"rehabilitate" poems
Her spirit shines of skittles
The flavors you taste on a tropical island
Her soul is made of the first blanket of snow
Cold, but gleams so delightfully in the sunlight
When I look at her this is what I see
Something that I could never be
She’s a magnet to the people around her
Fixed like a child to their mother
A fire so easily contained
She cannot be tamed
Nor does she belong in a cage
The purest warmth you cannot disobey
I promise not to control it
I promise I won’t try to tame it
The fire inside of me is abstract to yours
It’s already ignited a forest to flames
A monster that I created
A fog rampant all around me
Rehabilitate my spirit
Teach me how to add color to my bleak existence
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
(it's cliché to admonish clichés in their entirety)
I. (love)
We are meant to live the clichés;
we are meant to resuscitate the words,
and rehabilitate their wounds
into a fertile viewpoint
where we build respirators from clichés
to filter the virulent dust kicked up
by the marching pigs.
(re-invented clichés offer back breath
in an exchange of circular breathing)
The swine contort love
into armaments of antipathy;
they push buttons,
squeeze triggers,
pull pins,
and aim where it causes the most damage.
Even though we are natural born hypocrites,
we don't have to let that knowledge corner us
into using love as a weapon.
The pen is mightier than the sword,
and I wield both;
I sharpen the quill on the blade's edge.
If need be, use the pen for a counter-strike,
but only channel love in defence.
II. (poetry)
The pigs march to a beat
of nuclear blasts
that bring poetry's flag
nearer to half-mast.
Poetry should stand on its own merit,
instead of leaning on shanks that hide behind smiles
constructed with aspirations of popularity
that churn out lazy, aspartame-laced lines
devoid of accountability and integrity,
or lean upon smiles filled with slivers
from far too much fence-sitting,
too worried about the trending majority,
to see the complexity within simplicity
and clarity,
or
propped-up against degrees
while writing poems that are drier than the Sahara:
husks of lines tumbling across dunes,
only to be imploded
by atomic-pork mushroom clouds,
their fallout marring parchment
into a poisonous terrain.
.
III. (dreams)
(revive, twist, and switch the clichés )
We must not fear saying "never".
Surrender to love, but never surrender
to the jealous captains who attempt
to hook and net the defenders of Neverland.
With compasses of conscience
beating in hearts kept young,
navigate through the smoke and mirror-smog
emitted by the marching pigs.
(we must never give up on our dreams)
Dream about the courage needed
to love everyone and everything,
including our enemies
who conduct genocide
on the language of a purer intent.
Dream about word-seedlings
pushing through the arid rind
of dying poetry,
in hope for a more organic fruition
to grow in our hearts and minds,
so that poetry gains back its strength and vitality
to once again stand on its own merit.
+/-
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
You are the moon who lights up my dark nights,
The water thats satisfy my thirst,
The wine that makes me calm and brave,
Coz' I am an addict,that can never be rehabilitate
Coz' you're the drug, who does not run in my veins nor in my brain
You're infected in time,and you let me take my time
You make me feel like,not smilling is a crime
This is my dream,it did come true
How i really wish we can do it like,
Bonnie and Clyde in reality part two
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
A space so unfitting
A space tired, not so uplifting
“Rehab”
”Rehab”
”Rehabilitate my space”, you pled
And I did
I did just that once you, out of town, fled
Back in town, it was going to be a monumental surprise
One that you and I could share and sleep in that night
That night and all the nights to follow
When you witnessed your new space you could barely swallow
Chocking back tears, I had succeeded in my mission
Now this space, you share with your new person
Does she like the color blue?
What about the gold accents I detailed just for you?
It’s your space, and hers now
I hope the dark shadows of your new space haunt you, watch over you like an owl
In witness of you two interlaced
With someone who has now taken my place
To lavender I retreat
That shade of navy and I never to re-meet
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
Along the brittle sandy shoreline fish carcasses, pungent like morning breath and stale milk attract unlikely furry hunters before noon. These unleashed dogs trot slowly. The burden of the sun cracks feverishly upon their sticky, rotted coats. Their tongues roll out helplessly dragging their intimidation down with them like foolish clowns on Sunday morning. On the upper crest of the beach an old woman sits dutifully in her black latched beach chair. Her eyes, beady and gray reflect out into the vast lake. She does not blink. Her cottage, crafted purely of cedar wood comforts like the smell of an old book. On rare occasions athletic fresh water fish pierce through the water’s surface. Flying fish echo their rippled splashes throughout this vacant canvas. But still they are rarely seen or heard. There are hardly any tourists that visit cedar bay. No oiled teenage girls or playful sand kneed toddlers. Once in a while a charcoaled pit circled with empty beer cans lingers in the morning light; its smoggy remains clings tightly to summer clothes that will soon reek of burnt leaves and gasoline. When the time is right, some noble person will try to rehabilitate this stoic landfill, to lift
away stark-lit layers
ill suited for human plea-
sures. It shall rest in piece.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
- Joseph Childress
Soft words
Are usually preferred
During pillow talks
Foolishly
I foolheartledly
Brought hard words
Harsh
& Disturbed
Which
Hardily makes sense
Since
Your sentiment
Didn't deserve
The sediment
Provided
From my concrete heart
I argue
Our argument
Was all my fault
I dumped asphalt
On the sandy beach
You provided
For our sweet retreat
You retrieved
My roughness
And smoothed
The edgy conversation
Tamed my
Toughness
And soothed
The painful consternation
You could
Ease the temperament
And impatience
Of anger management patients
All the while
Showing
The peacefulness in his
War within
Finding righteousness
In his right to yell
You respect
His freedom of speech
But with each
Negative comment
You seek
To find
The positive content
In the layers beneath
You see the beauty
In the mess
Like an abstract painting
Made for the
Artistically elite
My poor sense
Of creativity
Is lifted
From your richness
I dropped
Destruction
But always
Pick it
Back up
Like bad habits
Rehabilitate me this
Last time
And I promise
I’ll never
Cast a shadow again
I’ll shine
In every way
I direct my attention
Hopefully
Its not too late
But knowing you
My lateness
Will be welcomed
Like a homecoming
You seldom
Look at my faults
And not find
Greatness
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
The clock in your room is stuck on 6:46 p.m. & I think that's all the time I need to fall in love with you.
It didn't take much time for me to realize that your laugh was sweeter than every bakery in northern california , & that your teeth are whiter than my favorite sweater, & the dresses you wear could rehabilitate a ******* addict in the matter of minutes, & your favorite song is the same song that we were listening to when we decided that we're better off together than apart, & that walk that you have when you're wearing your favorite outfit could cure my severe illness for good.
It didn't take much time for me to realize that 2+2 could only add up to equal you;
that everything in the long run always added up to equal you.
Time is a funny thing when all of it is spent with you,
with your humor,
your simple sarcasm,
your addictive tickles,
your favoring voice,
your stupidly stimulating conversations,
your cold yet inviting arms,
your masterpiece of a body,
your god-like heart,
& most importantly your vivacious patience with me.
Life is all about time, trial and error, & taking chances;
& frankly
you were the best chance I ever took,
the best broken clock I could have ever spent all of my time with,
& the best error I never made.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
My bones never got upset when they fractured, when they shattered. They only proceeded to heal.
It is the serenity found after the storm that keeps my faith alive.
Choices all around, and more importantly within.
My bones never got to decide if they wanted to rehabilitate themselves or not.
They only proceeded to heal.
It is the acceptance of all that is, and that which is not
that keeps my faith alive.
Choices all around, and more importantly within.
My mind is not spatially located, but my thoughts prove it’s existence.
I see a smile, I hold back tears;
Frightened when I know the truth can no longer be held captive.
My mind is not spatially located, but my thoughts prove it’s existence.
I choose to smile, I choose to cry.
Truth so often believed that it will set us free,
But I have come to understand that it is the truth that binds us.
Leaving no room to escape,
unless concealed and disguised under lies--
Lies that are known, even when they become a placebo.
“I shall please.”
Now that I have buried the one recurring thought in the earth,
I have learned to survive with mouthfuls of dirt.
Dirt as dry as the bones I will leave,
the bones that did not have a choice.
Dirt as filthy as the mind that chooses the gutter.
Dirt as impure as the deceit I can transform into honesty.
I will not be frightened any longer, For the truth is no longer my prisoner.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:37 PM UTC
The algorithm we live in
has become the dumb
nightmare we’ve been given,
a constant flow of concessions,
sad contrivances to survive this
cog in the machine existence.
The fight seems pointless
with only minor bouts of resistance.
If history teaches us anything
it is only labor movements,
those unions that win men
woman and children
any real economic equality.
There won’t be any eulogy
for this lie we call democracy,
while men of prestige and property
have been constantly fighting
against those who bring the lightning
of enlightening insights about this fight.
Shrinking borders while expanding profits,
supporting fascists regimes,
whilst demolishing and reorganizing
governments that try socializing
their own country’s resources.
Our local war mongers
want to rehabilitate
the image that people hate
twist and change the slang,
rework and spin everything
over and over again
as the kings of what is truly Orwellian.
They are so close to destroying
the environment and
every human edifice,
every ounce of progress
in the name of
capitalistic measurements of success.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC
Good evening
We’re glad you could join us
It’s been a while
We have much to discuss
But first
Close your eyes
Tell me
What do you see?
Do you see the stars?
Or the lights?
Do you see the imprinted shapes from the world on the other side of your eyelid?
Or is it all just darkness?
I ask for I don’t know
Not unless you tell me.
The things I ask are the things I’ve seen.
But what have you seen in the void of your own darkness?
What would you ask me?
What would you want me to see?
___I know these are a lot of questions and maybe we should come back to it.
But sometimes we can’t go back
Not from this.
Do you see now?
Do you see what this means?
It means that there will not be a life were you correct the past
Nor a life where you mend the emotional wounds with your own hands
The wounds that you dealt, but someone else was there to heal
Where were you?
Why didn’t you help?
Make excuses as much as you want.
Please
Go ahead.
They will wait for you to explain
We’ll all sit here patiently while you tell us.
But I cannot guarantee that all of us will stay
Some will leave
They will leave forever
Some might come back
But I don’t know who
Maybe you already know
Some may even surprise you.
Through the crisp hills of the all-knowing valley shall they rise from the flowers; the meadow once layered with corpses and illusions.
The valley will beacon your presence with empathetic swirls of breezy mountain air.
The lone voice of the loved one that understood you shall be there.
But not the actual person.
Why?
Because of what you did.
Of what you said
For who you are
For what you represent
You can mend the wound, but not when it is already healed.
So now you must rehabilitate the person
Can you do that?
Can your voice be the restoring glimmer?
Can your hands be the forgiving light?
Can your eyes run with sorrowful tears?
Can you forgive yourself before you forgive others?
Will someone else do the same for you?
If you can answer “yes” to any of the above…
Then know that all of life’s wonders and blunders are waiting for you.
But all of that lies ahead of you
Not behind you.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
" Lovestance abuse"
Loving someone who's in love elsewhere is a drug that can leave us strung with out healthcare or no welfare
I'm addicted
I'm a hype for her body as cheese is to a mouse, but I didn't read the words that's scripted
Them very small words which list the effects that occur on the side
If I would have skimmed through it I would have been warned to only use her when I'm in need, major side effect is greed
Momentarily I can gain the impression that I'm where she want to be
Soon as my high come down she's no longer around
As my heart cracks from the disappearance of her sweet partnership; scientific term *******
In reality she's with him and no substance can fix that pain
But the reality and severity never stop me from using
And it never stopped her from choosing the option to provide me with her toxins
When my veins bulge she's in control
When my eyes are red I'm being mislead
When she dissolves on my tongue everything goes numb
I try to wing myself off, but I'm withdrawn by the loosening of her drawstrings
It's hard to rehabilitate
I need her in bulk
Grams and ounces is arousing
But now I need to be astounded by her pounds
Her motion and her potion keeps me overdosing
But would I use her all up if I could?
If her loved one became sick of her ***
Would I be alarmed and continue to inject her in my arm?
With witnessing how awful she treat us all in the long-run
Becoming a *** in the marathon
Her truth holds a secret within 400 meters
The truth is if she look, taste, and feel like a drug
She's a drug
Use her, but don't fall in love
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
I've lain on this horrid couch for days,
vintage in hand
ever staring
at this hideous popcorn ceiling.
A cheap white, low lying coffin lid.
You can never rehabilitate the dead
We are dead.
Yet, more alive than any of the sane people.
How I pity the sane.
Boring.
****** to a life of hell they are.
In these popcorn ceiling caskets.
And routine,
is hell~A
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Light creeps in through fogged glass
To a room full of smoking enthusiasts
Dinner is served on a paper plate
In a failed attempt to rehabilitate
Red wine stains your mothers blouse
Inconsequential in this small house
Dust settles into carpets worn by time
Like the family, never to leave Anaheim
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
You were like a drug, I knew you could be worse for some
Like an acid strip, you only knew when it hit your tongue
But I was addicted; I didn't care enough to stop
Even after a bad trip, if I tried running, I'd withdraw
So I abused the drug, and in return, it abused me
But I'd rather be ****** up, then have my heart and mind empty
it was a bad choice, but now I'm numb and I'm alone
I took too much to quit cold turkey after an overdose
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
2013 was
The year I fell in love with you
The year you broke my heart
The year I changed completely
All because of the failure
Of you and me
2014 will be
The year that I get over you
The year I rehabilitate myself
The year that I start new
And spend it on the people
Who actually love me
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Rehabilitate. Relapse. Regret.
Remember. Regress.
Reject.
Reject.
Reject.
Rehabilitate. Relapse. Regret.
Remember. Reflect. Respond.
Reject. Reject. Reject.
Rest.
Reflect.
Rehabilitate. Relapse. Rehabilitate. Relapse.
Regret.
Regret.
Regret.
Realize.
Repeat.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Look at what you did --
you foolish girl.
Don't you remember --
words spoken
long before the crisp autumn breeze --
the oath you took?
The promise you made.
Took some time to rehabilitate,
but just as quickly
you've left all sense behind
for the drug.
You foolish girl,
so easily you thought
you could control it.
Now look at what you've done:
valleys of fire surround the
shattered pieces of
broken glass.
The same glass that he said he could fix,
so you sat in the fire,
let the flames lick at your charred skin,
as you fumbled with a puzzle with no image.
Look at what's become of you.
Do you even remember what it was like before?
No great detective could
paint you a picture of the past.
Look at what you did --
you foolish girl.
That oath will forever echo in your head.
I hope you never forget it;
I hope it follows you to your grave.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Who gave you the idea
That love is all about romance?
Love can be towards anybody
In this massive planet
Whether it be your parents
Or grandparents
Or siblings
Or cousins and relatives
Or even friends
And apart from these people
Love can exist in other forms too
Helping an elderly gentleman or lady
Cross a busy road full of speeding vehicles?
That's love
Running a langar to feed the poor and needy?
That's love
Running an NGO to treat cancer patients
As well as rehabilitate them after treatment
And engage them in useful work?
That's love
Cancelling your job interview
To take a victim of a road accident to the hospital?
That's love
Dropping your colleague off at his/her home after work?
That's love
Standing up to a bully who is picking on a few kids?
That's love
Feeding chapattis and biscuits to a few cats on the street?
That's love
Again, who gave you the idea
That love is all about romance?
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 10:30 AM UTC
You militate my mind
And Rehabilitate
My heart back into normal pace
You're a Rainbow Fish, I'm a Dace
Outcast put in his place
He now wants to go face to face
With what is stipulating his
Progress as a human
His furnace is fuming
You are the one subsuming
His mind when he's angry
Now the anger is dwindling
He thinks of cherry blossoms and her smile
He's content for awhile
While alone
If he heard you on the phone
He'd be out of all zones
Not a single hint of drone
In his behavior
You put him in his best
Your name is lightly engraved into his chest
Only you may know about it
Since it's not tatooed there
He'd rather stare
Into your eyes
Instead of tell you lies
He'll hate himself
If he betrayed your trust
You're gold to him
When he thinks he's rust.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
By nightfall I'll be at bay,
Until sunrise it'll be gloom,
Weeping silently under covers,
Helping myself rehabilitate.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 3:43 PM UTC
surrounded by the sounds
of incarcerated men
seeking education
and personal betterment –
each day at seven I arrive
place my idiosyncrasies on my desk
and begin aiding students
in the quest for either a GED
or a college degree
as Oregon is one of a very few states
actually trying to rehabilitate these men –
for my part, there is a fair amount of free time
between testing
and the copious amount of research
needed to get 43 students
in two separate facilities
all the scholarly resources they need
to collect that ever elusive “A” –
it is this space in my day
that is a gift from the universe
as I have the freedom to write
and write
and write –
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Here I walk in the midst of the end of time
Chained to your memory
Tarnished, yet functional
Here I stand in the midst of the end of time
Pierced by your thorns, I let it bleed, admiring your work
You drove a blade through my heart and gave me a tool to refine the edges of my soul
Here I sit in the midst of the end of time
Your existence is a drug, and with no desire to rehabilitate, I call everyone by your name
I am swimming in uncharted seas. Swimming in currents of insanity.
Knowing that you will never return, but forever hoping you'll arrive anyway
Here I lay in the midst of the end of time
I cry myself to sleep saying your name
I look across the room thinking I hear you answer me
Until I realize I never opened my lips, and you aren’t there at all
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
Guilt, guilt, guilt
As far as I can see
Weight, weight, wait!
Its crashing down on me
Shame upon my name
Rehabilitate with blame
Change, change, strange
Things still stay the same
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 8:14 PM UTC
Note this my cohort,
debunk what junk crusts your eye
Dig up memory of that first trespass
Loyalty sworn to innocence why?
Note this disease given between my thighs
Come by seek now dolor of blistered
Note condemnation, impressive tongue-lashing
Note my enemies' constant rehashing
And how must I rehabilitate rapture?
Like lamb offered in sacrificed slashing
Yet given my pride, note my superb devotees
Partiality given as they come and go with winter's breeze
Note winter's cold and me on my knees
Between two thieves strung and nailed
Note glory of how love tried but failed
As lamb of sacrifice last breath exhaled
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC