigh
Say your name
Fatigue rolls
Somewhere by
But, alert I
Imagine
So many paintings
To make for you
You mumble
Childishly
Your laughter
Is glittery
I wish
For so little
I wish too
Intensely
Dont wipe me
With a stiffened cloth
Soaked
In turpentine
And a hundred hues
Dont stir me
I might be disturbed
Out of skill
Out of thought
Onto a burlap scene
Grotesque
Picturesque
And so, so true
Don't move
Or I might too
I might too
Become a facet
Among the facets
Of your horrors
I might
Become art
Might become
Beautiful
In that strange
Black way
Of art
Dont sleep
Talk to me
Speak to me
Let us be
Normalities
Let us
Hold
Technicalities
Forget
Sentimentality
In the silly blue painting
Of an eyeless pretty
Smooth and porcelain
Perfectly closed
No night
To mourn into
Dissolve into
To stumble,
To tremble into
Don't sleep
I become too much alone
Shrivel, burnt sienna
I cannot move alone
I become the paintings
That I fear to paint
I become the sombre
Debris of your laughter
Cold, blue
Featureless
A moonlit night
Nothing but red
You don't know
That I like you
In my head
Come back
Come back
Apr 30, 2023
Apr 30, 2023 at 6:10 PM UTC
We are the savages,
normalities stand from a distance and secretly admire
the domesticated eyeing in envy to our resilience of society's taming shackles
so they reject us with pointed accusing fingers
forever deemed an unworthy animal.
We belong to nature and they're all hunters
fully equipped with nonfictional weapons to destroy the wilderness with in
poaching our furs and horns
only to hold the satisfying idea we are becoming extinct.
We believe in something greater
its a diamond ring proposal of freedom
sparkling in the sunlight of judgment
unfazed by starless nights
we still shine bright in total darkness
becoming a beacon of light to the helpless moths.
We are born as nomads of law and principles
they want to break us, bind us in rules and regulations
take our souls and throw them to the masses of cold blooded creatures
they all swim mindlessly in a wonderland of controlled morality
but to the hot blooded, these cool waters are foreign
forever belonging on land
letting our predator instincts be the guide
knowing what is right and where to flee when its wrong
but they expect us to drown with the rest
in the materialistic greed infested river of the world.
We will never be broken
we are the wild
we are self thinkers
we are the untouchable spirited winds of the world
rebel eyed with our backs against those who have become the thoughtless corps
filled with animosity and jealousy
we are free and we roam the jungles of prosperity
still shining bright, a true savage.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
Life is pretty drunk
With all the madness suppressed
under the veil of formalities
With all the wildness hidden
behind rocks of normalities
My life would have flew if
you had taught me
Gravity wasn't the only reason
My life would have been LIFE if
you had said the heaven exist in life
not after life...
I have been drunk with dreams of desires and ambitions
I have been so destroyed with convolutions and conjugations
And I still act sober
with life such drunk
If only I had been informed
Life is not for drunkards
I would have refused my birth
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Six thousand miles of difference
Determined by mans’ hand,
Of greed and power sought by him
Against his fellow man.
Six thousand miles of difference
Exacted by a thought,
That life should be a harmony
Or life should be as nought.
A still and utter peacefulness
Pervading in the air
Normalities great splendour here,
In order everywhere.
A dog barks in the evening light
As neighbours mow the lawn
And the distant hum of traffic
From yon motorway, forlorn.
Shattered buildings teeter
To the concrete debris strewn,
Through war torn streets of battle
Where hot shrapnel sears the noon.
Where blood pools in the broken glass
And fear is in the air,
And the shriek of rockets plummeting
Cause a heartbeat to despair.
Leafy streets of sanctity
Where people mix at will,
Chimney smoke which spirals
In atmosphere tranquil.
Couples saunter, arm in arm
Children laugh and play
The normal, here, is everywhere
Upon this peaceful day.
Decapitated corpses wash
In blood, red surge of sea,
An encounter in the wrong place
Means a sudden death for me.
The skies are filled with torment,
The people quake with fear
As they cringe and flee, directionless,
To frantically keep clear.
Six thousand miles of distance
Determines where we stand,
In battles hell and maelstrom
Or walk free in this fair land?
In Syria’s catastrophe
Where men do **** at will,
Or walk in serene safety
On this lands’ grassy hill
Six thousand miles of difference
Determined by your hand
With greed and power sought by man
Against his Makers’ plan.
Six thousand miles of difference
Exacted by a thought…
-That life shall be a harmony
Or life shall be a nought.
