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"ownership" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Municipal Gum
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
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9
Oh do not look at me like that. Although I pulled the trigger you loaded the gun a long time ago. Oh do not complain that my loose canons of speech are finally repulsively soaring. When you gave me a deadly spark. If you do not blame, Then I promise I won’t too, The collateral damage of two wishful hearts needs no ownership. So stop trying to win a forgotten war, What’s done is done. No more friendly fire.
0
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
We were always good at teamwork
Oppression Ownership Poem 1/26/2014 Why do we lead our hearts by the hand into our lovers' volatile elements quicksand mixed with fire Why do we blame it on desire say the heart wants what it wants, but mine doesn't want this at all Stop. Alleviating your hearts of guilt and shame because they're doing it perfectly. to fall in love and be willing to take set backs Stop. Let's take a step back. Give our hearts back their guilt and ownership over the oppression of a heart beat you can control but actually choose not to. Stop. Hear that? It is the sound of a heart beating, barely breathing but Stop. Now we've fixed it the problem we couldn't solve but don't absolve yourself of sin yet We've got another oppression needing to be handed over false ownership we play pretend. rather than play in a playground with each other. we blame another for our heart's oppression but right now in this room I am the only one holding a broom trying to tell you that you can't sweep it out out of your mind or cover it up with doubt. I'm not saying don't blame society for creating social constructs of love. I'm not saying that we don't live in a world that is filled with a sickness a sickness in some to say that like this we can't keep on living, because stop. We can and we have and we cannot and have not given up on each other, just on ourselves with every breath we use to utter that famous druther that our hearts are victims. needing to be fixed. that the world wants to see us suffer that we can't own our emotions they are far too mixed with envy and rage and the deepest sorrow anyone could never know. but I do know, that stop. I do know that stop that stop stop. I do know no I don't. I don't know but that's for you to figure out How to feel your heart's oppression but don't keep it under ownership instead let it out. squeeze it out through your soul before it gets to take its toll you have too much to do on this planet or even on mars, somewhere far up when you reach the stars because you shine brighter than bullets baby. when they get shot and hit something leaving a lasting impact. you pierce through the hull of a steel ship with that wicked bite of your lip when your silver tongue speaks golden beauties. to my wicker ears eager to be burned with the splendid delight of your brilliant vocalizations shouting, screaming, taming, keeping an eye opening message. that you do not own your heart's oppression and thus it does not own you neither. because you lived it but it is not your life like your heart when you felt it but did not control it not because it was out of your control, but because you chose to set it free, and so too, you should be, rise above your society.
0
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Oppression Ownership
Oppression Ownership Poem 1/26/2014 Why do we lead our hearts by the hand into our lovers' volatile elements quicksand mixed with fire Why do we blame it on desire say the heart wants what it wants, but mine doesn't want this at all Stop. Alleviating your hearts of guilt and shame because they're doing it perfectly. to fall in love and be willing to take set backs Stop. Let's take a step back. Give our hearts back their guilt and ownership over the oppression of a heart beat you can control but actually choose not to. Stop. Hear that? It is the sound of a heart beating, barely breathing but Stop. Now we've fixed it the problem we couldn't solve but don't absolve yourself of sin yet We've got another oppression needing to be handed over false ownership we play pretend. rather than play in a playground with each other. we blame another for our heart's oppression but right now in this room I am the only one holding a broom trying to tell you that you can't sweep it out out of your mind or cover it up with doubt. I'm not saying don't blame society for creating social constructs of love. I'm not saying that we don't live in a world that is filled with a sickness a sickness in some to say that like this we can't keep on living, because stop. We can and we have and we cannot and have not given up on each other, just on ourselves with every breath we use to utter that famous druther that our hearts are victims. needing to be fixed. that the world wants to see us suffer that we can't own our emotions they are far too mixed with envy and rage and the deepest sorrow anyone could never know. but I do know, that stop. I do know that stop that stop stop. I do know no I don't. I don't know but that's for you to figure out How to feel your heart's oppression but don't keep it under ownership instead let it out. squeeze it out through your soul before it gets to take its toll you have too much to do on this planet or even on mars, somewhere far up when you reach the stars because you shine brighter than bullets baby. when they get shot and hit something leaving a lasting impact. you pierce through the hull of a steel ship with that wicked bite of your lip when your silver tongue speaks golden beauties. to my wicker ears eager to be burned with the splendid delight of your brilliant vocalizations shouting, screaming, taming, keeping an eye opening message. that you do not own your heart's oppression and thus it does not own you neither. because you lived it but it is not your life like your heart when you felt it but did not control it not because it was out of your control, but because you chose to set it free, and so too, you should be, rise above your society.
