"psychologically" poems
Slavery
A moral depravity
A moral degeneracy followed by intellectual degeneration
A luxury and currution among the upper classes
Slavery
A world without the fundamental human rights
Revolting cruelty from the ****** outrage to brutal ******
Slavery
World of chains
World of hard labour
World of pains sorrow and agony
Songs of joy are sang in the world seeing the end to this hideous blot
Yet slavery still exist in the modern world
Described as modern slavery
Modern slavery
A world without chains yet psychologically we are chained
World without hard labour yet we work ourselves out to survive
World with fundamental human rights but filled with betrayal at the cause of justice
Slavery
World for the poor
World for the less privelage
World of reality
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
I don't know who you are
I don't know what you do
I don't know where you are
But I know that
You have wrecked me
Mentally, psychologically and socially
Rendering me incoherent in speech
And incapable of action
Reduced to a blundering mass
Of bloated bones and sinew
Ready to collapse like a pack of cards
At the slightest hint of a crisis
I don't know who you are
I don't know what you do
I don't know where you are
But I know that
You have wrecked me
And you shall pay dearly for it
Whether it be death by a thousand cuts
Or a pill of cyanide in your cup of tea
Or a bullet right in your temple
Or a mighty fall from the tallest tower
Or a bite from a venomous serpent
Or a decapitation by the mighty guillotine
Or even, having your soul ****** out
From your filthy mouth
I don't know who you are
I don't know what you do
I don't know where you are
But I know that
You have wrecked me
And I shall not rest
Until I finish you, once and for all
And the world is rid, of your menace
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC
Habits
Gluttony
Greed
Bribery
Lustfulness
Passed down
Generation
After generation
After generation
After generation
Okay, I get it, it get it
You get it, you get it.
Let's get personal
Born set up for failure
My statistics not looking bright
First baby born of color born into
A family of strictly whites
Grandmother beat my mother
When she discovered
The life forming inside of her
Was half black -
Don't cry mother, or I'll whither
Inside of you.
I grew and grew
Taught lies upon lies
About myself
The other half of me.
The only love I knew was of my mother.
There was no other -
Until she started to take it out on me
Habits
Passed
From generation upon generation.
She was sick and tired of being
Sick and tired
Stomped to the ground due to her
Kindness
Abused emotionally due to her
Selfless-ness
Mistreated physically due to her
Weakness
She took it out on me.
Cornered me to a wall
Choked me up
Laughing - she couldn't get enough
Of the amusement of my pain
All done in vain
Because she couldn't stop the strain
Put on her brain.
Scarring my face
Pulling my hair
Public places
Not a care -
Kicking
Scratching
Pulling
Biting
The agony
The hate
The battle wounds
The hurt
The scars -
On my heart.
Habits
Passed from generation
To generation
To generation
I was sick on the inside
My heart - suffering -
never ending bleeding
My brain
Psychologically ill
Flashbacks
I locked myself up in my room
Head in pillow
Screaming louder than your annoying baby sister who throws her unnecessary temper tantrums
In the middle of the night.
I tied myself up mentally
Stuck
Self-hate
Self-abuse
Self-hurt
In the sixth grade I to myself -
I wanted going to ****
And my victim was myself.
Filled with the poison - I was ill
Injected with self-hate
Hated my family
Hated all my traits
Hated all forms of humanity.
Habits
Passed
From generation to generation
To generation.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.
I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:
Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.
If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****
If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.
That's just responsibility.
That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
A king without kingdom, is the one who dwells in his own world
Physically here, psychologically in another plane, he never cares about this land's cult
The only thing he cares, are his dreams and fantasies
Maybe that is why he is called a king, in its own means
A king without kingdom, can't be suppressed or oppressed
For he, doesn't have a land, that can be snatched to make him depressed
He is the true owner of his will, a hero
Who can't be made, to exist with Aryabhatta's zero
The king without kingdom, is not a gardener without flowers
He is that farmer, who always welcome the showers
The one who will join him, will also become a king
Like him, the one, A King Without Kingdom
|AB|
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
Certain men may be pigs, and maybe some feminists take it a bit far,
but when it comes to sexism, I certainly don't think it's restricted to ***
and when it comes to racism: there's no such thing as race.
Far too many **** Sapiens are just ******* vapid and odious when it comes to their personality, in general. It doesn't matter if the narrative is One's *** or religion, politics, perceived gender, art, science, the weather or any other elite form of edified philosophy.
I want to believe that everyone has merit-
that they cannot be judged by any external entity
that, because it is external, lacks the whole context.
Still, some people spoil my attitude towards people a bit.
Humans are my favorite counter-example; yet, I love us. Somehow.
Jaded though I may well be,
I seek foremost to be kind, but that makes you a doormat.
One seems to have two choices: be a push-over, or an *******
I seek the middle path:
empathic and kind, but also self-interested.
..something of a "passive-assertive" person.
Returning to the point:
I'm just an equalist, I guess.
Egalitarian. Individualist.
Sexism? Racism? Nationalism?
Why the **** is it even an issue?
Haven't we grown up at all in the last 10,000 years?