Marshalg
Ascot Hospital
Auckland
19 November 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Did style happen because I copied you or you copied the magazine?
Did I like that activity in special because everyone else did?
Did I change into someone whom I'm not because being myself weren't good enough? Or because I didn't resemble the rest of you?
Is it really so wrong to try and break free from the normalities so I won't become a part of the large crowd. I want to break free and be me.
But to be free and outside of the crowd is lonely. They don't drag you back in, because in reality, where everybody is one and the same; they won't notice when you're gone. If you're gone?
Didn't a part of you stay back?
Didn't a part of you still want to be in the crowd?
Didn't you in reality never leave?
Weren't this not just a part of wish thinking? Imagination?
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Life goes by in a flash,
In an instant plans are memories,
Photographs the only residue
Of past normalities,
And then the realization
You’ve been going on along the whole time,
Without ever seeing it.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
They say this place isn't colorful,
that this part of town doesn't shine
No inspiration, no life
When I open my eyes to it,
I see something a little more beautiful
I feel it too,
in every sunny day
I hear it
when the wind rustles
carelessly through the trees,
shaking their leaves
and making music
for my soul
They see an alley,
dark and dusty
A place that doesn't exist
Someone's slept there,
stepped through it,
even gazed at it
Oh the untold human condition
I love this place
this town with all of its flaws
and normalities
every park, every street
I know them by heart,
I know the people who have stepped foot there
and all of the memories that have been made
But I'm bigger than this place,
I've out grown it
I'm just a sun flower surrounded by daisies
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
Beyond the sight of normalities plight there is a realm so deep
The animals know it but they don't show
For they are humble peeps
They strive back and forth to sustain their life force
To **** and eat and repeat until there bodies lay down in defeat
They return as wind and mould mountains on their adventure Home
Rejoice from the sauce until they live again and again
And again and again and .....
Back to the never ending dance of eternal creation
Fulfilling itself by getting to know its self
Knowing All by knowing One
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Self-effacement
With time names and dates
engraved on headstones
weather beneath pelting sleet and rain
to soften carefully chiseled letters
Little by little
etchings become
blurred at the edges
indistinct and unreadable
Personality features
fade daily
hidden with words
structured into facades
readily available as a cover
from those who wish
to unearth the treasures within
What a struggle to hide
to mute or soften
eccentricities into normalities
What an effort
continual concealment
behind frights and fears
as though a child
playing hide-and-go seek with others
Self-effacement becomes
a life-style of constantly
playing a game without a prize
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
I scream at the top of my lungs
out and across vast, honey-wheat plains.
A cool morning breeze hugs my barren body-
and its chills seem to ask the wind, "Is this indecision?
If I need be tentative, do I in turn hideaway my courage?"
An unsure finish leads me to hesitation.
Yet, ecstatic excitement and the thrill of possibility
lay a soft kiss upon the supple lips of opportunity.
And I know now that it is my time to run-
with arms wide open as the sun shines upon my face
and the wind whispers into my ear, feelings of a quintescent
energy so fluid and real beg to rip apart my rib cage and pour
the soul of my heart onto the begging and thirsty soil beneath my bare feet.
Sensational unknowing, how can my soul catapult into such a terrific nothingness!
And to have this terrific nothingness accept my soul!
I do not know whether I should be screaming with laughter or tearing down my cheeks in streams.
I need not halt at failure!
Or do I?
A projection of delusions lead me to a certain insanity.
Do i dare decide for myself the precise moment in time
in which it is a must for me to fall victim to the ordinary?
For the white-walled normalities of life
seem to be enclosing around my very thoughts.
Corruption belittles me as well as others,
and I know that I now must settle down-
and serve for the greater good.
But time can lead the mind to wander-
and every once in awhile I find myself pondering
beautiful rebellion.
But I must not think that way, for age and society
have conspired in clipping my wings, and to think freedom
is to play along to a forgotten game that was played during a forgotten age.
Oh hollowed life, long corrupted and conformed world, how dare you toil with the understanding of space and time?
I fall to my knees with my face buried in my hands.
Genuine madness and excitement, is your absence permanent?
Must this last forever?
The sun is setting now and I realize that my hope should have remained
never.
And I scream at the top of my lungs out and across spacious honey-wheat plains.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 8:36 AM UTC
Do you want restitution for my crimes past committed?
Is your code of silence a loud cry for justice?
Fine, be free from my life and all of its many normalities.
You've pushed me away for all of your false realities.
There were no threads of life to unwind from the next.
Soon you were simply gone.
No loud cries, those were really only my quiet sighs.
No justice needed, the jury filed out barely heeded.
I'm left alone with no condemner.
There's nothing to atone for, you were the ***** *****
I'll make a mess, I won't be quiet.
Is this just making it worse? Reveling in memories like a second skin.
No not yet, don't absolve this sin.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 11:27 AM UTC
help
I've fallen and I can't get up
I put blind trust in you
the fibres of your shirt
the slight smirk
on your clever face
help
I'm shaking and I can't see straight
But these things are normalities
they happen too often
no caution
and I'll just be another fatality
help
I'm in love and I can't get out
I'm shrinking into a pit
of a peach like heart
torn apart
by the hungry lips of my suitor
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
He lived within my normal
Without catechisms
One leg at a time
Pants and glory
He loved within my normal
Without judgment
A freedom to live
The freedom of happy
He lays within my Normal
With complete peace
a freedom to laugh
A kindness to smile
He loved my normal
And put me to sleep
He slept, we sleep.
Then dreamt
My normalities became his freedom to be
His laughter Her Cadence
A rave of emotional dialect
Nothing to conquer
Nor ranks to achieve
He lived and loved within
Within my normal
Within the normalities.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Couldn't tell if she was more in love with the surreality
Or the freedom from normalities
The ability to fall in love with a tangible inanimate thing
If it is only a drawing
His heart once beat like one of us but his passion consumed him turning him into the things he drew and grown to love
What should she do?
Escape from reality and join in the fantasy?
Or live a life asking herself what could it be?
Stay tuned for these Spilled Stories
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
His hands were calloused,
they were home and a
remedy for the mixture of
my sickness that I never
could pinpoint.
Hands, such a feature
that could be the instrument
of a subordinate
and domineering teacher.
They are looked upon,
not given thought nor inquisition,
but that wasn't the case for me.
Those hands were
where I found my
reprieve, an unhealthy
and vindictive reprieve.
Those hands were
a paradox of all
things combined.
Those hands were a
paradox for the cruelties
and involuntary injustices
in the world; A world
that was filled with grizzly
reprimands and slurs for
those who spoke up.
Indeed, a paradox those
controlling and
manipulative hands were.
They were cruel.
They were kind.
They were abusive.
They were reassuring.
They were foreign.
They were home.
They were the origin
for my shred of sanity.
They were the origin
for my absurdity.
Oddly enough,
they were home.
A cruel world seals
its fate and its pearls.
It leaves the rarity of
oddities abandoned among
the normalities of abuse.
Among those normalities
and oddities were those
hands.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Losing myself by the day, by the night as it comes.
Sinking and being ****** further in.
And I know I shouldn't care so much
Because it's all just trivial in the end.
But these conflicting feelings repel like magnets.
My loss of patience is tragic.
These burdens eat at my heart and challenge my soul.
As I try to be a rock and not to roll..
Transparency is me
But only for the ones that see.
If your pride separates us,
I build my wall for you and walk away.
For a connection without trust
Cannot be genuine in any way.
Mistake my silence for agreeance
Because I won't be bothered with your ignorance.
But I choose to turn from childishness
And step into consciousness.
Forgive me for not giving into the game the ego plays.
For my higher self wants to stray
From the path of insecurity and hurt
And social normalities.
And I say **** it to your fake formalities.
Being pulled by the current of the world and torn to shreds
By the animals that walk it,
My body and mind have grown weary.
As I realize eminent outcomes so dreary..
But of all the unfortunate ends,
Would be my unfolding social suicide.
Swayed and influenced into reaction
Rather than reflection,
I become part of the disease, the infection.
Following the useless herd with no sense of direction.
As I try to return to myself once again,
I know within, its all meaningless and I should only love.
But my mortal feelings challenge me.
I attempt to ascend and look to stars above.
All this emotion and wisdom I have, balancing.
Not sure if my silence is growth or indifference, or maybe just pain.
But my reactions, whether how I feel or not, are hard to cover and feign.
So this is what it means to be human.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
You’re so **** pretty
and I don’t just mean
your long eyelashes
or your majestic flowy hair
or the way your eyes go all crinkle
and your face goes all squish
when you smile,
nope.
You’re just
you’re so **** pretty
just as a human being
just in who you are
and how you try
and I just can’t think
of any solid reason why
you have to deal
with so much ****
Bad things happen to good people,
sure,
and I’ve always known that the world
doesn’t always operate based on
common sense
but I guess
I never fully understood the full scope
of that concept
until I saw you cry.
Because when you walked up
(it’s no exaggeration to say)
you were glowing.
You literally
blinded everyone
but you kept insisting
that you could only absorb light,
not emit
and I just don’t get it.
My parents are doctors
so believe me
I know very well that the heart
is an ***** the size
of your fist,
no more and
no less.
I know it,
I do but you’re just
going to have to believe me
when I say
that there are times when I’m
talking to you
when my own personal
fist-sized *****
just swells right up
and expands
to push against
the sides
of its ribcage,
because if it’s true
it it’s really true
that the brightest star
in all the universe
might look in the mirror
and mistake itself
for a black hole,
then surely
surely no natural laws
no physical properties
no rules or
biological normalities apply
to the human heart?
Surely.
There aren’t many things I can say
with full confidence.
The future frightens me
the past confuses me
and I frankly am not sure why
I’m still here
in the present (???)
but like it or not
here I’ve been
for eighteen (better or worse) years
and in that time
there haven’t been many people
that it often bothers me
to be in a room without
(which would be totally irrelevant
if it weren’t for the fact that I walked
into Westminster Abbey today
and just wished
the mega-posh British security guard
was you)
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
I’m just a wandering spirit on my way through the times of life loving the people I find . So when I look up in the sky I see the m walking me when I’m travelling through the dark that they don’t wanna be in so they stand in watch over me in the subconscious . It makes me wonder if I wasn’t alone would I live in a life filled of normalities. Would I still be the torch in my own darkness being a super nova for other. Nothing of what we really do does matter we make it matter because life is nothing but our own fantasies
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 5:28 PM UTC
She was perusing the linoleum trails when I walked into conoco gas at 6:49. I bought $20 of unleaded at pump three.
"I miss my jeep, but I sure don't miss the gas mileage"
she giggled from behind me with a filmy grocery bag bracleting her wrist. He name was Kiyomi, a Japanese citrus. "When my mom was pregnant with me, that's all she would eat. She joked that she'd give birth to a fruit instead of a baby."
She told me she plucked her shirt from the hamper when I complimented her outfit, and about her **** neighbors" with whom she shared a complex. I made an excuse for the dirt sponging my shirt and tattooing down my legs. "It's from landscaping", I said as a way to somehow justify it. I felt like I'd known Kiyomi a long time when we said goodbye.
With a half tank of gas, I started up Genevieve and we rolled off our opposite ways. It was as I walked up and down King Sooper's ribs of commercial aisles that I was so grateful to Kiyomi, the fruit girl. She showed her humanness to me. We hung up our social normalities like jackets, and spoke in the unfabricated way children do. Friday, June 3rd, roughly 6:53 pm, a girl of soil and a girl of fruit collided in connection. Like it was natures very own conversation.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
Caged like a bird
As courageous as a lion
Starved to death
Yet still he lacks the normalities of humans
The clean wrists
The smooth skin
He lacks a house
Without bars covering all the exits
He lacks normal afternoons
Without the voice of psychologists
Hoping he would listen to reality
he lacks sanity
lost as a child
When his mother's fingers
never brushed his face
When a plate never came in contact with his fingers
But with his jagged skin above his eyebrow
When his fathers belt
Couldn't seem to stay on his pants
But suffocated him
Striking until he was a slave
Being transported from reality
To the hell of insanity
Rocking on the waves
That wouldn't stop
Surrounded by voices
That weren't his own
Fingers calloused from
gripping the floor
to keep from sliding
off the side
into the murky waters
that held the
siren of beauty
of pain
of horrors that never seemed to stop
until he let go
Then it was not a voice of another filling his ears
but his own
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
Though the perception is to live free,
That whole picture perfect life is always embedded. Instilled in all of us from birth.
Work, ******* work, and strive to do that family frenzy, nice house, nice car ******** **** the normalities of society. **** being. Sometimes just to breathe, to exist, to live, all of the above is a blessing. Sometimes it's a savior for yourself, but most times it's just a form of conformity for others. We are all ******* robots, one foot in front of the other, sir. March, march, march. Is it April yet? Have I made it yet? Another year of being the least successful person, the woah is me, the pitty party. Stop looking at me. Stop ******* looking at me with those eyes that tare up my insides. Stop feeling. Stop the noise. Just stop. Just stop. Oh yay! Another birthday soon to pass. Another year to conform to the systematic resemblance of what a family is supposed to be.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
And I was driven to insanity by the normalities of every day life.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC