"quantified" poems
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
Is there love for another?
Much like this?
One's that unconditional,
unrestricted.
One so free...
That skeptical eyes would miss.
The beauty in such a commitment,
can't be quantified in greens or gold.
Unbound by petty materialism...
That jingles and folds.
It's invaluable...
Only to the ones who would see
and acknowledge it.
It's coveted only by those
who fearlessly dare
to embrace it.
So...
Strive for unconditional love.
For it is the greatest gift,
anyone could receive
and bestow.
For it will be the sun
that fires
the beats in your heart.
For it is the abundant glow
cascading...
From the moon's
limitless flow.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
It is when we hit the teen end, does the world follow the third law.
We get trapped in the beauty of fear, fear of falling behind.
We need a guarantee. A certificate will do that.
Lately, life fits into earning and burning of hard money.
What does the future hold? The great worry.
It's all about numbers, and they say 'us' can not be quantified.
What is this all about? Sit back and think.
Here life options serve as counting thin lines.
Where does the truth hold?
Wait for a novel to delta your philosophy or is your will a build of simplicity.
Chaos holds fear yet a win, but Simplicity my friend is the truth searched by the one hiding within.
Life Hacking is a way of living. Those who follow it might find themselves happy and at peace.
Its all about being in control.
You can be your own teacher, your own university.
Learn, not to earn but to understand.
And create, and innovate, and be different.
Have the courage to believe that you can change the world, because if not people like you, the modern society would not have existed.
You are the fuel to the engine that runs the world.
Don't waste it in being regular, Be Different.
Because, People who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world are the ones who do.
Hack your Life, Be the Change.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
A strange kind of intrusive ambiance; voices in several languages, forced laughter, technological functioning; human activity intermarried with machines. The volume rising perfectly in sync with my cortisol levels, I interrogate my past for signs of the path that led me here; it remains blurred. I did not dream of working in customer service; but here I am regardless, moments of my life that I will never ponder again; a cascade of the present moment repeating as long as my employment contract exists. An event-less horizon, memories are stillborn here and true ingenuity stifled. There is much and nothing that has led me here. It is hard not to feel like a horse bred for performance in this place; everything is monitored, quantified, reviewed and collaborated. Performance reports produced with the fervor of medieval scholars translating the bible. I look to the sky, what else is there to do; only to see smoke alarms and aesthetically neutral lighting arrangements. There is art work on the walls, but is generic, created to defy analysis. The colouring of the walls is chosen to exude a neutral sort of trendiness; on brand for the overarching corporate image.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Believe
not
That familiar,
Wicked whisper
of
Dreams destruction.
Especially when it screams...
"You'll never achieve!"
For
'faith'
Is quantified as the
Intangible
&
Weighed as a tiny
Mustard seed.
Ending with...
Just
Believe.
~ QB
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
Pleasure
quantified
Propensity
Profit
Polyamorous
The boardwalk you dragged me on to
The time that we shared outside of the party
The rat poison made you walk funny
The planks that splattered your brain matter on the ferris wheel
Sooner or later you will realize that "the ride is not stopping;
You are going to die"
The hole in the beach
That took you down
Do not worry
Made sure it was deep enough
To muffle any sound
That will be produced
After you are buried
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Who counted hours out of the sky
And clipped the ends off?
Who quantified
Existence?
Who cheapened the flights of the sun and the moon
And put limits on time
Trapping limitless eyes?
Each day
Is one thousand days and each hour
Is one thousand hours, and
Years pass in seconds
While seconds last lifetimes
Sometimes
But my calendar
Has no capacity for this.
A moment
Lasts as long
As the glow lingers
When it's gone
And all the while
The clocks tick on,
I maintain whoever measured
The day
Was wrong.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
Take heed, falter not
Your time is currency,
Tied ineffaceably
To the heart rate of
Your Fiscal Policy.
Spent but once,
Priceless
-
A
Beat,
Irretrievable.
“Spend your time wisely"
Advised are we
But time invested
With
Family,
Often
Face-value perceived,
Too steep a price paid
When
Quantified
Monetarily.
Such an idea of a lie,
So psyche ingrained.
Dire submission
of modern humanity
Ever so
Intrinsically sealed
We even
Concede;
“These moments are stolen”
&
our time considered;
“...too precious”
© Qwey.ku
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 6:53 AM UTC
We should never envy the happiness of others just as we would not want them to view us in
the same vein. How is happiness quantified? Who knows the extent of other people's happiness? How do we know whether they are really happy? Are we conjecturing?
Leave others alone. It's totally futile to make any comparison between our state of happiness with that of others.
Let us learn to be content with our happiness however tiny that is. Aren't we lucky not to be living in pain or sorrow? To wish to have our happiness augmented is indicative of our discontent. A true malaise that would be.
No one can be totally happy neither can we have the same degree of happiness all the time. Our happiness has its ebb and flow and this duality we should always remember.
Happy people also have unhappy days just as unhappy people might have some happy days. Life viewed from this perspective is an alloy of happiness and sorrow.
With that in mind, we can assuredly say that happiness and unhappiness are not mutually exclusive.
If we can understand and accept that life is never perfect, that our happiness is only a contingency as all other aspects of our life are , we would have done away with that which unsettles us and would be a step closer to achieving contentment and tranquillity in our individual life.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Alabama 3:34 am-
I don't know much of time
I'm not familiar with ratios or denominators
Angles make me uneasy
And I can't deal with numbers
That my son can
On this I swear,
time for me
Is measured in segments of the roles I play
If quantified at all
Because I drive and drive
And walk and walk
And soar
Come join me
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
Perception, keep it far from me it means nothing…
The chemical imbalance…
distorts, rearranges, changes, and manipulates what’s real.
What’s reality?
Sleep, slumber my long lost friend, we once spent countless nights journeying the deep depths of my conscience and subconscious mind,
to places of pure ecstasy
Now we meet only when the black outs come
I guess there aren’t dreams when you die.
Inhalation,
I take in more death.
I dig deeper into nothing to try and find something.
Nothing is all I find,
empty,
blank,
ran out
there is something there
the white canvas is blank,
but I see…
I touch enlightenment as I soar through space,
my white canvas has become stars,
planets,
suns…
Life is all perception
keep perception far from me it means nothing
just pass me the death. Inhalation.
The sweet death fills my lungs, and takes hold of my soul.
My perception is a layer of my intelligence.
I can cease to perceive and still exist.
I hear vibrations at moving frequencies that can not be quantified,
I visualize images that can’t be personified,
I smell the aura and aroma of pure existence,
I feel the texture of objects beneath my flesh,
and I taste life on the tip of my tongue,
the taste of loss,
pain,
love,
hatred,
peace, and enlightenment.
I am living, but I am dead. Inhalation. I breathe in death.
I breathe it all the way to my soul.
My body shutters.
Time fades in and out.
I no longer perceive I only exist.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
It's late at night when you realize she's not the one you loved,
or anyone for that matter.
It's late at night when your mind,
a towering serpent of indecision and malnourishment,
a rushing stream of water from the broken end of a fire hydrant,
tearing through steel and ice cubes that litter a middle age class of numeral reunion,
discover the over-keyed lock where metal bends and screams.
Covered in flies and rice,
it retains its bondages, exchanging freedom for self-loathing,
Dirty-dying in single file,
a honey-gilded tune not thrice too soon.
I seek the corridor where my true love will wait for me,
breathing me in, yet the cane of a blindman.
A clopping corridor, sleek and cobblestone,
artificial and vast, astral.
My true embrace will be that cold one of death, knocking at my door,
pleading my friendship,
sapping from me ***** and calloused hands.
A wet kiss on the nose, a reddened tongue.
I don't know the latitude of my existence.
I can't feel the reality of my throat,
of the gushing and the breathing of winds,
blocking the eternal stream of air.
The currents broke, and from within blew a heavenly melody,
that pierced cold ears boundlessly.
Again, that same street.
Lit faintly from above and from the participants in its ritual.
They burn the wax together.
