"ostracize" poems
are we really woke as much as we all claim to be?
or are we woke to ease our minds, which ain't reality?
of course we've signaled heavy change, i won't deny that's true
but let me have your ear for now, give you another view
are you really woke because you post a rant on twitter,
but bop to Chris Brown's music even tho we know he hit her?
are you really woke cause you were born into the slums,
but if you make it out,
you forget where you are from?
are you really woke because you claim to love black hair?
but only like the softer textures, is that really fair?
are you really woke 'cause you admire that 4c?
but put down girls who have relaxers, wigs, or wear a weave?
are you really woke because you claim to love all people,
but if ya boy is gay you will denounce him at the steeple?
are you really woke because you say you know what's right,
but ostracize your fellow blacks,
simply cause "they talk white?"
are you really woke because you claim to love all colors,
but date a darker women? yikes! you'd rather find another
are you really woke because you claim you've got insight,
but if i am depressed, you say that mess is for the whites?
i bring up all these issues not because i hate my own
i bring up all these issues just because they're never shown
and if we are to grow and prosper,
thrive and shed our past,
we need to have these conversations,
make sure that they last
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
I am deaf.
I am deaf when people bring up a traumatizing or embarrassing moment and tease me about it; when people think it's okay because it's just a "joke."
I am deaf when people point out my insecurities; my crooked teeth, my unruly hair, my body and the scar on my forehead: the things I can't control about myself.
I am deaf when people use my gender against me, ostracize me on things because I am a girl; when they think I am only living to cook, clean and make myself pretty, when they use the line: "Kababae **** tao..."
I am deaf when people mock my faith and shame me for my principles, the things I believe in and what I fight for; when they say "eh di wow" "dami **** alam" or such.
I am deaf when people tell me they will leave or I should leave, saying I am "too much" or "I don't give enough;" when people make me feel inadequate and dismiss me over petty reasons.
I am deaf when people pick on me, use my past and mistakes against me; when people fail to see who I am, and what I am today.
I am deaf, but my heart hears it all.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
Push that bully,
Down the hole.
Let him grow,
All alone.
Ostracize that fool,
Till he beats no more.
Shut him up,
Let no sound out.
Ignore the bully,
As you grow.
Make sure,
He sees no hope.
Let no light shine,
Let no song rise,
Let no birds chirp,
Let darkness burn.
Push the bully,
Shut him up.
Silent that heart,
Don't let it fall in love.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
get angrier now, there's no sense denying it,
force fed lies to ostracize little girls from buying...
free candy ladies. look over here, James has a pink truck and i swear he's not queer. ha.
i got bubble gum, i know you want some, yummy yummy in the tummy, stop right there I'll force it down
choke. digest. you didn't chew, see how it gets when you don't listen,
Jamison is a confectionery in the kitchen.
i can bake you cookies, just get down on both knees...please.
see i already asked you nicely, .... you know you don't want me to start shoutin' and get violent....girl.
i thought you were my world, how loud do you want me to shout it..
now your lying somewhere where no one can hear you cry
i never thought I'd see the day the cake baker took a life...
and i tried...so hard, what could i do, everything in the world reminded me of you...eat some cookies.
they're a little ****** but they're not bad, maybe mix it in with the batter the next time I'm mad.
it didn't have to be this way. you forced me to do it,
i am a baker by trade and now I'm covered in your fluids....
god this is gross, ... how am I gonna get these stains outta these clothes
start to choke.
looking at your ****** body.
the... the... the... cadaver is just laying there looking back at me
smiling.
in my cookie shop I'm panicking...start to wonder how i got pushed this far
now all the cookies are burnt and crumbling.
gotta put those bodies in the oven.
recipes and sweets mean nothing when you don't have love
bake this cake at three hundred and fifty degrees...
just until the hearts inside get gooey and melt over me.
wow.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
when it comes
to art
I always find myself
gravitating
to the *****
the make-shift,
and the
simple
art,
I think,
should
be about life
not about
“high”
life
that is why I read Bukowski
and admire street art
and lawn art made of
corrugated metal
and adorn my walls
with miss-matched posters
and write about things
I do instead of about
things that mean
anything
art,
I think,
shouldn’t need
to be explained
so when it comes
to art,
I always find myself
seeming quite pretentious
in an untraditional
way
the way in which a teenager
scorns main-steam music
the way art critics ostracize
their ex-lover’s work
the way I refuse to write sonnets
and write about cereal instead
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Do you know people
That hate people
For what they are?
Don’t invite those people
Into your car.
Do you know people
That hang with people
That steal from the poor?
Do not vote for such a boor.
Do you know people
That insist other people
Have to worship like them.
Their minds are dim.
Do you have friends
That like to steal?
Show them all
The back of your heels.
Because one thing
Will prove to be true;
They will steal from you.
Do you know folks
Who gossip madly?
Ignore them or
Treat them badly.
Then maybe some day
They will just go away.
Do you know some
Who ignore their kids;
Neglect them every day?
Tell those people off
Somehow, some way.
And if that doesn’t work,
Call the cops on the ****
Do you know some politicians
Behave like snobby patricians?
Don’t suffer and protect them.
Don’t elect them.
Ostracize them as rotten louts
Then, quickly vote them out!
Do you think you can’t
Make a change that counts?
Find these fools and pounce.
Let them know your mind.
Don’t just sit there blind.
Get mad as hell.
Then rebel!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.
Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.
Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?
“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.
Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC
Now that we've seen the true depth of evil
The cunning agents who wield the power
Set in motion machinery of destruction
The insidious shackles of war and death
Washed up on our shores
The crone in our own reflection
Can we abnegate the course
The blind rage that sets our mouths casting stones
Can we truly love as the so called righteous sanctify
Other lies
We condemn men, governments, religions
We ostracize, prostelitize, criticize
Until our eyes don't recognize
The dignity of 63 lives
Born into a world forever changed
By the sacrifice of mothers and fathers
Sons and daughters
Serenade the heroes who did not falter
In the face of demons and ashes
Falling glass and jet fueled funeral pyres
With the apropo of excellence they chose
To stay...to fight...to climb the stairs
The true bane in the battle is the heart
So scorched it cannot care
For 63 lives in the balance
63 sets of ancient eyes and smiles of a child
It is time
To rise
TL Boehm
Originally written 9/11/06.
Celebrating life.....
ABC NEWS - 9/11 babies five years later - google it
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
I'd rather be the bad guy in situations
of indignation when the mistreatment is
misinterpreted or fleeting
I'll greet salt in your chest that would cauterize
but ostracize when your brine-blood boils to thaw
my cold heart on contact til it expands and contracts again
in blind hope of seeing something new but I won't
wound you
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
His mother was suicidal
His father was patricidal
His siblings all fratricidal
They fractured his parietal.
His acumen was impractical
While his mien was didactical
His morals were retractible
And his religion was heretical.
He longed to be a celebrity
And wished for its celerity
To skip the serendipity
And fork over his luminosity.
But it seems that synchronicity
Paired up with idiosyncrasy
In a natural form of complicity
And waylaid him with complicity.
He moaned that he was qualified
And not the least bit mollified
To be so soundly criticized
That they could not recognize
By those who were so glassy eyed
A plenipotentiary, very wise
Who appears before their very eyes
Who they would gladly plagiarize
Even while they ostracize.
He can’t achieve equanimity
When so many hold their enmity
And treat him so outrageously
In ignoring his magnanimity.
After all, is there anyone living
Who is so astoundingly forgiving
Than he by the simple act of giving
And letting them go on living?
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
The poem requires a mind
that finds meaning, even divination,
in language. Non-fiction,
up to academic standards, demands
evidence. Nothing less will do.
Most of us read fiction and this
needs a taste for action, motivation.
Lately, as have you, I have
thought about our war and its purpose,
motivation. But I have also closely
listened to the wood thrush, analyzed
its song like a tune by T.S. Monk
or J.S. Bach concerto. One belongs
to the loved ones who ostracize us, too.
A robin looks, hops, pecks, is never calm.
It is the flute-like tones, yes, but mostly
the patient, meditative clarity
of the thrush that enchants. One wants
to be that bird. How will we attain
calm clarity for the species **** sapiens?
Through the discipline of asking questions.
Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks,
chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers,
loons, owls and a dove, high pitchers,
wood warblers and a word-warbling wren.
Unusual vocalizations.
What did the wood thrush sing
teaching its young thrush meanings?
Too much emotion is the commonest of mortals’ sins.
Peace has many faces,
the wood thrush in the canopy is one.
A word of praise here, an encouraging word there.
A wraith, a ghost against an impatient man,
verbose, unsure of the path, always longing.
Nothing satisfies like the thrush's song.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
1) Deciding as a collective
who to ostracize the most.
2) Deciding as a collective
what is truth.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
It would seem that the seed of doubt and uncertainty does surround this existence of ours
As much belief you have in god is as much as I have that this divine presence is nothing but rooted in mythology and misconceptions
I cannot and will never try to denounce or undermine your moderate and harmless thoughts on the answer to , undeniably our burning question of seed of creation.
You too should not or really ever try to eradicate or efficiently ostracize any thought or philosophy that seeks to distribute its wealth of wisdom in another way contrary to yours.
Looking inwards from way out there , someone, somewhere may just be watching, a glimpse at this apparently unsurpassable mass of genetic mutation that has resulted in one of the only as of yet discovered intelligent species in such an unexplainable vastness of confusion. The findings of such an unbiased study would find that upon this infinitesimal piece of rock most its occupants live their lives much like the darkness that surrounds, chaotic shambolic and ignorant to their unique stature, their unimaginable greatness.
Locked in a constant war on differences that have managed to eternally segregate and perpetuate a hatred that fuels a fire , a destructive blaze that has consumed wisdom, engulfed logic and appears to be quashing all hopes and ambitions of those who seek for themselves and primarily their children's lives , a future of certainty, a future where serenity and peace are the reasons to be, the reason to do, a future above all, silent of war and unified in defiance of aggression.
A lifetime wasted on the burden of proof rather than the warmth of acceptance
A lifetime wasted on the want of so few being the depression of so many
Just a life time simply wasted
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
when seeking truth
excavating sediment
and scanning density
of walls, walls, walls
we bucket and label
divide and ostracize
our grace felled
truth bubbles over
inside a *** of paradox
brimming with inconsistent
opposites
we force ourselves to separate
the mutually unexclusive
cutting the real
with ors
but the crux of true
lies inside the ands
real and surreal
easy and difficult
illuminating and confusing
painful and healing
beautiful and ugly
lost and found
utterly imperfect and
unparalleled perfection
never ready and
ever equipped
for
utmost exhilarating
and wholly frightening
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
Denied
Pushed-aside
Objectified
The responsibility
For inequity
Lies upon my ancestry
And now comes down to me.
Because we've lived so long
Seeking to prolong
The ways of keeping others down
Because they have a different creed
Or because their skin is brown
And maybe now,
We've settled some scores,
But there are still more
That remain unresolved
And even more left in store.
Because we now judge those who's ideas we deem poor
And those who's love an ancient book abhors.
And we try to hide
And deride
And ostracize
Those who differ from our way of life
To the point
That some are driven to suicide.
It was long ago that someone first hated
And we've evolved,
But that issue is unabated.
And the calls of those hungry for
Change
Have not been satiated.
Because there won't be change until we ourselves make it.
And we can't fake it.
It has to be real.
Something that you cant just hear
But also feel.
Because hatred never wins a war
But only prolongs it with more
Bloodshed
More minds, bodies and souls dead.
And no one left unaffected.
Acceptance is what we need
And less reward for human greed.
Because the truly great are those who feed
The hungry sick and poor,
And change the minds of those who settle for inequality
It can be you or me
Who leads
Others to clarity,
With words or actions which broadcast unity.
And when others listen and understand,
We may create a land
Where people can finally, truly feel free.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
rip me apart.
tell me now that i am worth your ridicule.
ostracize me please.
that is exactly what i need.
tell me how i am not worth anything.
my family doesn't even love me,
and that's alright by me.
when i wake up,
i'll remember you yelling in my face
i'm worth less, oh am i?
yep.
i know.
******* **** ahhhhHHHHHHHHHH
ALRIGHTY
i'm feeling good now.
i'm just gonna go upstairs now and draw a picture of
a teenage, african-american girl with wild, unmanageable curly hair shedding every ounce of water in her body
out on this here paper.
i may play some metal
or maybe old school rap.
it's all right.
everything is perfect, family.
don't worry about me please don't.
i'm okay really.
i don't think about death every second of every day:
monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday saturday and sunday-
nope.
not once have i layed on my grungy carpet and tried to scratch the flesh off of my fat arms and
bled.
i would never even think to do **** a horrendous thing.
i love me so that's enough, right?
but when the love that i have for myself
starts competing with the love that my family is supposed to have for me
then maybe things may become difficult.
it might start to become difficult for me to love myself the way i should be loved.
**im ******* fantastic.**
but who cares if I see that?
if no one else sees it then might as well be a piece of **** right?
if my parents interrogate me every ******* time i leave the house
like they have caught me shooting ****** in my room,
what will stop me from actually shooting up morning, afternoon, and before bed?
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
My dad said,
Son...
one day your gonna want a family,
and it has been the curse of
the male of our line,
to take forever to decide
what they want,
and he gave me names,
examples and dates,
and I nodded along smiling,
seething,
He said,
Baby boy,
Little kid,
Go back to college and i'll pay your debt
as if he wasnt struggling to make ends meet,
as is.
He said, Do this,
or later you will come to regret,
and wish that you did,
and I shook my head.
AND I SAID.
I want to be sane and happy!
I shall have no regrets,
I have much too many!
Life has stolen everything from me,
making me who I am,
someone who finds no shame
in quit.
I have no drive or will,
what is success or money,
But prostitution of the human
driven by the dollar and
Societies judgmental mills
to ostracize those who don't fit the mold,
who don't want to dream,
who don't want to build,
Because being an American it seems,
Is being an individual,
as long as you are an individual,
they want you to be, and if your not,
they are french,
and cest la ************* vie.
And I said,
Dad, You are looking down upon me.
I may want a family, in fact I'd have one today,
if anyone was willing,
But I doubt anyone will love me,
and even if they did, I proclaim,
quite meatily,
We don't need money,
We will get by, the best we can
as everyone else does.
No better or worse.
Just, simply,
existing.
Hopefully,
Happily.
But no, he proclaimed,
you'll want a house some day!
Some where to raise your kids,
At least, if not college,
if that won't make you happy,
come work for me,
sell cars, get a beach house,
as a dad I felt his need to just
give me something,
because as he's never really understood me,
I think he's still always tried the best he could.
And on this, my perceptiveness got a hold of me,
and much to my shame
I Said; Yes.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
If my thoughts could fly
If my thouggts could fly
I would travel to new destinations
I would fly to places I've never been to.
I would fly with my thoughts to a home without fighting.
I would think of a mother who believes in me And a father that cares.
I would think of a family that supports me.
I would fly with my thoughts to world with true love and peace.
I would think of a society that doesn't ostracize
I would think about the woman who I would grow to love.
I would think about her love and perfect flaws
But it's all just a figment of my imagination. I wonder what it would be like to soar amongst my cloudy dreams,thoughts and broken promises.
The flight would be long and tiring but I would be willing to wait if my thoughts could fly
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
And for all these piteous things we strive
to make rip and burst and come alive,
I’m dying to find
a sentence contrived
from acrid delusions
and purpose divine.
And though these proportions may seem out of line,
my beliefs will not wither with the passing of time.
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
I told this a stranger and got a tepid reply,
“This is my hand, and that is the sky.
Any other perception, dear girl, is a lie.”
And with that said, he passed me by,
leaving me thinking,
who even was that guy?
What does he know of water and wine
and plagues of flies
and besides,
my inquisition remains trite:
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
The preacher says ‘by and by,
those who are sinners are those who will die.’
But through logic I don’t see why
we can’t seek out the lost and show them the light.
Because why should I feel obligated to ostracize
someone who wears a mask that has more cracks than mine?
Why should I feel fine
telling someone their life could be valid if only they would try
saying hi
to a group that’s been transmuted to shapes with shifty eyes
saying, ‘oh, I’m fine,
and you could be, too, just step in line,
with the rest of the people whose sin has been declined
in the little list of repairable offenses we made up in our minds.’
And at this point, I should resign,
for into these words fallacy grinds,
since now there are not so many minds that align
with the kind that I described.
Likewise, here begs the question why
I can’t seem to decide if my life is mine.
My thoughts are often unkind in the dead of night
when my body swears I’m fine but there’s no denying
my mind is still circumscribing these lies
that I’m tempted to break the binds that I have tied
around the faith that reminded me for a time
that my life
wasn’t meant to be lived in spite.
And I recognize that not everything the world says is right,
that pushing myself to defy the lines that define my inner mind
would not be an easy fight,
but it’s recently come to light
that though I’m not the perfect kind
and my hazy eyes might as well be blind,
I’m learning to serve a guy who is disinclined
to turn from those who turn from the light.
And I’ve come to realize, that though my answer is not so concise,
I might never really properly define
whether or not my life is mine,
But at least I know what I’m living for.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC