"recessive" poems
"Why is this **** man single?"
Why indeed?
He's tall and lean, nice but never mean.
He rolls in dirt yet always seems clean
to me.
Why indeed?
With soft arms that should hold
Only a girl who is beautiful and bold
like me.
So Why indeed?
Hasn't he let me
Tell him how good he looks
in his recessive jeans?
Why indeed?
Isn't he
with me?
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
~
*Here is an assertion
and showiness
in the expanse
of white skin – from her
high forehead,
down her graceful neck,
shoulders, and arms.
Although the black
of her dress is bold,
it is also deep, recessive,
and mysterious.
He stalks her
as one does a deer,
his palette composed of
lead white, rose madder,
vermilion, viridian,
and bone black.
A dash of light rose
over the former
gloomy background,
you see, and
the élancée figure
shows to much
greater advantage.
Her body boldly
faces forward while
her head is turned in profile.
A profile of both
assertion and retreat.
The table provides support,
and echoes her
curves and stance.
One strap of her gown
has fallen down
her right shoulder,
suggesting the possibility
of further revelation;
one more struggle
and the lady will be free.
Everything converges to
imply a distant sexuality
under the professional
control of the sitter,
rather than offered for
the viewer's delectation.
Her untamed wilderness
remains unseen.*
~
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
[Sidra of the Stars]
a goddess has awakened
eyes slowly open
penetrating...
light reflects off the irises
(recessive blue alleles on chromosome 15)
my name is Sidra
and I will not be diverted.
-
I stand under sol
I stand under the earth's satellite
I stand in the vale.
-
look upon my feet
the fine lines of support
and strength of design
golden light showers
my long legs
strong and graceful
gaze upon my curves...
silky
ample
hypnotic
look at my golden arms
that comfort babes
dig into the earth
and create abstractions
hands and fingers of elegance
given to me by my grandmother
nails to claw and hands to hold
look at my long neck
draped in silver metal and black glass
falling between my *******
hips compliment the
curve of my spine and
the upward tilt of my chin
my hair is a golden light
shining over hoops of silver
and diamond studs
crystal pierces my nose
lips soft and full
eyes lined in black, never faltering
-
this goddess is aware
conscious
enlightened
eager.
-
I will not abide
silence
undeserved
because you lack the courage
to face me.
I will not abide
deception
manipulation
or syrupy black selfishness.
I will not abide
injustice
mockery
or ultimatums.
I will not abide
misrepresentation
vagueness
or weakness.
-
I am Sidra
of
the stars
of
the sky
of
the night
-
I move swiftly in the night
eyes bright
a creator
a lover
a muse
thoughts align
images swirl
pen to paper
my body moves
sensuous and confident
music booms
lips curve upwards
-
the day descends with
distractions pulling awareness
into waves of concentration
tiny fragments of
thoughts and ideas
begin to build
for later contemplation
-
I know the minds of men.
I will not be diverted.
My power has been revealed.
I will protect the unprotected
**And I will stand
Made of stars
And unleash Hell.**
-
I will reign terror on your ego
and bring the sword down
on your garishness.
Naked and ******** on my warhorse
I will strike you down with silver spear
and you will pay for your misdeeds.
In all my thundering beauty
with nothing but logic and art
I will slam you to the wall
and declare you a fool.
-
I am Sidra of the Stars
I stand in the vale
I will not be diverted.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
this is the sound of the trees.
Its the same sound smoke makes, and the moon, and birds eggs and old clocks.
It is violins and percussion and arpeggios and singing like crying
it sounds like the Lion King, likes it the circle of Life.
But there are no baby cubs held up into the sunlight in this song.
There are no baboons who will tell you the secrets of life.
in this song, the zebras and the giraffes do not parade for the baby lion, they do not live peacefully with their killers.
in this song, all of them are dead, or have been trampled into the dust.
In this song, when your father dies, you are not allowed to run away from it with some happy strangers.
no, you have to bury him, and speak at his funeral, and plant flowers on top of his new home.
you do not get to become king over all the things he showed you as a child.
A cousin, in Scotland, gets that crown, because your father always hated you.
You get an old watch, and all the books on his bookshelf.
38 books on old comedians, and 1 on carpentry.
You read them at 2 in the morning, on the days you don't have to go to school because you punched the french exchange student, and you have been suspended.
None of them make you laugh, not even when you know it should be funny.
The next night, you build a bird house, with ripped up biology notes as the floor.
your mother complains about the noise, but when she looks at your eyes, she gives you back the hammer, and goes to bed with earplugs in.
birds really enjoy ******** on quizzes about recessive and dominant genes in farm animals
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
I have no interest in being a depressive.