If someone's skin color, chromosomal composition, language, wealth, ethnicity, or where on Earth they happened to be born is that big of an issue to you psychologically and socially, there are much bigger problems going unchecked boiling over within you. The abandoned kettle whistles.
Good luck. Earnestly.
We're all counting on you.
People are people.
Worry about yourself and what and who you love.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
(Holding fire and water together)
I don't know why the rain keeps writing the
name of Nigeria on the ground in every corner.
I don't know why we are this broken and
tortured like the fragments of the dust.
I don't know why the Dapchi girls returned yesterday while their chikbok friends are
still in captive.
I don't know why every street in Nigeria is
known with an imprint of good leaders.
I don't know why we cry yet point accusation. fingers back to ourselves, who is fooling who?
I don't know why the sun cry here with a
closed lips.
I don't know why we keep writing love stories
while our brothers and sisters perish in shame!
I don't just know why but I think you should know.
Are you not the one that collected a cup of rice, clean notes and Abrahamic lie from them?
I won't speak ill of this land again, I won't!
I won't judge any one, no, I won't for the
sake of my unborn children.
No, I won't for the sake of what happened to Dele Giwa and Saro Wiwa.
We poets are abnormal psychologically.
We paints abstraction from the abstracts creating fears that might hurt those true patriots.
My muse fell out from me yesterday night,
When my television opened to a scene of genocide.
Men on pants, women on trousers painting out the tears made for people inhabiting hell.
Their laughters and smiles were printed to be archived among themselves.
I won't speak ill of this country, no, I won't!
Because of my unborn children,
I won't!
But I will tell just one tale for them to remember
Of how monkeys carted away with our monies!
Of how Snake swallowed our currency!
Of how good our leaders are, I think you know!
I have been holding these demons in me until last night they came out horribly in fierce protest to revisit this land again.
To tell of those girls ***** under the bridge,
To ask why boys like me are named after me,
To speak against shadows of death lurking here and there.
Nigeria is grey and black, red and violent,
Retrieving this oceans of mysteries from the hidden abyss of grave corruption is the passport tabled on the pyramid top to recreate a versatile muses of a lyrics calling for a right to write our rights.
Take a walk to memory lane pass your shadow, that of your father, mother & grandmas
You will see a Nigeria in another angle trying to free herself from the grip of corruption, then, revisit her tears and struggles you will know we are the cause of our own misfortunes.!
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
This planet orbits a yellow sun like ours.
It is in the Optimum Zone to support life.
Sure enough it has a wide variety of flora and fauna.
Highly intelligent life has evolved in its seas and oceans.
Its continents, however, are dominated by a species of primates.
Over the past 300 of the planet’s years they have developed
Some fairly high technology.
But they remain carnivores
Who regularly commit genocide.
They cut down swathes of natural forest
To grow chemically protected
Genetically modified nutrition-sources.
And they mine their planet empty
Of its mineral riches.
The planet’s ecosystem is being rapidly destroyed
By them.
Socially and psychologically they remain primitive.
Yet they possess the means to blow their world
To pieces.
With heavy heart I have to advise
We sign this planet
“No Entry”
For the foreseeable future.
“Forbidden” indeed.
A planet we call MW Orion 8478-3
That its natives call
That ever so common name:
“Earth”.
Paul Butters
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
(For context, I went to...)
British Kindergarten in England,
French Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
(And then completed...)
Undergraduate studies in NJ, USA,
9-month gap year in Hong Kong,
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.
------------------------------------------------------------
I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.
I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.
I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.
I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.
I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.
HOWEVER –
I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.
I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.
I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.
I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.
I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.
Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
MY
gender has a big *** problem
we think with our *****
because our brains are in our *******
a nicely curved rear
a subtly protruding chest
imagination always adheres
and the hands do the rest
in our teens we’re rabbits
in our 20’s we’re wolves
by 30 we’re lions
and 40, owls
psychologically volatile
emotionally detached
physically competent
spiritually mismatched
understand, we’re arrogant ********
when we’re trying to save face
we are also capable of shame and regret
not every jack holds an ace
the exterior is tough
showing only what ruses the eyes
true that a man can bluff
but even crocodiles cry
the next time a **** tries to be one
fret not, you can still have fun
start by questioning his masculinity
and move on to “you have a tiny….”
yes that’s right,
go ahead spite ME.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
psychologically, anything can be considered 'legal' under the laws of your own being,
even if your heart knows it's not.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
My morphine.
You numb my pain,
Then stick your talons in my chest,
Ripping through the stitches that you sew,
Proving again that its all about you,
It is, always about you.
You feed my addiction.
Adding more ***** to my prescription.
Psychologically dependent on having you in my system.
When I cant have you, I suffer euphoric depression.
I still haven't gotten used to the transition.
I am helplessly dependent of your love.
You heal me of my pain,
But you are my pain.
You hurt me
But you soothe me.
You break me,
Then you put me back together.
If this is your definition of forever.
I
will
take
it.
I will hold onto those thick chemical bonds,
Let it take me above and beyond,
Then suffer disambiguation as you tear me down..
Those slashes to my chest will feel like hugs,
Love and other drugs.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Dissappeared as if a dark cloud decayed the body in a matter of miliseconds and disposed of it somewhere unknown. Never did I see a single sign of being psychologically sick. Not one piece of evidence to prove her existence. Multiple memories of her wither away slowly. No discernment to the delphian disappearance. Very vague memories of her, perhaps she was a vision. Maybe, just maybe my imagination had gone too far with my mind. No! Her disappearance was real; but due to her irrelevance, and exodus she was forgotten in the conscious mind of others. Maybe its time that I finally forget about the phantom that haunts my memories, and makes me question my sanity. Gone she is, and gone she will be. So the acknowledgment of her existence is Irrelevant. She is now, and forever has and will be nonexistent. -V.H.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Mentally
insane,
psychologically
distorted
I'm physically
in pain,
and I'm
emotionally
contorted
©
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
whiteness is GMO
genetically modified genocide
like and from fascism
psychologically modified
historically modified
purely incestuous
time loop
amphetamine
attention span
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
Power pulsating between my legs
Irrational intrigue between my ears
Alacrity asunder between my ribs
-Heretical human blender-
Serving up cleverly crafted cocktails
I am
Spouting sureness from between my lips
I am
Stirring in sweet sultriness
Soliciting sour sabotage
Submerging you in salty squeamishness
-Colloquial courtesan, curtly castrating consumers-
Inebriating you equally with inevitable irrationality
Welcome to my "Reader’s Digest"
Prepared especially for you with my psychologically indigestible
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
the other day
seated in his office
I asked my stubborn, mean-looking
bushy-eyebrows editor
if he’d consider two books:
“Short Stories for Real Short People”
and “Truly Tall Tales for Tall People”
and he sat back with that air
(actually, made you think he wanted to release air)
and he said:
*“You’ll get shot for titles like that…
'Short Stories for Real Short People'
will directly offend people
who are vertically challenged
And the same people would shoot you
for excluding them by implication
in the epithet 'Tall' –
They’ll sure shoot you for that…
They’re both just politically incorrect”*
And I leaned forward
(releasing air myself –
anything he can do, I can do better!)
and I said:
*“Sure, it’s not politically correct – but it sure
ain’t psychologically correct, given our times,
to speak of shooting while we are in an office”*
I hear the Editor no longer works there
and is now in some publishing house
who are specialists in books on Accounting
and Engineering
where he knows, for sure, I’m never likely to go
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Scars will be scars,
the ones left untouched,
the ones left unharmed.
The wound has healed,
the time has sealed,
yet the remnants remain still.
The broken past:
fraction, fragment, fabricated;
solemn, dark, barren.
captured, cultivated, castrated.
emotionally torn,
physically torn,
psychologically sworn.
(When will the bird fly,
up to the sky,
freedom beneath the size
of the azure limitless dye).
We find comfort in sorrow,
fulfillment in hollow,
but emptiness continues and follow.
When will the shadows ever stop linger,
slipping and interweaving between my finger.
(One day maybe good news will come from a harbinger).
Light is what I need,
smile is what I seek.
Happiness is what I have to lead,
even with this little heart which is meek.
(One day) I will fly,
the cages will stop stifling me by,
although it is hard to try,
(One day) I will survive.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Childhood hopes vanished
When you were trapped in concrete walls
Pleading victim, charged as guilty
Time and time, I watched you fall
Psychologically manipulative
Assimilating crime into your life
Not just you, but all of us again
This family, you gave no meaning,
Your words are so empty,
Too often you are missing.
Arrested into an orange jumpsuit
The locks keep changing on you.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Man enters the tavern
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition
And provides a session brew
Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates
And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend
in a tolerant stranger)
Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
to the Slurry Pit
things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words
unheard
gurgle
over
his
shoulder
outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
drunkenly
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn
makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay
to lifes' celebration
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC
hidden secrets or beautiful lies
you write in me like I'm your notebook that's kept under lock and key.
it seems like you were doing all of this, just to humor me.
telling me not tell
because these are your deepest darkest secrets
but in reality your just
yelling stay with me.
I look at you
& I see you drowning
or maybe falling off a cliff
I know your reading this and saying
she must be psychologically insane or the godsister of Cain
but you have to understand my point of view.
you're writing all these things instilling them inside me
showing me that you value every single page
you say your done hurting people
& that's why you won't leave her
you know that's not where you want to be .
your heart isn't there -
your heart is with me -
I should've been more transparent with my feelings -
I admit that -
causing confusion
& feelings of mixed emotions
was never my intention
I can't let you go
they're right about that.
so quick to mention my flaws an all - a - that
but they're wrong
I'm sorry
I don't show love like all these other females out here
always all up under their man -
& holding their hands
that's not me
I show love through my gestures
my voice
my eyes
my poetry
& that's not something I can or want to change about myself
& I'm sorry that I needed space
& you had to be alone from time to time
denying what my heart has been screaming out
but I keep feelings like this to myself because I'm my own notebook
with my heart under lock & key
hidden secrets or beautiful lies
you use to write in me like I'm your notebook
but now that lock is broken
and I threw away the key .
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC