"punishable" poems
by definition,
lust is
extreme ****** desire for someone
by nature,
lust is
uncontrollable...
I'm attracted to my thirty-seven year old male teacher
and my eighteen year old male coworker
and the quirky girl who sits behind me in history,
what?
by religion,
lust is
a sin, punishable by Hell,
whatever that is.
lust is unavoidable,
but socially unacceptable to act upon.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
[I accidentally deleted this, so now I'm reposting it]
This is not an attack, it is expression.
*This apparently isn't a very popular subject,
but then again, when has popularity changed anyone's mind..*
--
**** the 'Selective Service System'; the SSS.
It's neo-conscription.
FDR made us a deal we couldn't refuse
which included a stipulation
that about half of us still cannot refuse:
Selective Service
also known as
Peacetime Draft
But only for males. Only the males.
Not the females, though. Oh, no, not the females;
We need the Females
to bake the next batch of mindless soldiers/housewives/neoslaves.
We need the women to uphold the status-quo.
We need our women
to remain passive, docile, and beautiful ******* doormats
for our glorious and infallible western society.
We need our women
to be complaint, subservient, sex-starved, archaic-gender-role embodiments.
I see it as overtly 'cherry-picking' as well as misogyny both ways;
sexist, selfish, and prejudiced on both sides:
'Feminists' (read: Feminazis) claim to plea for true gender equality, but here is my plea:
If such is true, where then are their demands for mandatory selective service?
Why do they feel above reproach when it comes to the unsavory sides of society?
Why do they turn a blind eye to the ******* Draft if they ***** up such a storm about equality?
Why is it not a federal offense punishable by a $250,000 fine as well as up to 5 years in prison
for a female to not sign their life away to the military from when they turn 18 until at least 25?
How is that 'gender equality'?
Huh?
They, too, are cherry-picking.
-
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
In an instance,
I felt a calmness sweep across my body.
My body free of any restriction.
Her being my release.
Sweet liberties
Utilized by the touch of lips.
A period punctuated by perched lips.
Released in ounces of color.
The way she loved.
My tongue swirled around hers.
Fingers wrapped around her waist.
Brown peach flavored skin.
My addiction a place for her to stay,
Her bag broken down; piece by piece.
A home away from home.
Until the day she left.
I consulted family, I reached out to friends.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
My vacancy left colorless.
Bland.
My tree grown fruitless
Revealed to me in bitter hunger.
The realization of perception.
Nothing left to fill my hands.
This vacancy punishable by death.
A ****** filled by her alone.
My fingers around her waist.
Her love sticky, sweet.
Swirling around my tongue.
My eyes left low
Anticipating her return.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
I haven't spoken to them since
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
Anwar Ibrahim
Convicted of ****** in 2008
Acquitted in 2012
The Court of Appeal overturned the acquittal
He is currently serving his sentence
An aide to Anwar
Said he was sodomized by Anwar
****** even if consensual
Is punishable by up to 20 years in Malaysia
Anwar responded the complaint was politically motivated
Support for Anwar grown stronger
His wife is battling his conviction
Some say that political rival Dr. Mahathir
Will recover from his decrease in popularity
And remain in control
Because he helped Malaysia through a though economic time
Although it seems as though Anwar is gaining support
From a majority of the Malaysian people
Human rights groups accused Malaysia's government of using
An anachronistic colonial era law that criminalizes
"Carnal *********** against the order of nature"
To persecute Anwar
Anwar leads a three-party opposition that has become
Increasingly popular in the predominantly Muslim nation
This is not just
Anwar has been wrongly accused
I will pray for his wife
And his supporters
Stay strong Anwar
You are an innocent man
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Tired of living in a false paradise of consumption,
suffering everyday our labored prostitution,
trade in your hours for a handful of scraps,
smile while your master puts the cigar out on your back,
this is the workers symphony,
aching joints, aching psyche,
smothered in whiskey to **** the pain,
our autonomous freedom we'll never regain,
slave till you die, laugh till it hurts, your meaning in life, to merely survive,
collect your checks week after week, creative minds stomped out, just smile and drink,
be a good slave except your fate,
it's just the way it is boy get back in your place,
we gravel in dispair, they spit in our face,
we waste our lives away,
on our hands and knees but we just smile and drink,
thinking about breaking these chains,
it's punishable by law,
authority laughs when you die slow for your keep,
with your eyes wide shut,
don't wake your slumber,
it's all a bad dream,
just go back to sleep,
and forget life's blunder
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Arachne’s Shadow
Silver spindles manifest, each one
unique; artistry
at the tip of eight long
fingers--crafted carefully to
catch curious creatures;
trapped by the allure of Circe’s
web of lies. Glistening
and bright from distances, yet
dead upon impact; sticky, dull.
A corner, so decorated with
cobwebs and dust; Arachne
spins her loom in the dark, a room,
that is used seldom, with the exception
of the dinner show; always
on time, 8 o’clock sharp. Witness
the cunning I lack, benevolence
she disregards; a fly—simple in intelligence,
but chaotic when trapped
in a small room; nuisances
that need dealing with.
Once caught, the struggling ignorant
victim chokes on
mistakes of days past, cheating on
a test, beating the ******* boy; observed
errors of judgment, punishable by death.
Every victim is different, but each is caught
screaming, praying, gasping
for life, only to be
muffled, hushed, stifled; No remorse
during mealtime.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
A Monday Poem
I always forget:
Is today the first day of this week,
Or is this week the first week of today?
This subtle reordering reminds me that structures we place on pedestals
And signify through complex rituals
Are banal and meaningless
As traveling for some unknown, still, despised enterprise
And yet:
To ignore the difference between a month, a May
Or more particularly, a week and day
Is offensive,
Punishable, even, if maintained
By being made redundant at a job we hate
In the same way days become weeks
--Or was it the other way?—
We slowly fall into line
Our whole civilization is founded on such times
Delineation between yours and mines
Months and seasons, seasons climes
Climes and seasons, suns and shines
Generations and centuries,
Januaries and Februaries
We maintain our separation
And produce indoctrination
With the idea that Monday is a rhyme
Which ends with giving more than half your time
To the owner who insists
With pleated pants and flinching fists
The difference between week and day
Is a year’s labor
Handing out stock animal’s salaries
To the ones who know the difference between
Week and day.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
No one tenders their own opinions anymore,
They just succumb to a majority.
Seeking enlightenment,
Punishable offenses of opening eyes.
Everyone is a vessel,
Filling themselves with the "right words,"
Rhetoric chains them in ignorance live on television.
They've snuffed out the flame,
We let them,
Because you listen and never speak.
Because you fear thought,
Fear isolation.
Free thought as a weapon,
Free speech as a banner,
Free people as a rebellion.
Challenge me then,
And challenge each other,
That we may more respect one another.
Not that they agree but that they contribute,
To a nobler enterprise,
Of living to offend our brothers.
If the world is moving forward,
But we are all still the same,
Can you call it progress?
It's a regress to nothingness.
We're void of conviction,
Apt to choose sides,
But not to make tides,
When we create a new one.
At chaos is peace when we disagree,
Seek peace in discord,
Seek agreement,
But never resolve it.
Dissolving ourselves,
And what we should hold dear,
Is when we lose ourselves,
When we dwell in fear.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
An echo in time reverberating reaches me again and again - - louder each succession
The silhouette of a suicide splatters the pavement just over my shoulder
-A piece of trash to be thrown away.
But disregard this dismissal, I'm still with you now.
This stain's presence is undeniable though, you know this has to happen eventually...
I feel as though the truth itself is captive in all this, for to speak it's name is to summon it's awful presence.
-A punishable offense to be met with seizure and entrapment in the name of greater good (Bah!)
Tell me though, who gave you the right to take the right away from me?
Perhaps one day you'll learn to understand this; that not all choices are given, some are simply ****** upon you.
The option is optional, but the choice is not given.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
I'm so sad. I'm so sorry.
This time unlike before.
I am absolutely certain I can't do this anymore.
I no longer wanna be happy.
There's no soul left in me to aspire.
If giving up is punishable, then throw me in the Fire.
I know Heaven's not for me,
And even if it is, I don't wanna go.
Please let me leave in peace..
That thing I've never known.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 4:02 PM UTC
Satin runs from dried stains
in torn reminders of convenience
Morning tastes of stale sweat and disappointment... again
Displaced retribution is a punishable offense
sentenced in hangover flashbacks fusing pain in lust heavy deviance
coddling complacency, impaling the nuisance of a persistent past
That serrated double edge glistens with humility and humiliation
licked clean by ravenous canine
flinging leftover apathy on unwitting pawns
Feeding on the deceptively needy
blinded by intoxicated cliches
mistaking release for emotion
Condemnation bartered in stolen commodities
Toilet water hydration reconstitutes enough to bleed
behind neuropathic armor and addiction to the nether
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
We Shepard children,
we raise them on farms.
When it's time to ask them for identity, they form into clouds.
How can we ask them to identify self in an overcast?
Can you see an adult when they experience rain?
I see children in coats holding hands, Staying in line.
I see the Shepard staff,
Still at large.
Automated to wind by reaction.
Punishable and feared.
Straight line children
Along the fence
Straight line children
Group project: independence.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Excuse my proclaimed innocents
But it's my finest stroke of brilliance
This grievance is a hindrance
Balance lost in an instance
I am being convicted
For a crime I may or may not have committed
A judge and jury will have sentenced me before my guilt can be omitted
The crime and punishment
Aren't fitted
Because it's a punishable offence
That I never owned up to or admitted
Trial me for your sake
Truth will see me acquitted
See I seek the justice in who I am
I am not worse or better my friend
My sanity should not be on trial
Is it you or I that is in denial
I have no regrets or pretence
I have a tough skin that just doesn't relent
I have a lifetime sentence
Time already spent
The shackles and cuffs
Don't tie me to your argument
For I am freedom in a pen
Try as you might
Come and come at me again
I'll write you a sentence
You will never see light again
Torture and hang me
Walk me down dead mans row
The soul inside me
Is stronger than you could no
Beat me
Bash me
Bury me alive
My written words
Will be the parts of me strong enough to endure and survive x
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
They cry about heaven
Even as they transform skin
Into sin, punishable by death
Or **** or disfigurement
Sent by the devil for sure
Wearing tonsures and cassocks
Causing their own brand of havoc
Ruled by insensitivity
Because we are the enemy
No longer human, doomed
To suffer the ravages
Of their bad ***** training
And lack of discipline
Over and over again
On playgrounds as kids.
They did it all over again
When in uniform, warmed
By the glow of popular bigotry
Idiocy blessed by some dope,
Some Protestant proto-pope
Who thinks God has time
To engage in crime in his name
So they can blame him instead.
Little else in their head
They steal land, and brand people
Burn people, assault people
And do their best to make them feel
Their god, their way is not real
And is not worth keeping.
Sleeping at night, nobody knows how
Now that they have shown their colors
To their brothers and sisters;
That they will **** mothers and fathers
And babies and the land
And think it just grand
Because they got paid
As they laid waste,
Turned the gardens to paste
Between the toes of evil.
We the boll, they the weevil;
They mashed us under their feet
No thought of being discreet,
We were fodder for their hatriotism.
Not patriotism.
That is impossible
And totally improbable
Once you’ve sold your soul
To Old Nick and his minions,
Hell’s hand-picked denizens
Who look just like your neighbor;
They labor at jobs, like you do
And look a lot like you, too,
Especially if you make excuses
To commit abuses
And blame it on god.
Savor the rod
And abuse the child.
Isn’t hatred wild?
Always on hand.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
The well runneth dry
Words like sludge
Are painfully excreted
Through thickened and broken skin
Gone is the peace from this place
All semblance of sanctuary
Eradicated by derisive battles
Of witless wonders
Still, words try to flow
The beauty in freedom gone
The art in emotion
Hindered by fear of judgment
Joy erased to distant memory
Gone are the days of unbound expression
Missed are the times of universal acceptance
Words seeking approval are skewed
Honesty is painful
Truth is rare
Their union is all I know
And it is a punishable offense
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
A cupid with a golden head
A smile on his angelic face
I had to shoot him dead
Before he put me in my place
Because I've been a bad girl
I haven't loved the way I should
My paper heart began to curl
I burned it so no one else could
But in the laws of love and lust
Such things are punishable by the death
He was sent to arrow the unjust
But I was waiting, eager breath by breath
Sitting in a rose garden, quietly debating
His light foots steps began to ring
Every move I was anticipating
He reached for his bow, as I drew the string
And I killed him with his own arrow
A shot right through the head,
I've never had to love again
As soon as I shot the cupid dead
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
I find myself in love with you
You have known it all along, as well
We spent many naked hours together
As you taught me to be confident
Secure, in who I am, in what I do
In who I am with you and what I do to you.
Having dreams of our sexuality, whatever that is
Having dreams of desire
desire for the married, it's no "sin"
Sin is just another three letters man has defined
Defined with a meaning so great it's punishable
Punishable by even death to some
And "die" is just another three letters
Another three we let determine eternity
Why, oh why, do we let the smallest words have the most and longest outcome?
What have we done except create roadblocks
Barriers from our own freedoms
Like all the state lines I'd have to cross
To get to you
To not be here, to not die alone.
There's a three that is quite the opposite
You. Her. Me.
I've never felt something so welcome
Something so perfect
Why it couldn't be, well, that's on me.
But I need you again, Magic Healer
Show me again how to be your lover
To love myself, again, too
Love myself inside you...... Us....
Us Three.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
To be as The Moth, born to the dark.
A fleeting fragment, a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be its own shadow. To not have a name.
Guided by stars too distant to hold.
To exist as a soul, that exists all alone.
To run into hiding by dawn’s first light.
To be haunted by, and to haunt all in sight.
Each light forms a lust that burns like a vow.
A promise of warmth that its fate won’t allow.
With wings, so fragile, that are pinned to this fate,
Its destiny cursed like sins born into saints.
Not resting at night, nor waking in peace.
For the pulse of the glow, we know, doesn’t cease.
To be called to the light as it paints life black.
To be deemed punishable before any ill act.
Yet The Moth questions nothing, asks nothing in return.
Never questions its darkness, or why the light burns.
A creature that lives in desperation of the night.
A creature that dies by desperation for the light.
Its symbolism, carved in my endless pursuit.
My shape stitched into the seams of The Moth's truth.
A life chasing embers no matter fate’s cost.
To be as The Moth, to find only what's lost.
Just like The Moth, I was born to the dark.
A fragmented soul with a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be my own shadow. To forget my own name.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 10:35 PM UTC
A beautiful woman once sang "My Love is Mine, All Mine."
Meaning no matter what I lost,
I would always have the most precious and irreplaceable thing in my possession,
my love.
I would find that beautiful lyric to be so smart, so true,
so vulnerably sweet.
This was until I had met him
I don't exactly know when he had went from
"Just a boy"
To:
My Heart,
Or My Sweet Boy,
Or My Precious Gem.
I just know that he had earned those titles quite quickly
Our time together was magical.
I was already a chronic laugher,
but with him who knew,
that butterflies in your stomach
could also make you grovel on the ground
whilst gasping for air?
Almost like cramps,
only the pain would be everywhere;
especially your heart.
One could easily call this love, but no,
I had a brain the size of a walnut.
I didn't call this love.
Everything but love,
A Bored Crush
A Little Hyperfixation
A Cool New friend
Anything but that.
My love had belonged to
me and
only
me!
I would not entrust it with a man!
a man that makes me feel safe,
heard, cared for,
not even worth mentioning, protected!
If you'd asked me a couple months ago
I'd have called it absolute bull.
Though a couple months ago,
I was incredibly stupid.
To let go of such a man should be a crime,
punishable by death.
Our time together was magical,
So magical that even I am unable to
glorify
departure.
How could my biggest boundary,
grow to be my biggest regret?
I have grown into finding normality in toxicity, thus self-sabotaging any beautiful thing
I could've shared with a romantic other.
How selfish of me.
My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
Please return back to me my love.
It has no business being with you.
My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem;
whom left me in such a rut.
How much longer should you take?
Must you make me wallow in my loneliness forever?
My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
You will continue to fault me,
for mistakes I was unaware I even commit.
My Heart,
My Sweet Boy,
My Precious Gem.
You have ruined this beautiful letter of dignity for me,
I care no more for my own love,
and self respect.
You are free to take it, to keep even
May my own mind, body, and soul protect yours, as you sleep.
You need not to elucidate anything to me.
I understand and will continue to grovel in my faults,
to reminisce my sacred moments with you.
Beautiful woman,
were you so true with your words?
Does my love really belong to me?
Should I even be granted such a luxury
with my wrongdoings?
My Sweet Boy, It would seem that, my love, it belongs to you.
I am unaware of whether or not you own it all, or a fraction.
I only know that my love is yours,
You replaced that irreplaceable piece,
How silly that my heart seemed to have
only started beating when, you clumsily touched it.
My Heart
My Dear Boy
My Precious Gem,
Our time together was magical
I will cherish it for as long as my heart,
beats
for
you.
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 11:14 AM UTC
Time my killer, my friend, my Excelerator through seconds minutes hours and of the clocks mouth. Tick tock Tick tock!!! Into the next world of my life. Only two facts are certain in the vast expanse of universal matter.
Life
Death and that bit in between!!
In this time we have to find out who we are, but in this world of sheep it's easy to stay in line. Breaking free is a punishable offence, where freedom of speech is dumbed down and moulded into language more palatable to the recipient. Media tells us what they want us to hear, fear is their only real message. Our off springs senses forced into the next pop-stars message of naked, ignorance, in these so called hits. Sell your soul and you could have it all. Or just go with the flow, and u will be enslaved by a system cold as ice.
Despite all this stay strong, positive in the knowing you are doing the best you can with the hand that's dealt. Keep driving forward, be a messenger unto the people of deaf ears and blinked eyes that there is another way and if we all stick together we are onto a winner. Have faith and face up to what is real. Knowledge is power.
Rootz Modebelu
5th November 14
00.30.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
you took the finger you accuse with
you took it and accused my insides of the most punishable sin
adultery
because baby, i want you. i want you.
and while this took place, i left my body
and moved into my shadow filled ***
and grasped your neck
and threw my head back
because i am loud
and i am not controlled
like a broken electrical line
snapping and shooting at the ground in a mass of sparks
like the fourth of july in shorts that daddy would not be too proud of
and scabs on your thighs from that mysterious boy who lives down the street.
secret, secret. mom i'm a *********
mom i like it when he hurts me.
mom he pulls my hair and bites my chest and i tnrill.
it isn't the same when i bite myself
because lord knows that's because i want to feel close to death
and maybe because he does throw
and kick and cut
when he loses it all
maybe i will come close to death.
maybe he'll just tilt that steering wheel
scream at me for everything i can't do
and then i'll be gone.
and you won't have a ********* for a daughter any longer;
what a heavy burden to carry.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
-Dear God..
Can you hear my prayers..
Or will my words be swallowed in the snow..
I always feared suffering in your endless inferno..
I can almost hear the screams of the afterlife..
Torture is the ultimate cost of sin..
-To you..Mighty Zeus..I pray..
With trailes of blood and tears on my cheeks..
Your presence fills my lonely days..
Your crystal-draped whispers give me a hint of safety..
Hell is only temporary..eternal is Heaven..
Tartrus is the devine punishment..
To the ones who refuse submission..
And Hades..is the land of lost souls..
-Tell me..Great Odin..
Can you hear the agonized screams of your loyal slaves?
Can you see them waging wars in your name?
Raising the black flags of destruction?
Or are you too busy sipping your precious nectar?
Our silence is not the answer..
We shall ascend to your Asgard..We shall break your throne..
Remember..Great Odin..
Ragnarok approaches!
Divinity is only temporary..eternal is Valhallah..
And injustice is a sin..punishable by death..
-Forgive me..Amun-Ra
I fear the darkness that is you..
I kneel before your divine image..
I tremble at the sound of your voice..
Redeem me..of the evil that is you
From the wrath embracing my entity..
And reward me..with your resonating light..
Blood..is the cost of forgiveness..
-Dear God..hear me..
Whoever you are..
Whatever name you may hold..
I beseech your wisdom..
They see you in statues..in Heaven..in death..
I see you in the verses of the Bible..
The hymns of the angels..
The warmth of melody..
The scent of parchment..the softness of silk..
I see you in the parades of death..to our sacrificed martyrs..
I see you in her braids..her voice..
The dance we had..
You're the beats of my cold heart..
I ask no forgiveness..but I seek inception..
A chance to start over..
To fall in love once more..
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
I was molested...
she finally wrote these words
in an old weary diary, tired.
*...at a tender age of seven,
I was,*
Tears rolled down and she scribbled again,
this old woman suffered, approaching her death.
I work as a nurse in this quite hospital
and two months ago, I was given the job to take care
of her, The silent and reserved old lady never spoke to me.
but when two men I guess older than her
paid a visit, she somehow seemed happy rather satisfied.
after they had left, she began writing and I became
curious.
she wrote further...
*by a pair of two teenage brothers, twins.
I never knew what had happened to me was so
critical. I thought they just played with me.
I grew up and before soon I realised it was wrong and punishable.
I...I kept quite.
I pretended to live a normal life
with a wretched heart.
the sad ones they say
but no matter what
I just couldn't stop thinking about it.
very soon I was a teenager too.
I developed new ways to turn my misery into laughter.
They... were people we had known for a long-time
and they'd visit home at least three times a year or so
and when they would I saw guilt in their eyes.
Before I could even understand I fell in love with one of them.
I didn't tell just like they won't ask for forgiveness
or I was not so confident to confess.*
***O ye tears hanging up to her eyelashes
find way down and wash
pain from her beautiful heart
with the same purity of aught.***
as she closed the diary she said wiping her tears;
*sometimes, I feel like the floor
a quite muse to adore
how important
but forgotten.
sometimes, I feel like the sky
the highest of prides
however distant
but remembered in your heart.*
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 9:42 PM UTC