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Reconstituting globalization to
re-imagine democracy.

By throwing out scale we
the economizers are forced
to turn into misers
and the satisfisers
might rid themselves
of their pacifiers.

It's all about story and
consuming someone else's
turns you into
an actor, an automaton.
Was it prescribed?
Were you imbibed?
Then you are impaled
on an un-truth and
living out a script
that is not your own.

Time to get ruthless and
cut those strings that
lead us to, plead us to
buy, buy, buy (and cry, cry, cry).
Of course, we might find
a guru
to lead us to promises
of promised lands but
this ain't the way to
Yahweh

Unlock the path that lies within.

I'm talking 'bout multi-spectrum bridges
resonating in frequencies
that ring true for you:

this is the story of Power Geometry
re-constituted
From Wikipedia: Power geometry, according to Doreen Massey, is how the time–space compression of 'globalization' affects people differently. She describes power geometry as the "very distinct ways in relations to [the] flow and interconnections" between different social groups and different individuals.

According to Massey, power geometry concerns not only the issue of who moves and who doesn't; it is also "about power in relation to the flows and the movement" in distinct relationships among different social groups in regards to mobility. Those who move freely have power.
Eventually we'll get implants
to sedate and
make us compliant.

There is no choice here
we have to fight them,
be defiant
buck the system.
Kunzite Hewitt Aug 2010
First, I would like to introduce Grayasety. She was a young girl, had soft strands of medium-short caramel hair, and she had green-blue eyes that looked like miniature earths. She was indeed a pretty girl and she was of average height, and had a healthy body. She also had a slight southern drawl; her mother was from Texas. She loved going on boat voyages as her father was the captain of a ship named Gray Asety, named after Grayesty, so she was often training to go on voyages.
                  One morning, just like any other ordinary morning, Grayasety left her house for the next-door stable with her baby sitter, Kinberly, which was part of her father’s crew.  Today was the big day, the day when Grayasety was going to go on a voyage with her father as an official crewmember. Today was Grayasety’s 13th birthday; today was the day when she was old enough to work on her father’s ship! Therefore, she gaily whistled and skipped along the road. It had always been her dream to work on her father’s ship, and today, finally, her dream was coming true. When she got to the stable she blew her small, pink whistle that, to human ears would make no sound, and like every morning her best friend, (which had the ability to morph into animals) trotted tiredly out of the stable in the form of a beautiful brown mare. The huge animal yawned and said, “Morning Kin!” And then addressing Grayasety she said, “ Well, well, little missy what do you want me to be today?” Today Grayasety wanted Mila to be a green parrot, Grayasety was obsessed in the color green, and Mila had reluctantly obeyed, the trio set off for the fresh smelling bay.
Kinberly, and Mila worked on the Gray Asety. Mann Forumest, or Captain Daddy as Grayasety called him had met Grayasety’s mom working as a crewmember on the Majesty, a steamboat. Grayasety’s mother, Magnolia Scott Forumest was the assistant cook. They married, but kept their jobs until one day when Grayasety was about five, the Sea Bandits, a notorious group of pretty woman stealers, kidnapped Her mother.
                        While on sea, Grayasety shared a rather large suite in the ship with her father. In the Bedroom were two desks, one big and one small, and in the corner was a bunk bed, the top bunk badly painted in green and the bottom bunk still bearing its natural mahogany color. Grayasety was sitting in her little green desk, scribbling madly in her deep green diary. Grayasety *** a liking of scribbling and those who have know her long enough could read her scribbles like one would writing. She could read and write although she was nowhere near a strait A student.
                   After a while Grayasety decided to bother her father and, forgetting to switch into her lime green boots, shinnyed up the main stairs to the deck in her faded fluffy mint green slippers. Mila, perched comfortably on Grayasety’s shoulder, started telling her that she was wearing her slippers when Grayasety shoved a faded green pacifier in Mila’s mouth; Grayasety often did this to keep Mila quiet.
Mila, not enjoying the dusty, stale taste of the pacifier unhappily decided to keep her mouth shut until Grayasty got in a better mood. In truth Grayasety was in a marvelous mood and rather liked shoving pacifiers in Mila’s mouth. As the girl got closer to the deck, she started to hear chanting from the kind crew. She especially heard Kinberly’s familiar raspy voice chanting,” Laaa dee daaa, the Gray A rolls along,” and as she emerged to the *****, wet deck she noticed that her father was talking to someone else already. “Botherin’ will have to wait some,” she whispered to Mila. Then she took the pacifier out of Mila’s mouth and scolded,” why didn’t you tell me that I was still wearin’ my slippers eh? Wanted to make me look like an idiot?” Mila simply rolled her eyes.
                    Right then, Captain Daddy, apparently finishing his conversation, came over to the pair and said affectionately, “How are my darlings doin’ today?” Mila especially enjoyed this for Captain Daddy always gave a loving stoke on her back and a whole chocolate chip cookie if he had one. Although Grayasety always stole some of the cookie Mila was happy enough with half. Grayasety, on the other hand was happy with a whole cookie so she begged Captain Daddy to give her another one. Captain Daddy gave her another cookie but chided her not to steal any more from Mila.
                    After the lecture on not stealing other people’s food, Grayasety clambered up the crow’s nest and almost knocked over Franz, a tall, but gaunt boy a couple years older then Grayasty getting in. ”Anythin’ unusual yet?” asked Grayasety hopefully. “Nope,” answered the calm boy quietly. ”Hi Franz. Do you have any cookies?” asked Mila mockingly, Franz just laughed and said,” If I had any I would of eaten it by now! Gray, can you get me somethin’ from the kitchen?”.
                   Grayasety got Franz a basket of food and got her self the same amount; Grayasety was basically always hungry, and had a little picnic on the roomy crow’s nest. After they finished their meal Grayasety decided to let Franz rest and did lookout. Franz had a small room to himself, which was about the size of a normal bathroom with all the stuff taken out. In the corner was an old, squeaky army cot and next to it was a rotund desk with a stack of blank paper, a jar of Indian ink, and a fountain pen laid precariously on it.
                    Franz was quite a writer and he spent his free time eating, sleeping, or writing and unlike Grayasety he actually wrote not scribbled. He was working on a story about gargoyles that came to life at night. It was an interesting story, really. He would of loved to stop working on the Gray Asety and go get his books published but he stayed for his family was a poor one and needed his help to make a living and also, Captain Forumest provided free paper. And, his daughter was the first friend he ever had; Franz was convinced that she was the best one.
                   Grayasety enjoyed being on ships. She liked feeling the cold air rush through her hair and she enjoyed the great view of the vast sea that surrounded her. She even liked the feeling of being so small compared to the humpbacks that swam by. She thought that the ship food was good, and she felt that the sea was truly where she belonged. Grayasety was very cranky when she was not at sea, (though she did like their big, ocean green house), so her father tried to include her on as many voyages as he could.
                     Captain Daddy, or Mann as I will call him spent most of day in a booth on the deck. He often worried about his daughter’s mental health (even though it was completely unnecessary). He talked to Grayasety’s doctor about this and Dr.Metalos, Grayasety’s doctor, gave them a list of mental deceases she could have, but none of them seemed like some thing she would have. Mann was sure that his daughter did not have one sickness; Much Too Much Time At The Sea Syndrome. If any one knew where Grayasety belonged it was Mann and he knew perfectly well that his daughter would go insane if she wasn’t at sea for too long. For one thing she preferred to sleep on her uncomfortable bunk at sea rather then on her fluffy green bed as soft as a feather at home.
                        Right then the ship did a tummy- flopping lurch and knocked off the map and compass from Mann’s desk, which interrupted his thoughts for a while. Below deck Franz’s desk toppled over, and Franz accidentally made a long and ugly scribble across his writing and on the crow’s nest Grayasety was having trouble standing up and she almost vomited right onto Kinberly’s hair. This was rare for Grayasety for she lived on the sea and was used to lurches; she had once survived a shipwreck, which explains her golden earring on her right earlobe.
                   That night as Grayasety lay in bed Mann quietly crept out of his bunk and scurried up the stairs to the deck. He wanted some time to himself. Ahead was Cape Horn; a very dangerous place where so many ships had sunk it could fill the biggest port in the world, but more personally, this was near the Sea Bandits main head quarters, 8 years ago the beautiful Magnolia Scott Forumest was captured here. Even though it was impossible in the foggy mist, Mann tried to make out the cave that marked the entrance to the headquarters. Only few people knew this entrance, and publicity stated that it was a “mere mystery” why most captives were capture near Cape Horn. Mann felt a chill run down his spine and then he thought he felt someone’s hand grab his shoulder. He looked down and saw what he dreaded most; a hand tinged with brown firmly held his shoulder.
                      Grayasety woke up feeling wonderful but apparently Mila didn’t. She kept screeching something about Captain Daddy being kidnapped and soon she found that what Mila had just screeched in her ear was true. She stormed into Franz’s cabin and told him what she discovered and they soon agreed to do what no one else wanted them to do; steer the boat right into the Sea Bandits’ headquarters and take back what, and who was theirs no matter how hard it could be.
                      Grayasety had Franz steer the boat and she herself navigated, Kin was lookout and the rest of the crew helped out. Franz dropped the passengers off at Puerto, and Mila morphed back into a human; what she really is, and helped out. Separated from the frenzy, Grayastey was quietly thinking to herself. She wondered why the Sea Bandits captured her father. They were well known for capturing pretty woman but not average looking men. Just then she heard a knock on the door. “Grayasety?” said the raspy voice of Kin. “There ya are. I just thought ya might wanna know why ya daddy was captured.” “Can you please tell me,” asked Grayasety, trying not to sound too eager. “Well rememba when ya daddy would be gone when ya woke up at mid night an’ I told ya that he had gone to the store to get some groceries? Well if you had thought some you woulda noticed that the store was closed.” Grayasety interrupted Kin in mid-sentence and said irritably, “Of course I rememba. Just get to the point Kin!” Kin flinched at Grayasety’s frustration and mumbled,” Well ya daddy was a spy. One of the best ones at that. He did all he could to stop organized crime, an’ he specialized in the Sea Bandit’s. They captured him ‘cause one less police the better for them.” Grayasety sat with her mouth hanging wide open. She never imagined that her father was a spy. But now every thing made sense. “ Sorry I didn’t tell ya before. Ya fatha simply wouldn’t allow it.” Kin apologized. Grayasety managed a squeak and then Kin left her.
                      After she repeated this to Franz and then Mila, Grayasety went down to her bedroom, she hated having to be near Her father’s belongings but she hated having people see her crying much more and cry she did, leaving her father’s mattress a soggy mess. Then she decided to clean that mess up for if they rescued her father she was sure he did not want to sleep in a soggy bed. Noticing it, she picked up her dad’s picture of her dad and mom’s wedding and became suddenly aware of how much she looked like her dad. The hair, the eyes, the quirky grin, every thing. Her mother had soft blonde hair and violet eyes that almost made you smell the pungent smell of lavenders and had a beautiful smile with bright red lips. All in all she was the most beautiful woman Grayasety had ever seen. She almost made Grayasety feel jealous.
                     “Hey! Gray. So are we gonna bring any weapons? Kin was a whole chest full of ‘em!” Said the distinctively low voice of Franz. “Well, I dunno. I suppose we should bring a couple guns. Always nice to be well prepared.” Replied Grayasety.

                     Franz was on lookout when the carrier pigeon came. The note it had on its leg was from Mann. It said:

Dear Grayasety and friends,

Do not come to save me. I’m with my wife in their dungeon but they want you guys to come too. You see, I’m like a bait. You’re the fishies. They want to erase all traces of the Forumest family. That means they have to dispose of those who would remember them. I will manage okay. Kin, Please take Grayasety and Franz home and forget about me for you and the children’s sake. Grayasety, I love you. Dispose all of my belongings and try to tell yourself that Kin is your mother. Believe me. It’s all for the better. Franz, I meant to tell you but your parents caught tuberculosis and died the other day. Your sister committed suicide soon after. Please take care of Grayasety.

             Mann

                    The trio stood silent for a long moment and then without warning Franz burst into tears, and scrambled to his cabin. Kin and Grayasety looked at each other sadly and went to their cabins themselves. Grayasety tried to sleep that night but images of Mann and her mother strapped up in chains kept her staring into the darkness with wide eyes. She reached over and got her personal music player, trying to distract herself but after a few seconds she turned it off again, for she could not bear listening to the lyrics; “It’s past midnight and something evil’s lurking 'round the dark” of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”.
            The next morning, Mila and Kin steered the boat near the cave that marked the entrance to the Sea Bandits secret headquarters. Mila then morphed into a seagull and flew into the old, damp cave. From a safe distance Grayasety and her crew awaited Mila to return with some news. After swooping into the creepy cave Mila found the opening to the headquarters and perched on a ledge near it. There, she morphed into a rat, and scurried up into the opening.

                 After crawling along several hallways, Mila came across a steel door bolted very firmly marked “CELLS”. Luckily Mila was small enough to crawl under it. Scurrying along the bureau of prisons, Mila finally saw a cell with Mann and a stunningly beautiful woman captured in it. Mila slipped between the bars and trying not to gain the woman’s attention for fear that she would scream, climbed the steep hill of Mann’s arm to try to reach his ear. “Mann?? Don’t make any sound OK?? I’m Mila. I’m the rat on your shoulder. Kin, Grayasety, and Franz say they miss you a lot.” Whispered Mila. Then she saw a humongou
A short story instead of a poem, but I hope you enjoy!
Any corrections, edits, suggestions etc. and greatly aprecciated!
Nigdaw Feb 2022
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
kMargaret Jan 2013
My head tilted back like I was
Tasting raindrops
But what fell to my mouth was you
Cradling my jaw in your hands
Steady
As if I were a porcelain doll you might drop
It felt like goodbye
Because it was
And now I am afraid to turn corners
Locked in a haunted house
What will drop from the ceiling
Grab my leg
What will scare me back into submission
Besides you mounting someone outside
Which is perhaps
The most disturbing of all
How you wanted me until suddenly
You didn't
And how I didn't believe you
And how you fed me excuses like pacifiers
Quieting. Comforting. Soothing.
But I spit those out
Realizing their purpose was to
Quiet me into letting you go without a fight
But I took out my fists and fought like hell
You held them and pleaded with me to put my guns away
Surrender my weapons
And let you go in peace
This was all for you.
It was easier
For you
And only you
But what about me.
Grabbing at every part of myself
Pulling hair from my head and scratching flesh from my bones
Slowly and painfully pulling myself apart
Abandoning parts of me in gutters and streams
out windows and in ditches
I can't be myself anymore
Every inch of my flesh has your name written on it
Scratched in a pen using your own blood as ink
You sacrificed for me
And I for you
And we sat on a rock and smelled ocean and let the water spray our faces until we were sticky and wet and still we sung.
We had songs
Some silent, but I could hear the music when there was none.
I still do.
I can't look up down left or right without some yellow light telling me to
Slow down to a stop and take caution,
for a reminder is coming hard and fast your way.
Airbags go
*****-slapping me in the face for being stupid
For having been smart and throwing my morals to the wind
I'd like to regret you
But I don't
I'd like to hate you
But I can't
This makes me weak yes I know this
But
I gave you all the parts of me that were strong
And mere visions of you take the wind from my lungs and you use them to set your sails
You're a deep sea diver.  Swimming. Living. Lying.
And I drown here.
You told me once that when I jump from a plane
The moment my parachute refuses to open
You'd be there carrying me to the ground
I won't let you fall, you said.
Christina Lau Dec 2015
Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.

Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.

At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.

MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.

9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.

Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.

I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.

The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.

I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.

I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.

My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.

A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.

But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.

Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.
an old poem re-written
Nora Jun 2015
We are the children of children.

How old we get we are still trying to figure it out.

I've learned that the biggest mistake I could ever do to myself is to think that I know it all.

You can know a whole lot but you'll never know it all.

******* on pacifiers with wrinkled faces.

Sharing wisdom before knowing how to even crawl.

Drawn to the mother figure, the father's forgiveness.

Cradling the teachers.

Finding wisdom in students.
This is a subcultural song

Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy *******; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.

There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.

***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along
Kylin Luna Sep 2010
There are several truths that float here
Like leaves on winters infinite pool
And sometimes sink after hours, further,
Into the depth of my breakable mind.

I am almost always clothed to the body
Of an undetermined tomorrow,
Suffocating in the sleeves
Of any hopes shirt.
Keep you, I have been, for there
In the dirt road of my eyelids
You play with the riddled veins
Light cables unmet by reason.

It is not a tragedy, because
sideshow children were once living
And in their surrounds
Alive, beautiful people breathed.

I will be eluded by a string of pacifiers
A mobile above my head at night
But in-between lies of mystic creatures
And pearl planets, I will always be met by myself.
Renie Simone Mar 2013
Quiet Jane,
Your mind was insane,
Your thoughts fell to the
bottom of the earth into
a pit of burning fire and
as it fell, it yelled out your name.
Oh, Quiet Jane.

Pictures around the room,
Framed with macaroni and glue.
Windows stained with the cracks from
the fist of Quiet Jane.

Empty cartridges laying on the floor,
Holes in the wall and in the door.
Twenty old bottles of Gordon's gin,
Smoky room, the walls are caving in.
Pacifiers scattered around the table,
Unused, but open nappies in a cradle,
But no small child seen wandering the hallways,
What's going on, where's Quiet Jane?
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
currently poland has a catholic conservative organising party of power, which means you'll get great pop hits like: africa by t.o.t.o. in clamour karaoke format... kara oke... new form of hara kiri... get that ******* mike into the wheat fields and bury it! so inventing new japanese phrasing... KARA OKE means plagiarising a song so so hard, that arteries start bulging out of your neck... which makes sense to never spot it on opera singers... because they're bubbly bubbles phat... pass me the hairbrush... i'm about to shing in the singing cubicle of running water.

there's a reason why
rock stars et al.
are famous...
they're basically crowd
control, crowd control
stewards, pacifiers
of the mob who have
a guillotine hidden
under one girl's skirt...
and aristocrats don't like
that... no precious...
so now in encore all together:
CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY
CLAP HAPPY CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY;
****** my pants i did,
thinking it out... feels good
to not feel jealous about
such professions designated a stage
and a *thank you speech
,
but oddly enough such crowd
control professions attract the biggest
dross of jealousy...
while the one hundred and ten year old
sikh guy keeps jogging, at his age so fast,
that his turban falls off...
no one's jealous of him;
he's got twenty great-grandchildren
and i'd rather be jealous of that...
the definite concentration of mortality
extending into a comparative blink of a god.
Waverly Dec 2013
It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, ******* girls with **** loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of *******
in between us, when I hear the thump.

A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.

Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.

Carlos broke a month later.

Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.

Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.

Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.
Early 2013.
Bell'Alta Jul 2013
Sometimes I feel like people are trying to pacify me, with a pacifier, when I'm actually throwing up.  But they don't see it. They literally do not see it.  And then they get mad at me for refusing to take the pacifier when it really isn't helping at all, in fact, it's making it worse.  You don't help people when you're not helping them.  When someone is throwing up, you don't give them something that will keep it in.  You help them throw up, you help them get that yucky stuff out of them, you get a towel, or a bowl, or take them to a toilet.  You rub their back, get them some tea, wash their face.  It's not pretty and it's not fun, but it's helping.  Pacifiers are quick and easy and take little to no effort on your part.  But when someone is throwing up, that takes patience, endurance, love, empathy, sacrifice, kindness, determination.  If you can't help, don't try to help at all, it may make it worse.

I am not talking about service here, I am and I'm not.  I'm talking about when someone is in a real problem, and they need the right help; if you can't give that right help, don't give the wrong help.   When someone is throwing up, don't give them a pacifier.
This isn't a poem, but I wanted to put up here anyways, something I wrote.
Darvay May 2015
How fun, to play the devils advocate at every branch.
You flex perspective but come off inconsiderate,
but isn't that a matter of absolute imminence?
When does one truly cross the line of incompetence?
See you could never make everyone happy,
I've learned this!

So as you play pacifier to society,
about the time you make your way across this over developed nursery.
The dominos... Well they will begin to fall!
Crashing down in this pure chain reaction of human displays of art.
All crying out to be heard,
All with eyes swelled so deep they resemble reservoirs.
See any one can be a hero in an instance,
I've learned this!

But watch as faces change when the hero calls for a savior.
Pay the favor back, a man asks to an empty sky,
Pleading... I've saved so why can't I be saved.
The notion of selfishness over rules selflessness,
I'm starting to question if it even exists...

Now time stands still in moments of hopelessness,
And hearts will break when the devil wakes!
Self actualization storming my consciousness,
We want to be seen as Gods looking down at our children,
The ones we saved...
But how do we validate our savior complex when the ones we saved, saved us...
Really you can truly help someone within an instance,
Don't misconstrue, I believe this, I do...
But whose to say a good act could ever live on into the infinite.
The pacifiers, they all fall with mouths dropped in awe,
Am I ungrateful to be given this position of playing God?
Why does my passion call for revenge when my heart calls for condolence,
Utterly twisted, what makes sense definitely mustn't be me...
Imagine being at the bottom of the abyss but being too proud to reach for a rope that assist.
Now whose to fool the trickster himself,
when all I see is how we cling desperately to validation, affirmation and recognition.
Well I don't need it, no I'm not that petty.

To be honest, to be disgustingly truthful,
I wanted to be seen as God when I pushed that man out of the way,
Self sacrifice played sweet delusions that put my own self importance at bay,
I sat there measuring what it truly means to be worthy of transcending this human mold,
Honestly I wanted him to cry in his new fathers arms.
This lease of life I co-signed with one swift motion and here comes the car,
Fury erupts in a soul that was long corrupt before given my choice.
These are the moment where I confided my fears of being human,
I wanted to be God but I could only live so long in this angelic delusion...

I watched from afar and saw as the man I saved grew,
My child was dismal in hope,
And he grew, oh how he grew but I wasn't proud of his development,
No, I saw evil shaking behind his eyes,
Begging to be released,
Tortured souls mutilated into figures bounded by destiny...
See I watched him grow, my child, the man I saved,
Saw him do unspeakable, disgusting things...
Now I plead to my past self,
Screaming besides reality,
The one who could have never known,
This weight is unbearable and my knees are faltering!
I stand now calm before the storm,
Wise as all hell but cynical to the point of corruption,
I saw too much and now my soul it cries,
The boy who once dreamed to be God now can't even be human,
He was robbed of that right with guilt overcoming him,
Now his eyes are these cold, stone-like marbles,
And his soul can no longer be seen,
With darkness becoming of me...

...

Once though it seems so long ago,
This soul resembled a crimson light,
And burned bright as all hell,
igniting passion and will to fight,
Then came the great dim,
Now no longer do I burn infinite,
I protected myself within oh so sweet delusions,
Muffled this roaring, all powerful flame that was my soul until it resembled a mere candle,
Flickering ever so dimly.
I use to burn with the intensity of the sun!
And now, now I was just no one but a victim of circumstance.
As I grew numbness became of me,
And I sought an escape in an immensely cruel reality,
Fate was all too unmercifully and with it now ruling me...
I knew I could never break free from the chains of destiny,
The silver winds that follow me,
The constant whistle ringing in my ear,
I was now, what I was not before,
awake and aware to this candle burning method that is my soul,
Mirror images display a candle burning at both ends,
And we all knew that this could never last,
So why must we pretend?
That the boy who played God could ever truly feel human again...
This is a piece tied into my other piece "Through the eyes of the dying man" two different interpretations. Where "through the eyes of the dying man" was my fleeting ego and the emotional cry out of dying, this piece is about a complex emotion that I never really get to talk about. My battles with heros remorse, I pushed a man out of a way of a car and took on the hit, nearly died... Only to find out months later he was in prison for the horrible things he did, that I do not wish to go into. This is my self battle with the superiority complex that comes with playing God and choosing to save someone.
Lucca Roberto Sep 2016
I've met familiar faces in the
Darkest scenes ever unfolded
Maddening their faces, screaming for
Everything and anything that would
**** the pain that drove them insane
They've become locked in patterns
in cycles in fixated routines of needing  fixes


Fighting is all they have ever done, and never done all in one
Once it was easy for them to fail, now it's getting
Harder as the days thin out, as their waists and hair follow

Glorifying junkies and
embracing apostles of death
They had no true motivators
Just
Enablers
Stimulators
No one to ever look out for their
    interests, only their pacifiers


Who do you call
Who are you to call
on them?
Calling them demeaning
slurs to protect yourself
from your own degenerative
routines & drastic disdain for
the rest

You wash your brain with the
notion that you are
Immaculate
Infallible
When in fact, you are but a defect
in the washed-up pulp persona
The epitome of plastic in a seashell
Nothing could ever change that
which is your ignorant existence

Deny the Denouncing  of Doubts
that were there to distract the
dancing hippies in the rain
from their ultimate decisions
to become such disdainful
primitive degenerates in the eyes
of the rest of the cockroaches
of 9-5 shifts & 3 minute  *****
in the Fast Food toilets

Come, let them get off together

They come and go and come
and blow
They never leave the circle
of fixated cycles

Yes, I have met these familiar faces
in the darkest scenes ever unfolded
But I never thought introductions
would lead me any further loaded
Lee Apr 2014
I’ve had all my affections poured out over pink skirts as well as pale eyes.
It’s easy to find that pogo sticks and pacifiers
can’t get a childhood
off the ground; where she stood smiling.
Over coats and undercuts are all to cover something.
Replace your teeth with gold
and when they don’t feel
like yours anymore
Then you’ll know.
Your tongue is bronze now.
Plaster’s coming off like a shuffle board land slide
All around this cage they keep us dogs
In, When we bite; its because there isn’t any tongue clicking
Or word bashing left to do.
The sun has found me,
I see it through
slotted bars, and the clouds
are in just as much hell as I am.
I see them with belly full to eyes full of wine.
I’ve been too long in burning this bridge.
It’s the buckets full ,
waiting to quench tinder.
It’s that I’ve drunken everything,
Flammable for miles.
Lock jaw and bite.
Bite down on the trusses.
Bite down and curse god.
He’ll understand all
Your tongues, and spastic fingers.
She says that I puke passion,
that these trees don’t grow in vain,
that fruit is god awful imagery,
And that I have to train every limb
so they can beat the stop signs with their falling pines.
Reine Monroe Jun 2016
Baby red...baby red...*
I can feel your pain
Baby red baby red...
I see the tears & it tastes oh so sour...
Baby red....
Why must you be in such sorrow?
You walk with demons
And their claws are the pacifiers
To your unearthly cries...
Baby red...
Why must you be so rude?
You laugh and are very evil,
To the angels who are here to
Protect you....
Why must you cry and bleed tears...
Why do you walk on fire and spit on love....
Baby red baby red...
Who created you?
Who concieved and made you?
Who put their evil love into a Gerber baby?
Who put the hell's sins, into the roses of your skin?
Baby red, don't be like them...
For what it’s worth,

I still think about you at 12:36

When I know that you’re in a different time zone.

Maybe it’s because the hour ahead of us is a constant reminder of how your heart,

despite time and distance, is mine –

like this clock,

like this hurt,

like this longing.



Despite time and space,

it is all mine.



And,

the love remains behind,

with me,

waiting to catch up to the next life,

waiting for reality to stop just for a second,

waiting for a chance just another chance

only to wait again with a better sense of hope.



Maybe I should wait for the next day,

23:11 will come and I’ll wish upon this ****,

this hurt and this longing while you,

at 00:11 will wish upon the stars of a new day.

Hoping today will dawn with the rise of our love

only to realise that there are shams and shackles of could-have-beens

in dusty roads of despair,

bottle tops for pacifiers, balancing the toxins of sorrow

ashed dreams,

and sobs for lullabies –

not your voice for my ears,

not my song for your heart.



Nothing but space and time.
#poetry #reminescing  #heartbreak #love #lose #regret #wishes
Joe Satkowski May 2015
but we **** on the same pacifiers
we inhale the dust from the factory floor

wintergreen coated plastic
put it between your gum and your cheek

its all the same, but a little different
just a little
Graff1980 Apr 2015
I cut my teeth
On sapphires
Not pacifiers
Sweet chunks
Of painful beauty
****** gums
And bleeding teeth
Broken drums
Still playing
In my heartbeats
With no repeats
Cat May 2018
The slow click hoisting you up high,
the spinning sea of
colors, red, and yellow, and blue.
Never too old, for wonders to unfold.
Back down on the ground,
A man balanced on a wheel,
hobbles back and forth –
Like all, he wishes not to fall.
Stitched and stuffed, child pacifiers meet the eye,
dashy games, for flashy prizes
Step right up, win em’ all
they beckon, and they call –

All rejoicing at the sound of the calliope,
And the blaring bright spectacle for all to see.

Aromas from greasy concessions,
confections filling the air, screaming
Follow if you dare.

Or if you’d rather,
take the path with the changing lights,
winding road of twists and turns,

Into a room where reflections are
Not your friend –  and enemies,
You’ll come to face – once
yours meets hard glass case

Slowly but surely, you will escape,
like a magician disappearing beyond his cape,
Seeing was once believing,
now suddenly, the eyes are only deceiving.
Vea De Vera Feb 2017
i open my mouth to speak
but there is nothing but silence.
you *hold
my hand
under the
moonlight
and the *cacophony
of thunder
rumbles in my mind,

there are words inside of me
trying to claw its way
out of my mouth.
still, there is silence.

but the moon was my witness,
she has watched the way
your hand had slipped inside mine,
and had seen how i'd open my mouth
to say the words that i have
been keeping inside me.

i wanted to tell you
how i know you're a mess
but when the moonlight shines
on every broken piece of you
i still think you're wonderful

i wanted to tell you
that your mind is beautiful
how i wanted to know
about everything
that made you who you are

i wanted to tell you
how i have been jealous
of sippy cups and pacifiers,
how i wished it were my lips
trapped between yours

i wanted to tell you
how i would have waited
to unravel the poems inside of you
that i would have wanted
to be so much more for you

but time couldn't permit me that luxury
and the stars have been our reprieve.
they have watched the way
we tried not to buckle
but each kiss still tasted more
and more like goodbye

i open my mouth to speak
but there is nothing but silence.
you let my hand go
under the moonlight
and the cacophony of thunder
rumbles in my mind,

there are words inside of me
trying to claw its way
out of my mouth.
still, there is silence.

but in this reticence,
know that you are more
than the metaphors i find
in the *moonlight
biche Oct 2016
I lost power when the storm hit
At first the rain was just a
Veiled rejection - not this time - so
I rallied and asked for
A different kind of more
Anyway, with nothing to lose;
They only said maybe and the full brunt
Of the sucker punch
Doubled me over as I hung up the phone.
They might give me nothing, in the end.
My work, my worth, my capital -
Creates more excuses than rewards.
And as for my love, my ***, my energy -
The capital of my soul?
You betrayed it when you let slip that
My story was mere noise to you
The intricate details of my path, my thoughts -
The actors I have described, even the ludicrous stage they play on
Just a wailing siren you tune out until it fades away
And you can hand me one of the generic pacifiers
You keep on hand for me
But I'd rather choke today

And so I sit with my value
My capital brims over, pours into the gutter
Until I turn it off, switch on autopilot instead
Do they not know I'm only half alive?
Do you not know all this passion is for you?
Not that it matters, or that they would care
And since you don't need me either,
I sit
And I stare
brandon nagley May 2015
Heartbeat I lie in vain helpless,
Shelfless to a home I once knew,
Put me down,
Pull me through,
Anyone who hears mine attempt!!!

Numbness coming on,
Bent bows to cupid song's in full era of thine own beginnings!!

No cash ins,
No winnings,
For thy lights been turned out!!!

Gone south, where thy willows weep in gravesight pastures!!!

Forever after I will be in the clouds where no devils can tempt me,
Only harps of lost love to be found!!

Gatherers to fathomers,
Shalt be the sea I await to swim!!!
No more pacifiers of hell,
None more of me, no one to know when Im gone ,
When heavens gone dim.....

Patience,
How I'm done with your dirtiest of mind tricks,
You messy!!!
You sick!!

For thine clocks run dead!!!!

Time is none more,
None more words to be said!!!!!!!
Faye Feb 2022
I went a little storm crazy,
spurred on by the fears felt by my dad
and mom.
"You’ll have to go inside at one,
that’s safest."

To shed some light on this,
give a little more context,
I live in a shed in the garden,
it’s idyllic.

They got to me
and Twister has always been one of my favourite films
and I used to love reading about storms and hurricanes as a child,
I have only myself to blame really.

I started packing things that were
most important to me; the home videos
of my sister and me, I’d brought my photo books back inside
a long time ago,
and I brought the USB-stick on which one of my stories still existed,
sadly deleted from all other devices when said devices broke down,
I took my birth announcement card in its pretty frame and left the pacifiers
even though I would mourn them if I’d lost them,
I took my notebooks filled with poetry and left the many gaming devices I grew up with,
thought I’d be sad to lose them.
I left the Barbie doll of Little Bo Peep from Toy Story, which my mother adores so
because I might damage it in my bag,
but I would feel eternal guilt if that was lost.
One part of me could let things go
realized their material worth
the other saw all the times I used them
or all the times and days I was going to use them.

I packed my stuffed animals,
them being almost as old as I am
and having gotten me through a great number of bad dreams
and painful sleep.

But with a heavy heart I left Blub Nemo Rex (or Bruce)
the stuffed animal shark my sister gave to me once I’d passed
all of my first year classes at the university, like she had promised she would
if I kept up my end of the deal, because it was too big.

I grabbed my laptop because if ****
did inevitably, or so it would accordingly
to the latest forecast,
hit the fan,
I’d at least have the stories and other snippets
of earlier writing present with me.
Of course, it is also the mature and responsible
thing to do: take your laptop with you
so you can at least do your homework
for next week’s classes.

I don’t have to tell you about my id
or my student id cards or things like that,
they are always in my bag,
tucked away behind a zipper.

I would miss all of my books so gravely,
it was painful to have to force myself to
think “oh I wouldn’t miss you when you were gone”
which was a lie, even those I haven’t read,
I’d miss, and the ones I hated, too.
I suppose I am far too sentimental at times.

Then when I had come to this selection of things
I very well couldn’t do without,
I walked into the garden, my dad was
storm-proofing his plants and garden, his greatest pride,
and I felt guilty because I hadn’t even stopped to think
about the five plants in my room, Sancho Panza, Streep, Doris,
Diederik de Droogbloem, Baby and the one
that my mother named but I always fail to recall.

My dad looked at me and said
“it isn’t until five that Eunice becomes cumbersome”
and I was relieved
“And you can stay in your room until then, no harm done.”
so here I am sat,
back in my room in the shed in the garden again,
realizing that I was over-reacting
and far too materialistic.

Just to be safe,
I did return my mother’s stuffed animal to her bed
and gave my sister back her Winnie The Pooh teddy bear
which my mother got her (I got a beautiful stuffed animal version of Piglet)
when we were at the Victoria and Albert Museum, my sister’s
favourite museum she hopes possibly to work at one day,
back in two thousand and eighteen.

I also briefly considered
all the diaries and letters
I had written to myself when I was younger
and if I should take them inside
in case something completely terrible happened
(Eunice had turned into Eunicezilla in my mind and I’d already imagined that my lovely little shed would be as wrecked by this storm as Aunt Maggie’s house was and everything would be ruined beyond retrieval)
but I decided not to, to leave them in my room
because I don’t know if I am as attached to them
as I would like to think I am.
after all, what’s a few scribbles from ages
nine to twenty-one when they’re all mostly
just thoughts about insecurity, puberty and anxiety?
Damon Beckemeyer Aug 2018
Pull back iron curtains
Walk through walls of beads
Open the door to experience

Overzealousness is misunderstood
And you've misunderstood it if you're overzealous

Hippies, Social Justice, Radical Terrorism

Pacifists are babies and babies need pacifiers
Says a hellraiser that would rise to heaven if only he rose above

Swing the pendulum from left to right
And you'll see that whoever picked a side
Was stupid

That's why I prefer Foucaults
Take a trip around the world for once

See every face over time
Clock faces make good mirrors
If you'd like to reflect on the past

Truth hurts
Warfare and peace
Left wings and right wings never helped us fly
But everyone is high on something
They're all guaranteed altitude sickness

Parties
Races
Countries
Politics ruin culture

This world has been sawn into concrete squares
Everyone is boring and good luck changing something that's set in stone
Livia Rose Aug 2017
Pills as pacifiers
Bitter candy on the tongue
A little bit like licorice
But definitely more delish!
Strung out and dissociated
Yenson Aug 2021
You devote twenty four seven
craving my attention
you're hooked line and sinker
cause I'm worth it
but you all just have to accept
you are of no benefits
I do understand insignificance
crave attention
want it so they can feel a smidgen
of some sort of power
even if its counter-productive
or just an illusion
its the nature of the vain beast
to snarl and bare teeth
its the threatened cat arching
its furry back
its the gorilla beating its chest
letting out a howl
its the bantam cockerel puffing up
coloured feathers
its average Joe clutching ballot
papers at elections
its you and you playing imaginary
chess to hide your fears
you see I do understand your plights
see your pains and angsts
but you do not engage my attention
twenty four seven
you are first world indulgent prats
spoilt vacuous nonentities  
with more idle time than good senses
full of tantrums and fury
signifying nothing but your ignorance
and feeble spines
only when I'm bored and want some
laugh and to take the ****
do I take a peep to see what kidadults
are throwing out of the bathwater
ahh..sob sob, Look its Philips, he called
us lazy lowlife thieves
he told us to go and get jobs and earn
an honest living
but look he has everything we don't have
and he's black with a silver spoon
Ahh,,,big ignorant babies do stop crying
we'll  get Red Big Brother to
smack the hell out of Philips to teach him
a lesson he'll never forget
will that make you stop crying and stamping
your poor little feet....
Ana Habib Aug 2019
You look tired and completely out of it, old friend
Your body is here but your mind elsewhere
I cannot tell what you are thinking right this minute
But I understand you were here on an assignment
To help a young but brave woman battle an untimely illness
To figure out what snatched her husband and only son on a cold night in 88
You remember him right?
you two were practically best buds in high school till you got early acceptance into the academy
Vowing to serve mankind and always make sure that justice was meted well among the poor and the restless
This could have not been easy for you
but maybe this part of the world proved to be too much for your eyes
The modern landscapes and technology
The bold lifestyle choices that are now available to the young peoples
The off putting language and mindset
You are still no good with words but I know you were mortified on seeing woman prance around with their little doggies in million dollar purses
Men showing of their briefs and pierced earlobes in the streets
Babies clinging more to their phones then pacifiers
I also know that you fell hard for a wine maker's daughter
Trinity
I don't think she was at the academy
Fine wine wont be enough to forget her assets
Go on talk to her while I wait

— The End —