And they sink,
O paradox!
Together, with their victories of mental triumph,
they recede further into torment and inefficiency,
quantified and numerical,
arrange themselves by merit and consequence.
Again, they sink and plummet and fall,
deeper into wonder and beauty.
Until it abandons them and spills over the edges,
splattering the circumscription,
dabbing alligator skin and sunglasses.
Inspecting the damage done,
he lifts from within its belly a tattered and worn skull,
that of a Man, no less.
Rusting in the desert, alone and among his gods,
bone-dry plains and dunes of dust,
rumbling agelessly the shaken scared earth.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
to write one about this is difficult because
i think choices require a belief in a quantified time, like you have to make a choice by a certain time right?
so what if time proved to be a dead medium? to exist less than you thought it did? to think that it might be part of a larger social construct?
i don't know, doesn't that lessen the value of a choice though? you had to act a certain way during a fragment of allotted time, once again time being the keyword
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
oh but what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
we already know what you are,
you are a masquerade of excuses,
and your favourite subject of expressing
the masquerade is philosophy -
by it you find yourself excused,
but because the english undermined
a philosophical expression we've found
a weak spot, a diaphragm sort of speak;
indeed oh, what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
what you create and leave behind is necessary -
i just hope you find the heart to entomb in your
heart those in the modern era you found
pleasure in entertaining you grasping such
a vain effort of your frivolous maintenance
of the easily accessed numbers of similar examples -
sunglasses in the night - a ghost in the machine -
a soul extracted from the body in that lonely
cataract of flooding applause with one actor
and one member of the audience scared to applaud -
your creation... your immediate loss of identity -
but of course you were anticipating the organic
form of what would become a cohesive inorganic
entity - of the example that a mother even speaks
of regarding a robot - now why would a mother
speak of a robot? hmm? guess... it's a test for
a.s.i., i.e. analytically synthetic intelligence -
history repeats itself -
history repeats itself -
you analyse no difference -
hence you synthesise replication - and you call
it intelligence of avoidance yet waste it on
a test for intelligence quantified, rearing in politicians
to craft a chiral representation of intelligence
quantified - in the recycling bin -
so much intelligence wasted, quantified,
leaving so much stupidity qualified to fake it,
instead of the recycling bin, thrown into the pigs'
through...
indeed, you are not what necessarily remains,
all the fabulous discoveries of science, and yet
the burning existential questions - thrown at you
by the pyramidal scheme of the non-inventors,
the once proud aristocrats languishing beneath
the weight of new-money barons...
indeed you are not what necessarily remains,
you are what necessarily remains in what you
are already... in such great number,
as in the liturgy of history... an anonymity...
perhaps all you ever were was a method statement
of creating a soufflé, the fermentation process of grapes...
how foolish you look now, readied for slaughter,
attempting to clarify a famous person syndrome,
grovelling like a cunt-politician slurping attention
in Orwell's house - i know my stance -
by the machine being fed exponentials -
once only deluded if i be found prophetic on the street,
but with a house bound to a value
a suicide rate is worth in Switzerland (£10,000),
you think i'd pleasure myself with your tabloid
philosophy and wait for sympathy or disgrace?
guess...
it's free; a guess is free,
your little birdcage houses no sing-along.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
We're on single bench,
across in a single mirror.
I'm learning by heart you're curve.
1,2,3,4,5
TURNED.
Staring vacantly again,
5,4,3,2,1
LOOKED.
I smiled exclusively on my thought,
I can't make it detectable
Mirror will spy.
Gauged,angles estimated and quantified.
1,2,3,4,5 and STARED.
Our eyes bumped.
5,4,3,2,1
Ohh,beats accelerating
I am freezed.
My heart jumps out.
Sorry,I can't make it,
I am evaporating,
or falling to million microscopic pieces.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
What is Space?
We don't know.
Here and There.
Distance, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Ruler.
What is Time?
We don't know.
Then and Now.
Change, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Clock.
What is a Ruler?
A Counter of Repeats of an Unchanging Distance
From Heel to Toe, a Foot
And Length is the Repeat Counts
What is a Clock?
A Counter of Repeats of Constant Change
From Evening to Morning, a Day
And Time is the Repeat Counts
Space and Time
Ruler's and Clock's Measurements
Conceived in Distance and Change
Presented as Length and Time
But Distance and Change remains
Unknown and Unknowable.
We don't know,
We don't know,
Maybe
we'll
never
know.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC
the marble stairs leading up the leaning tower of pisa
are worn down like lips beginning to frown.
this is result of 500 years of walking.
i know a lot of people who shrink into themselves,
arms crossed and shoulders hunched,
as if they are apologizing for taking up so much space.
this is the result of 15 years of walking all over somebody.
this is erosion.
this is the result of thinking that
if you wear someone down then they’ll fit better,
that you’ll find something different underneath what you’ve chipped away.
this is the result of thinking that you can change someone
or that they can change you.
and i know the dangers of thinking
you can find yourself inside of someone else.
it’s easy to lose yourself in other people.
and i had this terrible habit of being who ever you wanted me to be.
you only liked me quiet.
you only liked me when i was easy to hold.
you make me feel how the lovers in the movies do.
you make me feel the way it's silent in the theatre while the credits roll through.
you make me feel miles away even when i’m next to you.
and one day, i caught myself nodding along to opinions
i didn’t even agree with just on autopilot
and i was thinking to myself, my god, is this who you think i am?
i hate the way my name stains your mouth.
i hate the way you make me want to talk softer and softer
until i’m not even saying anything.
i hate the way you make me feel like i have to pretend.
i spent so long trying to be someone you could love
and i am so ******* tired of loving people who make me
feel ashamed of myself.
i am a ten page poem with no stanzas.
and if you don’t get me, then good,
i am not meant to be quantified and understood.
everything i am is right here on my sleeve
and i will not reinvent myself for someone who flinched
at how loud my impatient heartbeat
sounded in a quiet room.
i’ve spent too long thinking that people didn’t love me
because i didn’t make it easy enough,
didn’t sand myself down to fit into the edges of their lives.
i’ve spent too long feeling like i was intimidating, too difficult.
i have spent too long trying to make
myself smaller and smaller until i started to
disappear.
i don’t know how i ever gave you the power to make or break me
but i’m taking it back.
because i don’t want to give away myself,
i don’t want to be just a reflection of somebody else.
and i’ll admit, i do not want to be as complicated as i am.
i do not want to turn my wool black.
i do not want be fractured into boxes.
but i am bigger than your shadow and i am better than these bones.
maybe i am difficult and maybe i don’t care.
because, baby, when you make me in your image
don’t you dare flinch away from
the reflection.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
Retinues of scholars and sages,
United in ages of our personal cages.
Desire to eclipse our wages linked in our pages, but always looking our worth in numerical gauges.
Truly the painful retrospect quantified aroma that arousal the mind in spiral, and the very essense of black hole is true chaos in it's definition of creation in us.
As I stand to breathe for a moment, I look to see that it haven't even been started, and what little composure that exist in me dissipated the foundation of a cup that cracked.
Gaspe to grasp that it is ticking, and the sensation of lagging is more apparent with each passing day.
Maybe if I close my eyes, maybe I can rejuvenate to start again, or wake from this dream.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
I saw a man once,
walking slowly.
and
once behind the plexiglass wall of a bus stop overhang
I saw an advertisement that read
BLONDE IS GOD
and the model was thin- and her skin was enhanced by zeros and ones-
and I was entranced by her.
and she was GOd
and she was made to be beautiful.
and she was made out of beautiful.
and then, on my way home I passed by the place again and her picture was gone
and instead was the image of a raven haired beauty-
***** and lustsome with bedroom eyes
and she looked at me and said,
I AM EVERYTHING
and smiled, adding bluntly,
BUY MY BODY AND DRINK MY BLOOD.
I gazed upon her airbrushed ******* and breathed,
No,
I refuse you,
BLONDE IS GOD
and bleach touch-up foam, Our Savior.
and *** is God
and the Natick Mall is my favorite place to be
and I love you.
and I am i
and barely . -
and
YOU ARE EVERYTHING
and I will always adore you.
and
everything i have ever done, becomes quantified in this, tell me how to be beautiful- tell me how to be worthless- tell me-
once, behind the plexiglass wall of a bus stop overhang
I saw an advertisement that read
BLONDE IS GOD
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
Her mind is troubled and her thoughts are blurred
nights of endless crying
nights of despair
nights when life didn't seem worth living
You could never tell that beneath her "put-togetherness"
was a girl
who couldn't be in further disarray
She questions love and all that it means
her self worth hasn't been quantified
and the concept of love is foreign yet it lays beneath the fingertips
that type away at the one
who brings her the utmost happiness
Here is a girl that is broken
here is a girl that wants to believe that one day
things will be better
but life is unfair
and she has yet to have a moment of clarity
the moment of clarity that facilitates a purpose
and things are weary and unclear
so she keeps asking her self
"why?"
Here is a girl
who is the epitome of empathy
and the center of love
however, she has yet to receive
any sense of reciprocity
and until the reciprocity exists,
the world will remain to be nothing but an empty plane
Here is a girl
that has fallen to pieces
only to bring herself back together
again
and again
and again
Here is a girl
who has creativity at her fingertips,
but she needs more love, so that her creativity
can become the magic that it has always meant to be
Here is a girl
that has loved herself
and hated herself
and has endured more suffering than anything imaginable
Here is a girl
that represents suffering
that represents strength
that represents
a reason for tomorrow
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
how don’t know to get the you in: a dis(miss)ing of anchorage, akin to ungrabable, purpled sky, and blackvelvet’s talks to morning sand. to get the you in: a table top of no greed. legs of giveness. to haiku the hell out of.
we are in the process of stunned voices praying to pregnant earth: word fruit meets wet tongue. prophet with no pockets up sand up. in a world that is to know what your sun exuding sounds like.
sweet loathing, singing cell. undernourished, remembering only two tons of. bites down boldly onto wear. ritualistic sweating betrothed to thecosmos. shake loose my skin. legs of giveness, and something that wouldn’t be about you.
or something about you that wouldn’t be. hiding in the corners of language that mask gaping unrelatables. Unrelenting maybeoneday. i’ll decide to hear you (sh)out. the italics of Monday evenings.
Black tea, bumps head into mosquito bites on your thighs. oops, sorry, can i hug you? sorry. So from here we can deduce thetruth that oops, can i hug you? sorry its obvious, tied. eyed our lives in one swoop and now i’ll never possess of a series of creeks,
primordial. Like when the earth’s virginity was lost to the last respiris of a first dying. you as a plethora of suntan lotion3. but lotion is lotion, like the sea, it cant be quantified or split up into in order to be a “plethora,”
and still there’s no one to rub down my back places my black places I can’t reach or see and so can’t mimic like a leglessness, a series of syllables.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
I have a question? What do you see when you look at me?
A man, ***** hair, that I'm black,my croocked smile Or my poetry?
I see ,when i look upon others, an empty room ,A new plain of existence just for us two.
I say room because of the mental constructs that are divisions
Race
Nationality
Class
Religion
Its not I'm me and you are you
It should be we,banded together just to get through,
Our lives.
We differ by so little,
Why we make the small contol us is a riddle.
I have a question why do so few know of the moors?
we don't know ourselves that's why we feel we need more and more.
Why is it when we try and impress others we are frantic,
But when I am proud of my history I'm afrocentric?
I'm not pro any race unless you are talking the human race but even if thats the case the problem we face is that we feel like we are in a better place then those who live on the same plain,same world, same pace.
The animals the plants we all come from the same soil and look how we've been spoiled with abundance but that does not warrent our decadence.
We have to destroy these edifice
Errected using false truthes, fear, blood and sacrifice.
Why is so much hidden
Why is the topic of civilized color forbidden?
Why do you have to be better?
Who are you trying to be better than?
Where is the quantified data?
Why can't we just be human?
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC