"perpetrator" poems
over-caffeinated like a maj-gician (the electricians of existence), Matilda sang her morning brew a lullaby as she convinced breakfast not to panic from the pain of the frying pan- "sit quietly, take the pain, feel the burn- SIZzle! soon you'll be a human being and begin your life as a synthetic deity free within the skin of metastasized consciousness."
soon the egg seized in pleasure; a masochistic joy overtook it as yoke splurged from within like ****** ***** during ******* when the gimp has forgotten the safety word, screaming
BANANA
NEW YORK
CODE ORANGE
! ! !
while the perpetrator continues to scream verses from the Bible and Leviticus 1:3; an audiotape of On Being and Nothingness sends chills down the dark-sides spine in a hyperreal realization of the role choice plays in evils mortality.
must we listen while we speak? does reciprocity die in egoic colonization of the African subcontinent of the mind? is this the beginning of an age of autism born within the confines of illuminated rectangles of permissible distance and social hell-frozen-over?
man, you weren't even paying attention.
**** you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
every 98 seconds
a person is shattered like a piece of glass
or perhaps in the view of the perpetrator,
used and discarded like a piece of trash
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.
My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.
My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.
My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.
My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.
My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
**A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
such on death certificates.
More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
religions and at all levels of education.
About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
the horrible cycle of abuse.
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
psychological disorder.**
And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.
And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?
When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and **** and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?
I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
superstar of the lowest level of the food chain
they marvel at my wondrous acts
i am enticing, raucous, too loud
the prima donna of the freakshow ballet
they would pay
to be seen with me
the perpetrator of chaos
hoodies with spikes on them
batman tshirts
and too tight
skinny jeans
tired pink sneaks
from my wandering days
i am the queen of misfits
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
I see it for just a moment
A squishy mound of fur to the far right of the asphalt
This latest pile of dislocated mush is presented on a desert highway
A raccoon? No. Too small.
A coyote? Maybe. Who can tell?
That play-dough pile of crushed bones was not created outside the white lines where it now lays
Some chosen soul scraped and scooped the mystery meat to its resting place
Some jumpsuit wearing civilian is intimately aware with the parentage of the reassembled road victim
Do they have a moment of silence after the last shovel scrape?
Do they hold an internal roadside memorial?
What of the homicidal perpetrator behind his wheels?
He must know the identity of his victim
He must feel the agony of guilt
Or, is his only remorse in the quarters he must spend at the self-service carwash to remove the evidence?
Perhaps Road-Kill animals haunt their vehicle killers
Maybe their blood can never be truly washed from the ****** weapon’s shinny surface
Like spots on Lady Macbeth’s hands
Perhaps the killer’s dreams are frequented by unidentifiable ****** mounds with eyes that stare from unnatural places
After all
Justice must be had in one way or another
For the unrecognizable John Doe pile represents all those wild things that must chance to cross the hard, hot, lethal highway
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
in a cave
off the coast of ecstasy
the greed of one man to another
is the perpetrator of death
from god’s ribcage
grow the gardens of eden
his blood flows through oceans
his fingertips write the
garden of verses
surrounding sleepy children
from god’s bones
marrow fertilized
skin becomes soil
clouds, his imaginary friends
fastened from the foibles of our minds
from forth: his creation
from flower woman is born
sleepily blooming, reaching out her
arms to the sun
as life comes to death
and life
again.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:37 AM UTC
Trust might be the hardest thing ever to recover
Whether mother, father, sister, brother
Grandfather, grandmother or casual lover
The lies and deception can take a lifetime to uncover
Other times it can be right there, in your face, front and center
Something you'll regret to ignore
And these actions hardly ever, mostly never, affect the perpetrator
But they literally **** off an innocence and should be charged with ******
Instead they get to go live a good life type of forever
While I get blamed for trust issues that I have no control over
©2024
Jun 1, 2024
Jun 1, 2024 at 2:05 PM UTC
To choose my own life
meant releasing myself
from his grip. The one
unholy touch I'd ever
known. If he had not
caught my scent, then
maybe his hand would
never have reached me.
To say ****** abuse*
is to say *I was not quite *****
There is some dignity
I can still hold onto, a weight
I never felt threatening
to crush my body
into the dirt.
To say I am woman
is to say he is animal,
to deny him the right
of remaining ******
from the stink
of his mother's womb;
to insist on calling myself woman
is to forget the terror of knowing
I was child, I was bone
and I was sacrifice, the flame
on my tongue had scarcely
scorched his teeth before
they closed in on me
to drag me down.
To say I loved him
is to puncture holes
into my pelvis, let the marrow
drip until I was unrecognizable
as human, only a
thoughtless brainless creature
could love the knife
as it ripped them apart,
to save the hawk who grabbed you
from the river by feeding it one
of your young,
to say I was too young
is to say it gets better with age,
as if the signs become easier
to recognize once the baby fat
has shed its protective casing
from his skull.
To say depression
is to say I wasn't born
this way, there was a disease
inside his bloodstream
that erased me, it was
something from his veins
that made the doctors
hover over my wrists
like vultures waiting
to snap me up whole.
To say victim
is to say there was a perpetrator,
is to say our love was crime,
is to say there was nothing holy
until I learned to make it so myself.
To say ****** abuse*
is to say *he has taken everything,
there is nothing left of my frame
for anyone else to hold.*
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
The perfect crime
Is rather easy to commit
Each person's limit is one time
There are no victims in this
Because the victim and perpetrator
Can never be the same person
Everything is a controlled factor
And there's nothing to hold you on
No loose ends left untied
You can leave evidence all you want
Your actions go unjustified
Can't send you to jail for such a stunt
And though it is illegal
You won't have to run and hide
The perfect crime for all
Is simply suicide
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
#
There is a responsibility, borne
within an online conveyance
of the heart
when it comes to publicly posted poetry..
For within the conveyance of words
released into the Universe..
*(words once residing within
the inner linings of heart and soul.. words..
now made seen and known to all)*
is the deeply embedded DNA
of the author,
wherein lies the accountability;
when those words, bearing
genetic imprint
enter into the heart of another.
I write specifically
over things touched within me
But try to convey it
in a sense.. Universally
so that it might be taken in
by any and all
.. That the benefits of Love's beautiful ways
may find access into the parts of the heart
that need it most..
sometimes, sneaken in and finding root
before the receiver is even aware..
bringing, inside the recipient's skin
healing
But also the potentiality
of becoming hurt.
I am sorry.
You
(and most everyone else in the world)
rarely, if ever.. talk to me.
But I watch you just the same
solely by what you write.
My existence causes pain.
That.. I know.
I love you more
than you will ever know.
I would stop writing, but I don't know how
There's not a 12-step group
for these things
I dream of one day being killed
for who it is that I am.
I dream.. and then I smile.
But I do not smile at all,
the times I see that you are hurt.
I have real arms,
*..within this poetic world
that is so very intangible--*
When you cry,
they could not truly show you
it's okay
They cannot show anyone
that it's okay
Everyone's afraid of me
like I'm some kind of perpetrator
So I will die alone.. judged
for things I have not done
So I am sorry, my Beautiful--
It really is all my fault
for ever truly wanting to see.
All I ever wanted to do
was become able to see
and overcome the hurt
that long ago so horribly hurt me
You've become hurt
by my ability to see.
I'm sorry.
#
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 11:28 AM UTC
11am
today i was sluggish
I ran a 6:45 mile
Beat my mile time
Benched 235
New max on bench
Almost have an eight pack
And somewhat feel unhappy
I've adjusted
My body is a temple
That society and culture busted
Warped by mocking of blemishes and dimples
Six pack well built
I fall in that circle
Mal nourished till I tilt
Collapses when i turn purple
Guided by past achievements
Visions of success
To forget what belief meant
Gain mass the more you digest
Calories, Carbs, and proteins
Vitamins, liquid, and BCAA's
Work hard
Workout harder
Appreciate where you were like other would if they are you
We are all victims turned into the very perpetrator we rejected
Look in the mirror
Change or accept
Fight or conform
Satisfy pleasure or live in comfort
To be honest
I haven't felt a reason to be happy
I appreciate when times are good
But I'm still not happy
And i refuse to ruin someone's day
Or hid my emptiness behind a smile
And until I find what I am looking for
Tomorrow at 9am
I'll be at the gym
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Rapes. Abandonment. Drugs. Guns. Kidnapping. Abuse. Race Issues. Prostitution. Fighting. Thefts.