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90
Conversation opened. 1 read message. Skip to content Using Gmail with screen readers in:sent Click here to enable desktop notifications for Gmail.   Learn more  Hide 1 of 184 QUIVER ALL-MAXIMIZING SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]> 3:38 AM (56 minutes ago) to Daniel SOAR OWNERSHIP / UTTERANCES OUTLABOURED  PILGRIMS/ By the creditor at cyprus  and on other grounds: The counter-cedar Venice much unparalleled ever pursuant  kindly indigenous street streams far above strange beneath  the string ...' Dream castle before the 'Requiring much quill 'Peanut lieutenant great  ones of the machinery  citation /  Worth  pillow following purposes invasion with a rainfall bombardment epistle the pearl earning era:   Closet  by sessions pursue arithmetician diaries ' anchor calculus cumulative arrows propellant / Squadron in the field-refueling ' division visions ...' Upswing within the meaning axle conversion processes proofs /  ' Electron icons ' Creation wireless reticence circles:  Moon ship's  amnesty crest reckon  'flaskbone SpurZebra...'  Preferment goes by relieves and affectionate 'Oil The Self-graduation  Outpouring  / Vagrant above ant strides : Rodrigo peculiar ends demonstration/ Forego  the-Outward acclimation :   Upon all civility citizenry civil-rises other low less  losses below yonder / Phrase of prose -possessions  cuss ion syn chronicutensils  'asylum  systems  beyond stems : Preeminence blown 'being ht-thence quarries  hijack travels  history/Wherein of plant  hours ' spicily spoke *****  Pilgrimage dilutes noble companies  'ago-maximize promptly  alacrity;  Exhibition the underrating  besought levels- of quarry / burden oxidation immune  slaughter Cheap Hill Chips EMAIL: [email protected] +2348131914240 Click here to Reply or Forward 0.04 GB (0%) of 15 GB used Manage Terms - Privacy Last account activity: 49 minutes ago Details
0
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
PEARL 'TRINITY ERRANDS
Conversation opened. 1 read message. Skip to content Using Gmail with screen readers in:sent Click here to enable desktop notifications for Gmail.   Learn more  Hide 1 of 184 QUIVER ALL-MAXIMIZING SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]> 3:38 AM (56 minutes ago) to Daniel SOAR OWNERSHIP / UTTERANCES OUTLABOURED  PILGRIMS/ By the creditor at cyprus  and on other grounds: The counter-cedar Venice much unparalleled ever pursuant  kindly indigenous street streams far above strange beneath  the string ...' Dream castle before the 'Requiring much quill 'Peanut lieutenant great  ones of the machinery  citation /  Worth  pillow following purposes invasion with a rainfall bombardment epistle the pearl earning era:   Closet  by sessions pursue arithmetician diaries ' anchor calculus cumulative arrows propellant / Squadron in the field-refueling ' division visions ...' Upswing within the meaning axle conversion processes proofs /  ' Electron icons ' Creation wireless reticence circles:  Moon ship's  amnesty crest reckon  'flaskbone SpurZebra...'  Preferment goes by relieves and affectionate 'Oil The Self-graduation  Outpouring  / Vagrant above ant strides : Rodrigo peculiar ends demonstration/ Forego  the-Outward acclimation :   Upon all civility citizenry civil-rises other low less  losses below yonder / Phrase of prose -possessions  cuss ion syn chronicutensils  'asylum  systems  beyond stems : Preeminence blown 'being ht-thence quarries  hijack travels  history/Wherein of plant  hours ' spicily spoke *****  Pilgrimage dilutes noble companies  'ago-maximize promptly  alacrity;  Exhibition the underrating  besought levels- of quarry / burden oxidation immune  slaughter Cheap Hill Chips EMAIL: [email protected] +2348131914240 Click here to Reply or Forward 0.04 GB (0%) of 15 GB used Manage Terms - Privacy Last account activity: 49 minutes ago Details
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23
The strike of the rainbow warriors After a few hours in the dark cages of horror we suddenly see a sharp light in the sky of evil. The golden goddess notices another ship coming towards the devils spike city. At that moment the orange and black pirates run towards their  ships in dock and sound a long dark horn of terror. The golden goddess notices a large rainbow type ship sailing in firing laser rays at the pirates vessels of evil. The ship sets into the dock of spike city while  some remaining  pirates get cut down and captured with blue laser nets of torture.  Our eyes  open with horror when  rainbow type creatures with bows and arrows jump out of the ship and circle our cages of horror. A few of the black  pirate in the purple bushes try and shoot the rainbow warriors but get cut down with their laser fast arrows.  The commander of the rainbow warriors suddenly jumps down from the  ship and lifts up the cages with power and  ease while the warriors round up the captured pirates. I comfort a shaking luitent megs while the commander shakes our hands before releasing the other golden warriors from their dark cage.  The horses bow their heads towards the commander while the golden goddess looks with hope in her beaten heart. All of a sudden two rainbow warriors march out a swearing and aggressive woman  holding a long jagged sword and pirates armband. The rainbow warriors quickly zap her evil body  and hold her down tightly .  The golden goddess goes  over for a better look while her long tongue  of nails  cuts of a warriors head off  with ease. The rainbow warriors  chop her evil tongue off with a swipe of the rainbow sword  before pinning her to the cold ground. two of the warriors then begin to peel  her black  dress of horror off while  other rainbow braves flock around. A curious golden goddess peeps though for a better look while the warriors are  undoing her  small black studded bra of terror. The goddess looks on with a smile and twinkle while she screams in anger at her ******* bouncing in the dark cold night. All of a sudden the commander comes inside the circle of torture  and begins removing her  devilish red ******* while the  warriors cheer and scream.  The golden goddess looks  on with  a content smile while  the  warriors chop her body up into bit with their  glowing swords. After a few minutes the rest of the pirates are shot and executed with laser bouts  while we all sit watch with open mouths of  horror.  The commander then takes us aboard the rainbow ship of safety  while the pirates come back to evil spike city with four more pirate ships of torture. We all sail across the red  evil sea towards a big large rainbow in the glowing  yellow sky whilst  being followed by two black  pirate ships.  Once we reach  through  the rainbows end we begin to notice the water  turning bright pink  and the pirate ships turning  back towards the red river of horror. A relived golden goddess  turns towards her army and smiles while we we all jump about on the rainbow ship of safety.  I hold luitent megs tight in my arms while the green moon sets across the  blue landscape in the distance. written by wayne mockler ownership and copyright wayne mockler
0
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 2:34 PM UTC
The strike of the rainbow warriors
The strike of the rainbow warriors After a few hours in the dark cages of horror we suddenly see a sharp light in the sky of evil. The golden goddess notices another ship coming towards the devils spike city. At that moment the orange and black pirates run towards their  ships in dock and sound a long dark horn of terror. The golden goddess notices a large rainbow type ship sailing in firing laser rays at the pirates vessels of evil. The ship sets into the dock of spike city while  some remaining  pirates get cut down and captured with blue laser nets of torture.  Our eyes  open with horror when  rainbow type creatures with bows and arrows jump out of the ship and circle our cages of horror. A few of the black  pirate in the purple bushes try and shoot the rainbow warriors but get cut down with their laser fast arrows.  The commander of the rainbow warriors suddenly jumps down from the  ship and lifts up the cages with power and  ease while the warriors round up the captured pirates. I comfort a shaking luitent megs while the commander shakes our hands before releasing the other golden warriors from their dark cage.  The horses bow their heads towards the commander while the golden goddess looks with hope in her beaten heart. All of a sudden two rainbow warriors march out a swearing and aggressive woman  holding a long jagged sword and pirates armband. The rainbow warriors quickly zap her evil body  and hold her down tightly .  The golden goddess goes  over for a better look while her long tongue  of nails  cuts of a warriors head off  with ease. The rainbow warriors  chop her evil tongue off with a swipe of the rainbow sword  before pinning her to the cold ground. two of the warriors then begin to peel  her black  dress of horror off while  other rainbow braves flock around. A curious golden goddess peeps though for a better look while the warriors are  undoing her  small black studded bra of terror. The goddess looks on with a smile and twinkle while she screams in anger at her ******* bouncing in the dark cold night. All of a sudden the commander comes inside the circle of torture  and begins removing her  devilish red ******* while the  warriors cheer and scream.  The golden goddess looks  on with  a content smile while  the  warriors chop her body up into bit with their  glowing swords. After a few minutes the rest of the pirates are shot and executed with laser bouts  while we all sit watch with open mouths of  horror.  The commander then takes us aboard the rainbow ship of safety  while the pirates come back to evil spike city with four more pirate ships of torture. We all sail across the red  evil sea towards a big large rainbow in the glowing  yellow sky whilst  being followed by two black  pirate ships.  Once we reach  through  the rainbows end we begin to notice the water  turning bright pink  and the pirate ships turning  back towards the red river of horror. A relived golden goddess  turns towards her army and smiles while we we all jump about on the rainbow ship of safety.  I hold luitent megs tight in my arms while the green moon sets across the  blue landscape in the distance. written by wayne mockler ownership and copyright wayne mockler
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15
Features, my reflection— subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply, their evidence a betrayal of age. A wrinkle looking deeper, mane of face, of head—hairs fresh lacking pigment. Vain attempts made to mend heart, to sooth soul's dread. Testimony of experience of wisdom, persistence, perception, an impotent contraceptive, the argument aberrant. Regret to cloud memory, my youth seeming a flesh and blood cliche. Tiny footnotes heavy with prose, words in bold to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention. Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight of love and heartache of passion's attempt failing, to try again, sinking before succeeding. An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent unpredictable—without cause changing. Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future, the venom of defeat an insidious invasion. This new age creeping toward night in this stage my life's sun less bright. Maturity's introduced responsibility, some enjoyable while others to own hostility. A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure. Spurring combat for what remains of youth, fingers wrapping air in futile seizure. The inevitable to command subservience, presuming ownership of life, though the mature demonstrate the defiance of the immature. Objects, activities, music assaulting ear, their manner, symbols of strict adherence to who once was— a spiteful surrender refusal. A piece of me defining me until no more, years holding power—threatening to change who I am at very core. Canvas construction the colour of murre, rubber toe caps the shade of pure. Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected; a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection, a Converse rebellion. In torment of age's scars, I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
0
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Converse Rebellion
Features, my reflection— subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply, their evidence a betrayal of age. A wrinkle looking deeper, mane of face, of head—hairs fresh lacking pigment. Vain attempts made to mend heart, to sooth soul's dread. Testimony of experience of wisdom, persistence, perception, an impotent contraceptive, the argument aberrant. Regret to cloud memory, my youth seeming a flesh and blood cliche. Tiny footnotes heavy with prose, words in bold to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention. Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight of love and heartache of passion's attempt failing, to try again, sinking before succeeding. An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent unpredictable—without cause changing. Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future, the venom of defeat an insidious invasion. This new age creeping toward night in this stage my life's sun less bright. Maturity's introduced responsibility, some enjoyable while others to own hostility. A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure. Spurring combat for what remains of youth, fingers wrapping air in futile seizure. The inevitable to command subservience, presuming ownership of life, though the mature demonstrate the defiance of the immature. Objects, activities, music assaulting ear, their manner, symbols of strict adherence to who once was— a spiteful surrender refusal. A piece of me defining me until no more, years holding power—threatening to change who I am at very core. Canvas construction the colour of murre, rubber toe caps the shade of pure. Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected; a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection, a Converse rebellion. In torment of age's scars, I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
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49
Epilogue: The relentless tick of time Changes things forever. Stand on a piece of common ground Look around and remember Saturday afternoon outdoor charades The local bring-and-swipe carnival-theft parade! a spectacle event for all the family to enjoy. “Come round for your tea” is how it often started: Then sometime after you leave The wee cousin Billy does a quick shimmy up a 200 foot drainpipe In through the window, out through your front door Shortly that fancy new recliner you’ve been bragging about wont be there any more. Not unlike tribes of indigenous peoples they never took more than they could carry and appreciated the karma of their actions on the jungle. It would happen to them next week anyway Till then at least, they had ownership of new leather recliner People change shape and move places Old is replaced with the new Angry youths become middle-aged men with jobs, carrying children with smiles on their faces The big blocks were eventually torn down one by one Nearly all that I remember is gone. The wall tiles etched with a secret love Have no place any more Just junk messages littering another landfill I spare a thought for the lovers Did they ever get it on?
0
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
Voices from the North part 5
I’m talking to you in my head been cultivating this shyness since I was three years old talking to inanimate objects painted smiles, rubber-skinned metal frames turning wheels the family minivan kept me company as mountains rose and fell like held breaths let go. playing games with pregnant raindrops rolling down the glass obsessed with the shark’s fin triangle the wipers could not reach. I’m obsessing over seeing you. always trying to be invisible your eyes beginning to skim past I, they didn’t used too. *“The voices that once spoke love but did not mean love.”* the withered rose living in the trash, abandoned friends in the attic forgotten songs unfinished books I am the forgotten I am the abandoned I am the left behind cobweb-and-cotton-dust-collector the silence connoisseur I wear loneliness like an unwashed favorite shirt If I die Will you read this? Does anyone else think such things or is Tonio Kroger my only brother? I am Kafka’s cockroach, everyone is waiting for me to die or to change into what you want me to be. my name will not be in the history books by the time my children’s children will have children I am no one. Everything fades in this world like whiteboard-marker on acetate lives. Desolate corners and garbage tell stories art is vandalism, vandalism is art. and people wear diamonds but they are worth nothing. and babies inherit their father’s eyes. I am not yours. You are not mine. Isn’t ownership objectification? If a man owns a clock does the clock own the man? Let’s be money and greed or greed and suffering. one cannot survive without… Let’s be the mismatched pyramids of wealth and population form a parallelogram like bricks on an unstable wall never falling down.
0
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
parallelogram
I’m talking to you in my head been cultivating this shyness since I was three years old talking to inanimate objects painted smiles, rubber-skinned metal frames turning wheels the family minivan kept me company as mountains rose and fell like held breaths let go. playing games with pregnant raindrops rolling down the glass obsessed with the shark’s fin triangle the wipers could not reach. I’m obsessing over seeing you. always trying to be invisible your eyes beginning to skim past I, they didn’t used too. *“The voices that once spoke love but did not mean love.”* the withered rose living in the trash, abandoned friends in the attic forgotten songs unfinished books I am the forgotten I am the abandoned I am the left behind cobweb-and-cotton-dust-collector the silence connoisseur I wear loneliness like an unwashed favorite shirt If I die Will you read this? Does anyone else think such things or is Tonio Kroger my only brother? I am Kafka’s cockroach, everyone is waiting for me to die or to change into what you want me to be. my name will not be in the history books by the time my children’s children will have children I am no one. Everything fades in this world like whiteboard-marker on acetate lives. Desolate corners and garbage tell stories art is vandalism, vandalism is art. and people wear diamonds but they are worth nothing. and babies inherit their father’s eyes. I am not yours. You are not mine. Isn’t ownership objectification? If a man owns a clock does the clock own the man? Let’s be money and greed or greed and suffering. one cannot survive without… Let’s be the mismatched pyramids of wealth and population form a parallelogram like bricks on an unstable wall never falling down.
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68
In the West I learned western hospitality Free spirit, free drugs, more ***** more love If you can remember your problem your doing it wrong But if you forget your responsibilities you're not worth much Party everyday pretend you don't understand the methods of your madness Walk the streets half naked in half a foot of snow Party, study, party, study party, party, party CHURCH repent and once it strikes midnight start again. In the North I learned Northern hospitality It's called minding your business It's called I have to get somewhere If you have a question you also have a smart phone It's not my job to tell you the norm. You'll figure it out I learned to walk fast, speak briskly and tell everyone to mind their own business In the South I learned Southern hospitality It's where people talk nice to your face and ***** behind your back It's where the idea of ownership has stemmed way before the monogram It's where if they only have two faces they are genuine and where they'll feed you fresh apple pie filled with arsenic Where you can trust your neighbor only as far as you can throw them Where everyone's a little racist, a little homophobic, a little god-fearing In the South I learned Hospitality -------------------------------------------------------- A/N I was born and raised in Denver, Colorado. Currently I reside in North Carolina.
0
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Southern Hospitality
Even if the season of lust blankets loneliness in a tight wrap smothering those fragile emotions in the winter months of a lifetime of cyclical wants and needs waiting for the summer to send its life giving mantras deep into the ****** soil of waiting, the hibiscus waits ready to grasp the first finger of sun drenching warmth to burst out into beauty above ground and spread its dense green leaves with crimson flower and trumpet shape into the minds eye of acceptance. Soon the valley changes hue as altogether the trees spring to life shedding their softness into every nook and corner, crabbing into crannies and leaping wings of delight into welcome air. The hibiscus will soon take ownership of the entire valley bringing to the forefront our own wanderlust. Author Notes Changeover between summer and sunshine. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
0
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Hibiscus
So many products on display Shopping carts stare hungrily at you With just a click you can order Your minds tricked with colorful display Giving a sense of ownership Erasing the line between ‘need’ and ‘want’
0
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Consumerism
I have a blue blanket, it looks corduroy but it's synthetic polynesian cotton. Considered by some to be polyester. After the ninth year of ownership I started Telling house guests it had always been mine; but secretly knowing it came from my Ex Kristina who left it with some of her other things in 2005 in my grand deluxe Evanston Apartment. In like some really awesome way, I could fold the corners together to see little blocks Of the Universe form cubes in the fourth dimension and gain a better understanding of my own Little black shmata. Top drawer, white dresser, in the back with the leftover girlfriend underwear between My first ever stuffed animal dog/rabbit. Amazing how these thinned and frayed azure threads had held so many midnight conversations Together- maybe fifteen other girls had nuzzled with Kristina's blanket. Last year the guilt set in. You Watch a girlfriend, say, ratchet through your room naked for something soft to put over her to listen to Some half-stanza from the new Yeats critical and that, do-I-tell-her feeling comes over you. Blue Polyester really had a way with women. My last serious crush, the one of six months, the one from the place that was close to where I worked six days a week, would you believe, she had not interest in that heap of thread, under my pillows spying on us sleep for twenty-four long weeks. "Drop in the bucket" the sixty-year-olds say. I say, bring me my ******* fourth dimension blocks and cubes ************ I want to visit the existential, I want to experience the hoo-ra and Ga-Ga those kids throw around on Milwaukee waiting for $150 NBA slippers. Wednesday is my day for telling the truth. 2:00p.m. sitting in the front of her alizarin El Dorado. "I have something I have to tell you," I said, my mouth practically filled with marbles as I barely could Utter the words: it's not going to work out.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
Blue Polyester
I have a blue blanket, it looks corduroy but it's synthetic polynesian cotton. Considered by some to be polyester. After the ninth year of ownership I started Telling house guests it had always been mine; but secretly knowing it came from my Ex Kristina who left it with some of her other things in 2005 in my grand deluxe Evanston Apartment. In like some really awesome way, I could fold the corners together to see little blocks Of the Universe form cubes in the fourth dimension and gain a better understanding of my own Little black shmata. Top drawer, white dresser, in the back with the leftover girlfriend underwear between My first ever stuffed animal dog/rabbit. Amazing how these thinned and frayed azure threads had held so many midnight conversations Together- maybe fifteen other girls had nuzzled with Kristina's blanket. Last year the guilt set in. You Watch a girlfriend, say, ratchet through your room naked for something soft to put over her to listen to Some half-stanza from the new Yeats critical and that, do-I-tell-her feeling comes over you. Blue Polyester really had a way with women. My last serious crush, the one of six months, the one from the place that was close to where I worked six days a week, would you believe, she had not interest in that heap of thread, under my pillows spying on us sleep for twenty-four long weeks. "Drop in the bucket" the sixty-year-olds say. I say, bring me my ******* fourth dimension blocks and cubes ************ I want to visit the existential, I want to experience the hoo-ra and Ga-Ga those kids throw around on Milwaukee waiting for $150 NBA slippers. Wednesday is my day for telling the truth. 2:00p.m. sitting in the front of her alizarin El Dorado. "I have something I have to tell you," I said, my mouth practically filled with marbles as I barely could Utter the words: it's not going to work out.
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14
I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of  “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...
0
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
slept with my rapacious pen (she, full on conjugation)
I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of  “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...
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49
I am my fathers daughter. I know this because he tells me every time he's drunk or every time I'm drunk I think it started when my mother left skipped town with the preacher left me shaking in the bathroom holding my knees like a bad taste in my mouth this is family this is coming home or the lack of coming back this is making toast for your mom when she's had too much wine and somehow ends up where it all began, in the apartment that was once hers but has since switched ownership this house is not a home without a mother this house is not a home without the fathers daughter we become glue for those who cannot become sober we become wall, ball and chain, we become our fathers at such a young age we forget how to be anything besides drunk
0
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
happy mothers day
Anna entered the room like a butterfly, gossamer to all. Her face told a different story. One of sadness and hurt. She wore only the finest silks and seamed cuban stockings. All eyes latched upon her and followed every step. But no real man ever approached her. No saviour could get near. She wore none of her finery, the choice all his. A trophy bride, sold like raw meat in her childhood. It was normal in her village, her adolescence stolen from her. Anna's delicate neck held an overbearing sapphire necklace. It was overkill in every way. All for show, all chosen by him, all for him. He entered with his cronies as though owning the club. The way he thought he owned her. Thought indeed, for there is always a price in ownership. Hours past champagne and fake laughter abounded. Then she stood up. Immediately challenged! She wished to go and powder her nose. Naturally escorted, god forbid she made outside contact. But she was not watched within. Minutes passed then... The scream. She had left, Anna had escaped him. The anger on his face ! He had no control, lost face in front of them all. For Anna, oh beautiful Anna lay sylph like wrapped like a cloud in her white dress, its silk floating in a pool of her life blood. She had left, she was free. Now her face was different, white, ashen but at peace. Free.. Anna had left.
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
Anna has left
I'm ****** off with Robert Frost And the guy who wrote Paradise Lost. I ain't happy with Aristotle, And especially John, the weird Apostle. Don't mention, please, Shelley or Keats, Blake, Byron or Yeats; Each and every one you see, (if you're ready for some truth) Took their themes from me. Don't look aghast, Don't tsk and titter, Their thievery's left me Mean and bitter. Just because they said it first, Doesn't mean I find it just. It doesn't give them ownership Of my themes and authorship. I write of Roads, Good and Evil, God and Satan, love and leaving. I know I'm internally bleating, But I can't abide this metric beating. Although they're merely dust and bones, They don't have the right to own All the great lines I have sown: The best laid plans of mice and men. (I said that before Robbie Burns). Let me make this poeticaly clear; ***If I was there, or he were here, I'd sue the *** of Will Shakespeare***.
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May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Robbie Burns Is a Plagiarist
Of immaterial vision birthed in mind. Of spirit annihilating the selves, of calling it plan. The one- a semblance scattered on deck space refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens of the carnivalesque, of the hunger artists, of phenomenon- which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self, of the motion of tides, mocks motion in body, of obsession. The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am," by the Ohm. Of shuddering and implanting embraces, of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self, of the oneself that exists above selective memory, not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream, not disembodied but embodied. Of breeding, of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms, of crowd control, of she wolves and their feral children, of forceps interpolating material reality of conception, of Dreamtime, of pain, of pleasure, where they are relations- of skin perversely hanging, dually, gratifying and sullying- Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it. Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them. Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action. Celebrate the ordinary and expose it. Of stargazed caustics, of the early universe. I stand awake as not the expression of design and no longer connected to Earth by my roots but awake inside cocoon, entrapped behind slits, of alien cage otherness. The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba I want play dice with god and end in draw. I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven, I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.
0
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
Of
Of immaterial vision birthed in mind. Of spirit annihilating the selves, of calling it plan. The one- a semblance scattered on deck space refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens of the carnivalesque, of the hunger artists, of phenomenon- which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self, of the motion of tides, mocks motion in body, of obsession. The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am," by the Ohm. Of shuddering and implanting embraces, of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self, of the oneself that exists above selective memory, not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream, not disembodied but embodied. Of breeding, of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms, of crowd control, of she wolves and their feral children, of forceps interpolating material reality of conception, of Dreamtime, of pain, of pleasure, where they are relations- of skin perversely hanging, dually, gratifying and sullying- Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it. Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them. Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action. Celebrate the ordinary and expose it. Of stargazed caustics, of the early universe. I stand awake as not the expression of design and no longer connected to Earth by my roots but awake inside cocoon, entrapped behind slits, of alien cage otherness. The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba I want play dice with god and end in draw. I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven, I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.
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46
/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'...    sunglasses at 6am? a reply:       - 'it could be'   - 'if you were part of it'             - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky...    migrant crisis?   more like a ***** cricis...     import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry:      i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will;   i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret....          i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking          into my eyes...       "englishman": spew!    you! now! clean up this *********** *******       english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies...     britain: home,            of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue...              i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say...                 not enough fox hunting, d'uh!
0
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC
fly ************ fly!
/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'...    sunglasses at 6am? a reply:       - 'it could be'   - 'if you were part of it'             - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky...    migrant crisis?   more like a ***** cricis...     import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry:      i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will;   i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret....          i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking          into my eyes...       "englishman": spew!    you! now! clean up this *********** *******       english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies...     britain: home,            of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue...              i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say...                 not enough fox hunting, d'uh!
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62
I fell into a dream waking up into a cookie-scented utopia of apostrophes that indicated ownership because it was Marc's cookie and participles grasped and secured like a balloon tied to a toddler's hand I fell into a dream where nothing was kool or rite and everything had been twice read, reviewed, evaluated, and deemed worthy like the cupcakes that get placed on the plate in a Cupcake War I fell into a dream of silence during silent work time not invaded by a slithering serpent fork-tongued and effulgent with ideas expressing expressions idioms cliches redundancies falsehoods lies and the silence hung like an anticipated snow cold cloaking with excitement and a feeling of being completely awake.
0
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
dreamscape in ELA
Load Steam and select old nostalgic pre-purchased game     You must log into uPlay to play this game Log into old uPlay account     Login failed, you should request password reset Request password reset     Password reset sent to old email account Log into old email account.     Your old email account is now suspended, please contact support Contact email support You must have an active subscriber account number to contact support Contact uPlay to inform them old email address no longer available     You must log into uPlay to contact uPlay Create new uPlay account, log in and request old uPlay account details     You must send us screenshot of your steam account Log into active email account to upload screenshot You must add security to this account, please provide a second email address Provide second email address details     You must log into second email address to confirm ownership Log into second email account, confirm security change     Security confirmed, please log into primary email account Log into primary email, upload image to uPlay     Please wait for technical assistance ...
0
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
The Lost Password
Tear me down. Push me low and watch me drown. Amusement as you watch me struggle and gasp. Your enjoyment is on full display, topped off with your evil rasp. Once all is done and your ownership is re-certified. You kiss me softly, your gestures now tender. Each time I'm still terrified but, hearing those two words is reason enough to surrender.
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
"Good Girl."
Dragging feet though out of time Such a new-found face to climb Be my sweet, sweet paradigm Be mine.
0
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 9:47 PM UTC
Neglected Ownership
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today. quiver of constant smiles for well he could, yet little did he ken the nature of the present because I read the smiles as the tween the spaces, in between the words of anguish that never goes away how can this be, how to make sense of this well I am a father too, of words and sobs and ownership of sins between sons and fathers, who inhabit the unfilled spaces within, the drawers with their name on masking tape attached Your fathers's hell will slowly go by Show me a man-father whose lips have not quiet quivered when hearing those words sung we ease the grip of carrying them on our shoulders when they are five at the Macy's day parade, running alongside their first solo bicycle ride we ease the grip of the vise of not seeing them for years, or never again, cause they hold you guilty, responsible for their confusion have too, ease the grip, cause we got more than one singular responsibility so we dad draw, a smile from the quiver, that like those of the elves, replenished magically, strap it on wide, mile high and move on oh you teenage children, you babies, with your endless angst and bravado of drunken scar talk, first love lost and the hard course of being sixteen put down your tiresome blunt pens that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore, read of the self destruction of love pains thirty years in the making and fifty in the undoing write of ancient inescapable feelings decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the moment quick searing of every life breath you take and it's Sunday nite and the work week hell begins but it is no compare to the other, but **** you can't understand so chant these words, reflect on them well, for soon while you dream sleep, in clean, dry sheets and safe bed a man will come for a peep, to make the checkmark on the all's well list so chant these words, a sad violin melody, the single sole he ever hears, *Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
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Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
"quiver of constant smiles"
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today. quiver of constant smiles for well he could, yet little did he ken the nature of the present because I read the smiles as the tween the spaces, in between the words of anguish that never goes away how can this be, how to make sense of this well I am a father too, of words and sobs and ownership of sins between sons and fathers, who inhabit the unfilled spaces within, the drawers with their name on masking tape attached Your fathers's hell will slowly go by Show me a man-father whose lips have not quiet quivered when hearing those words sung we ease the grip of carrying them on our shoulders when they are five at the Macy's day parade, running alongside their first solo bicycle ride we ease the grip of the vise of not seeing them for years, or never again, cause they hold you guilty, responsible for their confusion have too, ease the grip, cause we got more than one singular responsibility so we dad draw, a smile from the quiver, that like those of the elves, replenished magically, strap it on wide, mile high and move on oh you teenage children, you babies, with your endless angst and bravado of drunken scar talk, first love lost and the hard course of being sixteen put down your tiresome blunt pens that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore, read of the self destruction of love pains thirty years in the making and fifty in the undoing write of ancient inescapable feelings decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the moment quick searing of every life breath you take and it's Sunday nite and the work week hell begins but it is no compare to the other, but **** you can't understand so chant these words, reflect on them well, for soon while you dream sleep, in clean, dry sheets and safe bed a man will come for a peep, to make the checkmark on the all's well list so chant these words, a sad violin melody, the single sole he ever hears, *Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
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76
**the ****** heart (if ownership of a poem makes you proud, considered it to be...trending)** ~~~ ~for PoetryJournal~ ~~~ *the afterglow of the aftermath, the chest pounding demanding, tolerating-no-delay apprehension of the transcription of what is the ****** heart soaring, the lean-back exhalation, wet eyes that only you have secret knowledge thereof this is why we write, why we beings believe, because we ask, why by the asking, we grade ourselves, both by our words and deeds step back and accept the notion that feels not wholly right, for inherently tinged, streaked with human pride, that all possess, and possessive of our all you are value, by the words you have chosen, by the only human that can give truth to its essential value ***you poet, are trending**
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Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
the ****** heart (if ownership of a poem makes you proud, considered it to be...trending)
You left me with scars Deeper than those I’ve given myself With only your gritty hands. You took a beautiful act And stained it with grease Ruining it for any future lover. Yet, you used my experience with others To justify your actions Because you “love me so much more.” You abused me like a child; Expecting loyalty And punishing me regardless. But you “loved” me; You manipulated me Into thinking it was my fault. If I stopped letting you explore The body you felt entitled to You threatened suicide. I was poisoned into believing That you actually cared for me When you were breaking me slowly every day. We were best friends Until my mind caved in on itself And my body was too broken to love. I chose my life over yours. You’re suicide instead of my repeated **** Yet you’re still breathing. Parts of me died every time you touched me And when I felt incapable of continuing You offered money in return. Considering my financial situation You knew I couldn’t say no So I sold you my body. Emotionless you left me Stealing breath from my lungs And life from my veins. I gave up Once paid, I left you But I’d see you anyways. On the bus. In the halls. That day of the final payment. An envelope full of money Left me feeling even more empty Realizing what I lost for it. With it you left a note And your prized possession The indicators of your impending death. You said you were sorry. You said you loved me. You lied. While I’m happy you never took your life I’m dead inside still Because of you. You took ownership of my body Without my permission And you left it broken and incomplete. Those pieces of me you stole I will NEVER get back And you don’t even know you’re a ******
0
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
#5 Body Policing
You left me with scars Deeper than those I’ve given myself With only your gritty hands. You took a beautiful act And stained it with grease Ruining it for any future lover. Yet, you used my experience with others To justify your actions Because you “love me so much more.” You abused me like a child; Expecting loyalty And punishing me regardless. But you “loved” me; You manipulated me Into thinking it was my fault. If I stopped letting you explore The body you felt entitled to You threatened suicide. I was poisoned into believing That you actually cared for me When you were breaking me slowly every day. We were best friends Until my mind caved in on itself And my body was too broken to love. I chose my life over yours. You’re suicide instead of my repeated **** Yet you’re still breathing. Parts of me died every time you touched me And when I felt incapable of continuing You offered money in return. Considering my financial situation You knew I couldn’t say no So I sold you my body. Emotionless you left me Stealing breath from my lungs And life from my veins. I gave up Once paid, I left you But I’d see you anyways. On the bus. In the halls. That day of the final payment. An envelope full of money Left me feeling even more empty Realizing what I lost for it. With it you left a note And your prized possession The indicators of your impending death. You said you were sorry. You said you loved me. You lied. While I’m happy you never took your life I’m dead inside still Because of you. You took ownership of my body Without my permission And you left it broken and incomplete. Those pieces of me you stole I will NEVER get back And you don’t even know you’re a ******
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