The depressive gene is a recessive gene,
it leads no where.
Relapse got me treading tracks I've already been down.
And they lead no where.
So I say no!
Cause nowhere's not where I wanna go.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
A furry little kitten,
white, dotted with black.
No dominance,
it’s co-dominance!
Neither allele could make it through.
Running far ahead,
collapsing on the way.
Beauty shows in her phenotype.
Unfortunate signs in her genotype.
Kitty is diseased,
for heredity be cruel,
for her father killed by illness too.
Kitty,
a beauteous hybrid,
Her mother, angelic, snowy white.
Her father, dark and eerie.
What’s the probability?
Kitty be unique,
neither her mother or father,
finding a tad of both.
One Dominant or two Recessive alleles?
Neither.
Stuck in the middle,
Lies my Kitty.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
My eyes hurt after I cry. Every time. Did you know that?
Its like my head is telling me to close them, and maybe I won't see the blood strewn across my childhood walls, my childhood hands, anymore. Their assailants were little secret cuts made each day, desperate to ask for help.
Years after they stopped, my eyes can still see them. My walls talk to my head and remind me how many times I wished I were dead. And I don't feel them, I can't fathom them, but they eat at the frays of my sanity, the few weak threads, and start tearing the life I've put together for myself apart. Who am I? I can't tell if I'm a death-lusting 15 year old or a stable and happy 20 year old woman. My eyes get so blurry here.
Its so hard with this picturing mind, to not remember how picture perfect we could be sometimes. I forget the calling and crying and cutting for those little snapshots that make me think I ruined all of it. That its my fault we're not picturesque enough to send perfect post cards for Christmas anymore. Its hard to convince myself it was never that way in the first place.
I mean, cmon, Grace, open those burning eyes of yours. You've felt like an outsider since you were young. Your father joked that with your starlight hair and sky eyes you were an alien that they adopted one day, but the odd part is you kind of understood why it could be true. Not just because of the celestial features, but you never belonged. The daughter they wanted and made you to believe you needed to be was never you. You walked on glass shards of your own shattered heart to try to reach the strange plain where your parents resided, but the more you bled the further you felt.
But they lied, you're their flesh and blood, that part can't be undone. They gave you special recessive genes to a T and made you suffer as a child for having them. To top it all off they gave you this ****** photographic memory that traumatizes you too well. Its like you can never leave the blood behind.
Yet tonight your eyes hurt, even too much to picture the blood, so maybe its time for some rest. The memories, the blood, even they can wait. For now what you need, god forbid you admit this, is some silence and rest. There has been enough clatter between your ears for one night. Who knows, some people might not even be able to withstand such clatter and chatter for a lifetime.
Guess your just a special recessive alien like that.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
I am here
I am staying here
I am the same I am unchanging
I am a ********* perpetual
motion machine please strand me
on a desert island I will survive
by eating sand
I am here
I am staying here
with my back to the sun my skin will burn
I will curse the recessive traits
of my father
I will regress into the days of caves and
I will paint my face
on the walls and
I will paint my face
on the stones so
thousands of years from now French boys
can find them and wonder
am I the missing link
I am the weakest link you can find me
if you try
your fingernails can scrape the rock but
the earth will cry
and tell you I was never born but
if you scatter the bones
of your fathers all will be forgiven:
for God so loved the world he gave his
only forgotten son
and I sometimes
see his face on the walls
and
oh god I am here I
am staying here
I am the same I am unchanging.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:09 AM UTC
I hope the day comes when I can tell you
That I want to be the one that makes your hands stop shaking
Or your lips stop cracking
I want to tell you how good you look in your recessive genes.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
Trying to balance life and make sure my family that balanced me these 27 years is rough trying to give them wisdom just adding my 27 cents in this recessive economy. Just a quarter the age of a great portion of my family I'm gonna have to grieve over soon enough knowing they love me so much they will roll over in there grave as I go through life's uncertain escapades you just can't escape faith the saying soul mate should be plural one person couldn't get me through life's stale mates
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Jack Squat, Tom, **** Harry, Average Joe, John Doe and Mr. Smith
Decided to switch gears and do something neato
Instead of the usual nada and zilch
They went to go figure out exactly who's who in the zoo
And sure enough that's exactly what they did
They penetrated the mantel
Separated the crust
And stimulated the core
The Missionary positioned herself on her knees
And prepared to pray
They became metamorphic
They took the high ground
Ingenious
Sentiment
Fraternal twins
Both lived in eternal fret
One practiced fretwork
The other joined a fraternity
They both found each other years later at the amphitheater
They let their recessive genes surface
And clean the surface of their distressed jeans
Insane
In pain
Invain
My vanity
Is insanity
I'm panicking
The Golden age took place during My darkest days
Undisclosed illness
Indisposed
I left a bread crumb trail back to the poster board of my heroes and heroines
Masterfully
Mastery
Call me a maverick ,aster
Ask for me
Can't keep track of me
Can't keep up with me
Up keep
Big Mac attack
Crunch wrap supreme
It's not mystery
I'm a machine
Keep it clean
Make it shine and sheen
When it counted
I was unprepared and dumbfounded
But you'll never take them alive
They're already dead on the inside
I throw my voice
A slip of the lip
Plate tectonics take place
Volcanoes erupt and coat the viceroy in ash
Cherish it
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
I hadn’t been told,
My recessive behaviour that took hold,
Had taken a destructive toll,
On my precious family as a whole.
She had called me to her room,
In a voice full of gloom,
She told me I shouldn’t drink,
For it had destroyed my ability to think.
As we cried in unison,
She tells me I don’t feel like her son,
The sweeping statement causes me to die,
As I watch my loving mother cry.
It was in this moment of heartbreak,
As my entire body started to ache,
I noticed in the last few months without a heart that sang loud,
We were all witnessing the Death of Jack Youd.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
The are fragments in the space
inside my father,
allocations of
belts and birchwood and driftwood, or
coin covered wishing trees,
safe as houses
without enough windows.
In shallow places, he tells me
'swallow your chewing gum
and limp into cemetery
grounds. I will forget you
as if you were alive"
Everything he says has
water under it.
It doesn't sit, or stay, or
take root in any meaningful sense.
I guess that's when this all started.
why I stuff an entire pieces of cake in
my mouth just to stay
silent.
I wonder if it's recessive,
this un-satiated need to fill
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
I skip breakfast,
I spill my tea,
I've never won a contest,
Outside I'm a mess when i ***
I bite my nails,
I forget to brush my hair,
Tests I often fail,
Food I'm reluctant to share.
When you'd quote films,
I didn't understand,
But I'd always just want to hold your hand.
I got nervous before we'd kiss,
Afraid I'd do it wrong,
But its you the most i miss,
You're still here but we're gone.
I struggle when i count,
I find books hard to read,
I flinch when people shout,
I have a weird memory.
I'm overly apologetic,
Oh, how pathetic,
The definition of passive.
Aggressive, recessive
One big hidden message
I bear this crown of thorns,
Upon this twisted head,
From those I have been scorn,
Internally left for dead,
Eternally left forlorn.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
Head is pounding
Heart is sounding
I can feel it
in my bones,
the enmity within.
Skin is pulsing
Mind convulsing
My thoughts wander
to somewhere
violent and empty.
Fists are shaking
Knees are breaking
Yet I pretend
that I am
triumphantly merry.
Lies are spoken
My heart broken
But this time my
words will be
shamelessly recessive,
And my anger
will subside
into it's submission,
Like the rest of me.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Growing up, I always knew something was off. We didnt pray or have "family home evenings" and we certainly weren't included in block parties. Our family was different, sure. I was scolded by neighbors for displaying my shoulders and was constantly interrogated about my bruises. Excuse me if I resemble a peach. Despite the crude remarks and concerning looks, I never considered myself to be anything other than normal. Kids would ask me why my family is an assortment of colors. Similar to a fruit basket. Yes, my sister is blonde and yes she has blue eyes. No, neither of my parents do. My brother is not Hispanic, and no, neither am I. Not that its any of your business. They call it a broken home but it never seemed broken. My brothers got two Christmases and my sister got yearly vacations so how do you call that damaged? It wasn't until later that I learned where that phrase came from. My brothers dad was always a kind man and he was nice enough to teach me the effects drugs have on a marriage. And he showed me that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. My sister, on the other hand never knew her father and her mother was just a story. Though all her life, she saw the man that provided her shelter as the man that provided her life but that was false interpretation. Her fair skin wasnt a recessive gene. The figure I call dad turned out to be great with fiction and I wish he still was. Because the girl that shared the same room as me doesnt share the same blood and you didn't care enough to share that with us. I still love her, of course. I'm just saying, it would've been nice to know. I may not know her last name but it seems to me, the only stranger is you. It wasn't right of your wife to take a bite off the forbidden fruit but don't you know that lying is sinning too? Who are you to tell me how to live righteously when my entire life wasn't right? You always told me to see you as I see god but I never told you that I don't like religion. I'm not too bad with fiction either. I guess I got that from you.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
When juiced a spore sized embryo, early in utero; fetus
evinces atavistic miniaturization,
where nascent differentiation wrought
physical resemblance to - seek reachers,
sans Tarzan and Jane forebears,
or exemplification of religious embodiments writ upon taut
lee helical real to reel strung nano deoxyribonucleic acid,
where dome min ant
ander recessive traits pop sic cull, and/or mom genes sought
took comb hing gull, where foxy fiery hander chrome hat tick
microscopic threads ineluctably
hired bot to weave warp and woof for naught
heard interpretive soundcloud issue onomatopoetic beat,
whether as:
the Marseillaise, muezzin, or reveille blown in the wind
by alimentary mechanic, *** killed in all manner of ought
tow mobile craftsmanship, which possibly inflated and made pregnant,
when one seem n
thrashes within timed zona pellucida drawbridge,
hooping an ova to snag,
though odds stacked against the most basic cell fish competition fought
in the **** z of evolutionary biology informing **** sapiens
one errant or defiant game gamete perhaps hinting a gamine
tubby wonderfully woven with wisps viz The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do a ha at last that renegade oocyte
nabbed, analogously the Michael Phelps re: among the flagellated
madding crowdsource qua squirming sperm-faction caught
thence the commencement when trappings for a newborn bought
years later reviewing prenatal sonograms with grown son or daughter
pointing out how ***** editorialized, epitomized, and exemplified
in miniature (no bigger than any letter of the alphabet),
and closely resembled many creatures extant throughout the briny deep
such as an amphibian, reptile or Argonaut.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
A season for dubious
let profane intrude indignity here
hasten propriety of learned stock ***********
a recessive gene was inherited by told orient
where least were optimistic died
and transfer went cain
those amassed would wane entirely till dawn
again ancestors sensors of hate not doubt of such interest.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
Lipstick stains my shirt,
red like a speck of blood
smells of amber and wood.
Figurative like a dagger’s point.
A swift, preemptive approach,
a faithful sinner’s broach.
Punctured mind, drained,
red wine numbs me to faint
relentless, battering pain.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Bigot spigot on:
Bloviator gladiator
Spewing racist rhetoric:
"Multiracial intersectional
Non-Ableist unpacked transphobalist
Micro-recessive-macro-regressive
Cis-gendered 4th-wave femininizer
**** nonsense!"
—Every Archie Bunker
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
Spare change to alter
a tiny density.
Densely packed clothes
folded in upon themselves
like possessed spines,
toothbrush thistles spread about
like a lover's hairs on my sweater.
Only visible upon scrutiny.
Why me, denying my responsibility?
Could I blame gravity
for spilling myself on the floor
of peace?
Falling to pieces,
falling, cascading, rain-dropping
like tears,
tearing open new arguments,
weary, older things clung to
by skin and dust retreating to
recessive elements.
You make an offer
I have to refuse.
But you don't understand the
reasoning.
I seem irrational, irritable.
The inn isn't expensive,
it's just the transit, you say
as you could the zeroes
forming chains and infinity loops
across your bank statement
behind their little corporal one.
You forget that green isn't
just money,
it's envy and emeralds
and I'd buy one but I'm too filled
with the other,
so you call me a diamond in the rough.
Do you understand
the pauses between pulses,
the reason I pay for promises?
I protect myself from myself
but pride cried and I could die if I
accept what you're trying to give.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
I've always loved you, even before I knew you. I dreamed of you, faceless; your blurred eyes staring back at mine. Sometimes we go out at night just because it seems the world is ours when everyone else is asleep. What does God think when someone sins? Maybe he feels half the heartbreak I did when you said goodbye. It was just a crack in the wall, but you hit it again and the house caved in. As you choked on the rubble, you wondered why any of this was real. I constantly challenge myself to think of problems with impossible solutions. They keep my mind off of you. Your friends still ask about you; I can never answer them. You're more of a mystery to me than God is to any of us. Does the moon weep over how recessive she is to the sun? I can't stand words like "betrayal" or "alone". They pull the strings that make me vulnerable. When you said you'd wait, did you mean it? Or will I come running to you just to see your eyes on someone else, your lips on theirs?
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Initiate....
Bit the bait
Big rebate
******* skate
Running late
Potential mate
Blind date
Recessive trait
Ill fate
Hell's gate
Trepidate
I hate
Restate
Subjugate
Annihilate
Remediate
**********
Heart rate
Hydrate
Terminate
Clean slate....
Initiate
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 5:34 AM UTC