What's wrong people??
Victims or Perpetrator why aren't we content about life itself.
Yes we will go through trails. No life isn't always fair. But; learning to love thy neighbor and help other people can make a huge change in Today's Society. If we learned to care for one another ALL OF THEE ABOVE ACTS wouldn't happen.
To my victims Please dont live with suffering in your heart and allow that person who caused you harm power over you. Take your life back forgive them for your self healing!!!
We Need Change
Todays Society
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
#
*"A 'sociopathic perpetrator'..
we will ghost him forever"*
But what is this thing
she feels..
Why is the picture painted
so very different
from the one
she now remembers?
"We will help her to forget."
. . .
The saving of one's soul
from that which would steal
is not done in violence
(Though it still feels
that it should be)
It is done in patience,
and in reminding one
of who it is they truly are.
Tell me, world
of who you think
a father should be
And watch me laugh
my ************* *** off.
Tell me all about it, world.
And I will show you all
what truly saves.
#
Feb 5, 2023
Feb 5, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
When did the soil give birth to ideologies of hate?
Floating thoughts taking hold of tempestuous souls
To wreak destitution and abject destruction upon City slabs
Intangible ideas, not to be grasped, squeeze hard
On curled metal, give birth to flying shells
Hit hard on soft targets
Stories held within forms, never known to thy perpetrator
Indiscriminate fury built upon muddled theory
How powerful a virulent ideology
Minds clash in spoken wars, yet the earth does recoil
As fragile limbs confronted by flying shells
Limp, lifeless hand stretched forth
Pleading for continuation of a life not contemplated to end
Not here, in this way
Crudely broken by the stench of decay
I remember when Friday night was for play
Humanities throat pressed upon not by religion
Knife drawn not by capitalism
Shots fired not by secularism
Yet a common strain persists in all
That of power seeking
Corrupting hearts, dividing parts uneven, the spread obscene
Impose a will on another
Crush fledging life pursuing what is best to you
Oh! The clouds I plead beneath pass me by
Your ‘best’ is but yours, permit me to fly by
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.
Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.
Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.
The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.
The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.
Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.
And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
Best to absolve
the guilty
to hold pain
overfills the vessel
perpetrator and victim
awash in the same
liquid shame
spill this sorrow
let it become
a drop
in the vast
ocean.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
I'm me, you, us, I'm them.
I'm the living, the dead, I'm the ever still.
I'm the saint, I'm the wicked, the martyr and the perpetrator.
I'm the Homos, Habilis to Sapiens.
I'm the villain, the savior and victim.
I'm the dictator, the revolution and the people.
I'm anguish and comfort in hearts.
I'm the air, the oxygen, and the carbon dioxide.
I'm the shore, the ocean waves and foam.
I'm the ocean, the depths, the beasts and unknown marvels within.
I'm the ground, the layers of stone, sand and remains.
I'm the earth, the atmosphere, and inner core.
I'm the sun, the explosions, and the ashes of time traveling erupted stars.
I'm the planets, far and near, circulating and in a queue.
I'm the moon, and the dwarf planets.
I'm the pitch black hole, and the morose wormhole.
I'm the solar system, the milky way and its lost siblings.
I'm life in the galaxies.
I'm the universe, and the parallel universe.
I'm the big bang, I'm the end of time.
I am, immortality.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
And it's like you expect me not to hurt;
I mean I am the perpetrator,
but that doesn't make it any
Easier
Easier would have been everything working
All the cogs aligning, workin' properly
I almost lost it on a .gif
I almost cried from viewing something that reminded me.
I made the right choice, because the cogs are aligning on my side,
they're workin' properly
But that doesn't make this grandfather clock creak any less.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
The exact representation of deception is likened to a delusional cognition which tunnels its way through craggy mountain ecosystems of the prefrontal cortex.
The impairment of your executive functioning is evident, oh grandiose master of self-aggrandisement.
It is now 04.20hrs in the Britannic pastures where desert storms are a figment of extravagant wishes to be recognised.
Although it is charmingly magical to harken to your lunacy, it is mercenary of the battalions to fathom the pathology of your blatant insignificance within the universe of vain imaginations.
Hereford is the base of winning, if you are brazen enough to engage with the feat.
Selah, my psychotic expression of wishful psychopathy.
One more thing: please check your spelling.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
The one thing that I can never have
Is the only thing I seem to want
Never can I eradicate it from my mind
The thought that will punish me
Do I try too hard to make them smile?
Do I try too hard to seem like I belong?
Is that all there is,
Am I too far gone?
The thought that punishes me
Is that I will never be good enough
I can’t change the judgmental ways of the world
The thought that punishes me
Is that I will never be what you need
I can’t change all of the imperfections in my life
Despite everything I am the owner of my mind
I control these thoughts of mine
I have such power over myself
I let that power slip through my fingers
I let it become tainted
Consumed by my self loathing
My thoughts are furious and vast
Yet no matter what my desires may be they disobey
Tenebrous corners of which I cannot escape surround me
Suffocate me
As I am caged in the cursed darkness of my brain
I reach out as far as I can manage
I reach out knowing that no one will see me drowning here
In the ocean of my mind
No one will grab onto me and save me
From these thoughts of mine which punish me
Im spinning out of control
Twirling and leaping further and further away
From everything that seems to say
“Let me save you”
I run as far as I can whilst screaming
“Please someone save me”
But such a selfish thought will only lead me further astray
These are the thoughts that punish me
A feeling
A sinking feeling
Hits me out of nowhere
Its painful, I can’t deny
Why do my thoughts invade
Corner me in my own mind?
I can’t escape this pain
Where can I run when the perpetrator
Is my own conscience?
Where can I hide when i’m my own worst enemy?
How can I find a moment alone from my fear
When I am constantly there to remind myself
How terrified I am?
This fear is a prison in my mind
The insecurities toss me into a cell
They call it a moment of self doubt
A wave of depression
I am trapped here
They tell me that it’s my own fault
My own doing, a hazard to myself
I cry out over and over again
This is not me
Yet they don’t hear me from within
The confounds of my cell
Within the prison of my mind
Like sudden rainfall on a sunny day
The happiness fades away
Like water inside a drain
These thoughts are torture
These thoughts are pain
These thoughts punish me
Day after day
These thoughts destroy me
These thoughts control me
These are the thoughts that punish me
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC
Legions of wrinkled spirits nestle in the desolate branches of the ancient oak tree in winter solstice, whilst advancement is celebrated with ritualistic conformity.
How many crimes need to be committed, my delinquent colleague of egocentrism?
Our ****** expressions often betray our convincing articulations, as the lack of authenticity lurks between us like a perpetrator who has escaped from his maximum security cell.
Such phenomenon may vanish. However, there are others which maintain physical matter.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Don’t lie to Nevada Baylor
It's a waste of your time
On a magic alternate earth
She's a truthseeker prime
Head of the family business
And a private investigator
When Houston is in danger
She’s tasked to find the perpetrator
One hundred fifty years ago
The Osirus virus gave
Magic talents to some people,
Mostly the rich and the brave
The virus was discontinued
Due to unpleasant results
And to keep power with Houses
- Think families plus cults
The dynastic Houses feud for
More than money and fame
They breed for powerful talents
To bring their Houses acclaim
Some powers are obvious
But some are understated
Then there are people who can’t
Control how they’ve mutated
The Baylor family is insignificant
Not of the Houses elite
Their talents are powerful
But they need to be discreet
They don’t want to play
Dangerous House games
Yet Nevada finds herself battling
to save Houston from flames
Read for adventure and romance
For banter and magic powers
Stay for the family chemistry
I could read Baylors for many hours
The whole series is fantastic
The audiobook narrator is great
If you’re into urban fantasy
Go ahead, one-click, don’t wait
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 4:52 PM UTC