"priviledge" poems
We hear so often about our rights.
But what rights we have is a priviledge, governed by laws.
We the people makes the rules.
We the people controls the rules.
And sometimes goes to the extreme to keep them too.
What's right for one?
Isn't totally right for society.
Those that feels brave with a gun.
Sprout about constitutional rights.
And intimidate others by fear.
A sign of times, we will never learn.
For, as guns can protect you.
We aware constantly, they can **** you.
And your constitutional rights share the blame.
When guidance of common sense isn't used.
We let fee based groups dictate the rules.
And, they share a percentage of the blame.
We hear guns don't ****
That people do.
Which is complete true.
When they use their consitutional rights to do it.
All because, we live by the rights to bare arms.
Which is a priviledge.
Many people fails to see.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
I was told to write down my identity
a neat sheet of paper
that would briefly explain me
I pondered a while
attempting to identify
a few key moments of my history
Do I tell of the immigrant?
or the miracle child?
do I speak of depression
and how I so rarely smiled?
Should I tell you about the language
I so rarely spoke
for fear of fitting a stereotype:
the terrorist trope.
Shall I explain hypomania?
and how I couldn't sleep?
and how the monsters I dreamt of
into my conscious peripheral would creep?
How I couldn't seek help
until I was almost twenty-one
because in my parents' culture
mental illness doesn't exist.
My parents were Palestenian refugees in Lebanon- but that's their story not mine, right? They were married for seventeen years before they had me. They tried to have children almost from day one- but that's their story not mine, right?
Finally they immigrated to Canada for a million procedures that would give them a baby. After six years of treatment, a random obscure procedure worked and I was a bun in the oven- but that's their story not mine, right?
nine months later I was born.
I was a miracle baby and the "light of their life." so they named me light: "Noor."
I was born at North York General with a priviledge my parents never dared dream: Canadian. Safe. Not a refugee. They had someplace that they'd send me for university.
With our new, safe nationality
at forty days old
I was taken to the UAE
I was raised on Western books
and Western TV
raised with ideas that just didn't fit
in a muslim family
(at least my family is liberal, unlike the UAE)
I haven't scratched the surface of who I am
and depending on the pieces I tell
I haven't scratched the surface of all that I could be
what I choose to write is how you will read me.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Fear.
It haunts me in my most private moments.
To wonder and fight the thoughts of my un-honest parents.
The thoughts creep in and I ponder my brothers.
Will they know the things I've done for them? Or all the nights I've cried?
The fights I fought and lies I told, mommy is just fine.
The questions asked by young helpless hearts, as I soothed them through the night.
Daddy does love mommy and mommy is just fine.
They don't mean the things they yell, I stutter out of my mouth.
Hiding in their bedroom, with the TV turned to loud.
I run to stop the fighting, for the sake of helpless hearts.
Daddy won't end his life and mommy is just fine.
I ponder all the days where it was just me and them, I longed to leave that fortess, that god-forsaken hell.
I lay in bed at night, young helpless hearts sleeping sound.
They do not know the evil that lives in their lives.
It flows through their veins just like it does mine.
I swear daddy loves us and mommy is just fine.
I never tell them the stories that keep me up all night.
That daddy is not the same and mommy commits the crimes.
I prayed, dear Lord help us, but silence is all there was.
I sang in the choir and hoped some good would come.
I found nothing but hypocrisy, with a smile painted on my face.
The second we left the church corridor, they had everything but grace.
The torment and the lies, the woman I despised. The man I used to praise, now crying at his knees.
But when his eyes left the ground, a blackness filled his soul.
There's nothing left of daddy when his anger takes control.
I'm screaming in my head as I sit in the closet.
They send the children looking, thinking surely I've lost it.
How could I not? I've spent so many years protecting the young ones you turn against me.
Convincing them I'm the enemy.
I rocked them to sleep, I sang their lullabies, I took care of your sheep as our shepherd stood by.
You left us in the darkness, you didn't even care. Many days I just got by, with only enough for them to eat.
We had little to nothing as you walked on priviledge feet.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
I think it's beautiful
The way your hands are sturdy and calloused
Not the gentle softness illustrators are known for
These hands have felt real art
Built from the ground up
Days of mixing, moulding and texturing
Breathing life into deathly white parchments
I think it's beautiful
The way your arms are slender yet firm
Dusky brown skin holding rippling strong muscles
Strengthened slowly
through years of bullying and soul searching
Their unsymmetrical realness known not
For their harshness
But for the gentle notes they strum
Weaving elegantly with the quiet moving pictures on screens
I think it's beautiful
The way your shoulders always stand strong
A declaration demanding the eyes of every being in sight
Their angled rigidity know to be surprisingly nimble
An immovable pillar for the melting of your body
A constant transformation into unknown characters
The hidden bumps of tired hands
The rough ridges of calloused skin
The angled sharpness of chiseled bones
Hidden works of art
Flitting secretively under the armor you wear
The priviledge of their appearance
But a few can bear
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
It is a priviledge to be loved by a poet,
to be embraced by the meter and the rhyme
and caressed by soft metaphors and sharp alliterations.
To be painted a universe with words and run-on sentences
that converge in a single thought expressed with
similes and repetitions of a single symbol.
It is an honor to be loved by a poet,
to be celebrated with odes, mourned with elegys
and elevated to a pedestal by a canticle.
It is a marvel to be loved by a poet,
to be the muse of long, weary nights of concentration
and be part of passionate lines in dramatic monologues
as each is recited with the intonation of rising ardour.
To be submerged in sizzling appreciation of one's quirks
and virtue.
To be loved and to love.
To provoke an inspiration and a sigh of ephemeral longing
and bring about a remedy to the mourning.
It is a misery and joy to be loved and be of unrequited
provocative inspiration to the riveting mind of a lone
and solitary poet.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
We all feel a bit insecure at times
With society watching our every move
It's up to us to make things better
Oh so difficult to do right
The world always try to knock us down
But don't give up, even if you're down
Just stand up stronger than before
We can show them we're not weak
Society judges us, so we hide
Put our masks on and hide
When all we want is to be free
But people deprive us of the priviledge
We must all stand together
We are as strong united, but we are weak apart
No matter the circumstances
We will rise to victory!
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
What were you thinking yesterday?
I watched your gaze from across the room
It was settled on a point in space
A million miles from where we sat.
What will you say today?
How will your mind manifest its place
In our universe of morning light?
What will you think tomorrow?
What can I do to remove
The lingering of sorrow?
I lay next to you and hear your breathing
I held you while your tears came
I felt closer to you then
Than I have ever done. It was my
Priviledge and honour to bring
You the comfort then.
Open your hands and close your eyes
Listen, we’re breathing faster
Here are the words I will say to you
Here is the touch I lay on you
Here is the smile I give to you
Darkness is a fleeting thing
Transient is pain
Grief recedes and stays away
The memory of what was and is
Is the greater of the comforts I give
Nothing here is bound for long
Our lives are wrenched from the heart
Of stars and will end in them once more
Your pain is mine until the end of things
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
Oh, you looked at my poem
And offered your opinion.
But, who asked you?
Or even care?
You have the same priviledge to create one.
Simply by pulling words out of the air.
You states that the grammar is wrong.
As if you wrote the poem,
Its like advising God.
To hold off on the thunder storm.
You're the poetry critic.
That judge of personal views.
That creates havoc, if we offer ours of you.
We all creates.
In our very own way.
Even editors of books.
Don't always gets their way.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 9:44 PM UTC
This is especially written for you.
Out there.
For the colored girls.
The girls that are insecure with their lovely brown tint
in between the deep chocolate and lemon yellows.
you'll never hear the term red or yellow bone
You don't know what color your bones possess
The girls whose hair used to naturally curl but couldn't hold the press and curl long enough to feel like its meant for you to look like that all the time. So you agreed when your mama offered to relax your hair so you could relax too. That way even if you couldn't be as light as the mixed girls and the red bones, at least your hair could be as laid as theirs…
I'm writing this to the girls that weren't blessed with the hips nor *** black women are forever praised for. Questioning why our figures aren't as exotic as society tries to generalize. We aren't fit to be the token when we lack the true characteristics that are associated with our ancestors, right? I'm writing this for the tokens that have lost themselves in the crowds they've tried to fit into. Don't lose yourself forgetting to be you.
I'm writing this for every colored girl that questioned if she was beautiful, as I used to do. Always assuming everything bad that happened was because you simply weren't light enough for good things to happen to you. No light girl, white girl priviledge. I'm writing this to resurrect all the ill feelings i've ever thought about my blackness before I realized it was okay to be so, in hopes that maybe I can ease a colored girl's mind when she feels like she's too black for the world.
This is for her.
The beautiful colored girl.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
It's been six days
I've slept maybe six hours
Probably less
That's not enough
For one night
Let alone
One week
You see,
On the off chance
I escape my mind
From it's torrents
Of memories
It's not into
The world of dreams
It's into
The world of nightmares
So I stay awake
By choice or not
Sleep is a priviledge
I do not recieve
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
A Flight Of The Albatross
create in me a clean start
look at the Albatross to help you through
flying every heightened bit of pew
young in a direction that leaves one second guessing
spark the illumination
waving ever fretting but never forgetting
be among the leaves a beggar on their knees;
below we suffer in the distance
shoot through arrows of resistance
strong and mighty is a priviledge
guaranteed are every feature
Still he Albatross waits and finds
created by a wholesome design
lifting holes to its mast
used in quite a bit of trance
back outside on the porch we can see Albatross flying by
hear of its whisper in the sky
piercing through the skin a *** would drink his Gin
borrow me through port unseen
flying
soaring ever higher to see
a relevance of a miracle to see
flying ever high next to me
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
We all have it.
We just try to surpress it.
We all have standards.
We just live up to them.
To the mistress.
We have a commentary about them.
Except if given a chance.
Some man would try to be with them.
To the prison that commits a crime.
We truly lay into them.
Without realize one bad choice of a decision.
Will have us being a inmate next to them.
Mistakes we make them.
And in many ways we hate to be judged.
Just ask their family.
We no moralist.
Well outside church we aren't.
We only show our moral hyprocrisy.
When we're around the minister preaching.
Where we nod our heads to anything said.
But pay attention to truth.
Even they aren't firm on things.
When dealing with God's creation.
The commandments are strictly guidelines to abide by.
We very aware that many will fall to the side.
It's just our moral hyprocrisy code we go by.
It took a brave soul to assist the soul lying at the road.
The Good Samaritan's that we all seems to know.
Those in position just passed him by.
Maybe it just was the sign of the time.
We still see this in the priviledge.
Who still tries to judge the poor?
And the word states, they shall inherit the earth.
Words to the wise that states so much.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 8:08 AM UTC
Without them.
Many of us would be totally lost.
They love comes without a cost.
It's a priviledge that we takes for granted.
So we should..
Thank God for women.
Look around and see the many reasons why?
We should thank God for women.
Within church.
Many are the congregation.
Really, many are.
Without them many congregation would be seeking them.
Yes, thank God for ladies.
They are our comfort zone.
The one we truly lean upon.
They the calm before the storm.
They have the power to make the powerful men weak.
And it these ladies abusive men wants to hurt.
Go figure?
They should be saying and praying.
Thank God for women.
Because a few forgive them.
Scriptures might state they came from Adam's ribs.
But upon this earth.
We are birth from them.
Yes, thank God for women.
This we must remember.
They are quicker to defend and protect us.
Then many men are.
They quicker to heal us.
When something is illing us.
I gladly aand proudly say.
Thank God for ladies.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
We must ask ourselves.
Why do the innocents always gets hurt?
Then, why do anyone?
In , a world filled ,with ready made hurt.
We find them gettin' hurt at work, school and church.
It's a sad day.
When we try to protect ownership of guns.
Why do anyone?
Owning one is a priviledge.
And not a right.
Although many loves to talk about the second admendment.
It's a sad day.
When someone family's member doesn't make it home.
Sympathy comes.
Sadness set in.
Teardrops falls.
Sorrow comes along.
And we ponder the reason's why?
There've got to be a better way.
And one day we will find it.
But for now.
It's a sad day.
And I guarantee we will see some more.
Like December 14, 2012 was today.
To the world, a very sad day.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
"Stop yelling at me," I tell the walls,
as if they were the culprit.
Stop keeping time with my fingernails,
tracing squares in chalkboard wallpaper.
I have forgotten you.
If only you would forget me.
You trace lines on my skin,
Like a cartography of forgotten myth.
"Don't tell me what to think."
You don't own me.
"Don't tell me how to feel."
That is a priviledge you no longer possess.
"Leave me alone,
Old friend."
Leave me be.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 6:34 PM UTC
plastic casing of grubby cash
avoiding the truth of my priviledge and circumstance
thirteen bruises and grabbing some ***
and here I am drunk, doing a dance
walk around
turn around
pop the lid off a beer with a fork
and remember, so sweet, and so cold,
how young you were fourteen hours ago
trudge in the mud of sculpted strip mall gardens
hedge around a wedge of forgotten iceburg lettuce
and let me know between the waves of coffee and Lexipro
what it must've meant
to turn twenty-two, a month ago
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
walking through
a shimmering testament
to applied ignorance
lights are everywhere
penetrating the darkness
i would so love to succumb to
stifling sobs because
apparently that's what dignity is
maintaining illusion
so as not to dissuade
the ones around you
those beautiful, promising
robots walking down
the cyclical path to oblivion
again and again
i'm here and again
weeping like
a hot tea kettle and again
the dog poem
remains elusive and again
it's so sad
i'm Bukowski but
with no beauty and
too much priviledge and again
i buckle under
the enormous weight of
old age and pathetic dreams
written in sand and
dust and
sidewalk chalk
before the thunderstorm and again
propped up
by the lucky few
who witness my attempts at honesty
and again
it's the pain
on the tops of my eyeballs it's
my hands
and right foot falling asleep it's
westville ave at night
hoping i get shot it's
rambling until everyone leaves and
not wanting to go anywhere
but talking it's
only being able to say
"i love you"
when drunk it's
uncle george's silver star it's
getting close but
even inside isn't
close enough it's
creeping it's
fear it's
headaches it's
10 AM it's
too much it's
not enough it's
everything it's
nothing it's
again and
again and
again
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
Slave to the name.
The priviledge child.
You attended the best school.
Might even had a chauffeur driving you there.
It could been any of the high price universities or prep schools.
You might wear some of the most expensive clothes.
Yes, you're priviledge.
This is the only world you know.
Many things you'll forever do in life is for show.
As a priviledged child you won't be offer the opportunity to grow.
You a slave to the name.
They on the estate of the family's grounds.
And upon the family's foundation.
And constantly mention in Forbes magazine.
But as a priviledge child, what had you achieved?
You will find someone to love.
And the odds are they will come from wealth.
Although some has married the family's help.
But rules were required of them too.
Things they can or can't do.
And friends that comes around.
Only stay around until your money is gone.
Then like others they soon say so long.
And they have known you as long as you've been a priviledged child.
Affairs will come to you.
They often seems to do when wealth is in your hand.
Money always attract others when they say it never played apart.
Many professed they were just following your the heart.
Divorce will soon hit you too.
Then this will spotlight the characteristics of you.
When your lawyers and you decides just how much to give.
Cause once love walks out the door.
In some cases the family's name.
Although you were the one to put it to shame.
It's your former spouse that you don't won't them to claim it.
After all, you was raised a priviledged child.
Born free.
Live wild.
These words are just a small example of a priviledged.........
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Love Thoughts
You know.....it is amazing to the heart...an epiphany if you will: to realize some one has impacted your life so profoundly, that you actually FEEL the emptiness of the deep space they left behind.
I was analyzing this picture of a long dock leading out to a beautiful sea with every bright color in the sky you could imagine! Beautiful picture, sand, colors sky... IT Is ALL THERE. BREATH TAKING REALLY.
I saw my self walk that dock, grow wings and fly off the end - into the sky, into the universe ----to search, FOR YOU...I BECAME deeply overwhelmed: with just the thought of eternity?????...
WHAT IF?...........I WONDER......IS THIS IS ALL WE EVER GET? DO WE SEARCH FOR ONE ANOTHER IN TIME? IS it NEVER...ENDING!? DO WE HAVE THE PRIVILEDGE OF SEEING EACH OTHER ONCE AGAIN? IF JUST TO SAY.THANK YOU!
THANK YOU: FOR LOVING ME! INSURE YOU, ALL YOUR EFFORTS MADE A DIFFERENCE IN MY LIFE: AND I SAW YOU THEN, AS I SEE YOU NOW.................
I loved YOU...I love YOU........ letting you go!
BEAUTIFUL...... REALLY!
RONDALYN BRINDLEY-HAMMOND 2/8/2014
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
My perseverance to see the sun
To pluck its amber beams
A preternatural joy
A profound priviledge
Knowledge is a torrid reward
Easily you're burned
A talisman of great force
Shards of foresight
As you tread into her realm
Dead prejudices
An illuminated mind
A spirit that will last
The inner tranquility?
Its settlement lies high
An impenetrable quest
Life's gem
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Like a lion getting ready to devour its last meal your eyes graze my skin like sand paper. Like we were some sick science experiment. Palms twitching, hungry eyes, sadist smile. A priviledge you said. Love did always make me stupid and alas, she still was under the delusion she loved you more. So with your yellow eyes and teeth just as so you raught your way into yielding flesh because no wasn't in your vocabulary. So how dare you think that you can fall asleep with that smirk as you extrude me from her so you can take and take what's wasn't yours. And now it's not fair, I shouldn't have to beg for a love that wouldn't come for your sick benefit I shouldn't have begged at all but we all knew it was just lust. And **** you both for how I feel now, inferno under my skin when real love wants me, for this intense incertitude chaos that fills my brain when real love says no. But little does she know how much damage both of you caused. But it was my own fault right? I did to myself. At least that's what you had me believe.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
Cameron is apologetic
having packed his bags,
he has opened a new museum
dedicated to Macmillians government.
Bring back national economic planning.
Every region is uniquely fired.
Hull again a major fishing port
our Royal Navy guatds our fish stocks,
King Coal to fuel our power stations
Visas to come to the UK
it's a priviledge not free movenent.
Draw bridge's up
we remain an island
rather than an economic zone
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
create in me a clean start
look at the Albatross to help you through
flying every heightened bit of pew
young in a direction that leaves one second guessing
spark the illumination
waving ever fretting but never forgetting
be among the leaves a beggar on their knees;
below we suffer in the distance
shoot through arrows of resistance
strong and mighty is a priviledge
guaranteed are every feature
Still he Albatross waits and finds
created by a wholesome design
lifting holes to its mast
used in quite a bit of trance
back outside on the porch we can see Albatross flying by
hear of its whisper in the sky
piercing through the skin a *** would drink his Gin
borrow me through port unseen
flying
soaring ever higher to see
a relevance of a miracle to see
flying ever high next to me
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC