"removal" poems
,***how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)***
<•>
human too broken?
like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry
the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading
like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts
so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...
remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want, can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?
the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed
so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ***** I’m done.*
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
They say to keep your eyes open, but your mind closed,
leave your thoughts unspoken
and your body exposed.
We hold such value to anyone who holds a heart,
and when all is said and done we rip ourselves apart.
I've never been one to wake up in the morning,
I love living my life to look at the stars.
You experience complete peace without any kind of warning,
and if you look hard enough you can sometimes see Mars.
If you go back to the year 1944,
sixteen year olds were coming back from war,
and now in today in 2017,
an adolescent is a child and an adult a teen.
We're so far from our natural state,
our entire species is cursed with cancer.
When we were hunter-gatherers we were doing great,
But we thought preserved food was the better answer.
Most live their lives now in a camera,
forever looking for one more person's approval.
Trying to reach a standard of Marilyn or Pamela,
but a step forward would be technological removal.
Let's look back to around 1970,
when people were still struggling with equality,
And most likely by the year 2020,
we'll be oppressed and depressed by the plenty.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.
The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.
ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper. He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.
An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.
Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.
Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
#
*The Muse of Whimsy has arrived.
I really feel the need
To take a break from poignant
and my impish humor feed.
A silly prank's in order
so I'll leave some noggin bear
By filling up their shampoo bottle
with a cup of hair removal "Nair".
I'll put a rubber hot dog
in some hungry knot head's bun.
Watching his expression
should be worth a lot of fun.
Humiliation is a blast
when dignity is lost.
If someone's feelings are the price.
well then it's worth the cost.
Somebody always loses
if your heart is made of stone
Laughter is contagious
but leave well enough alone.
Compassion is the brakes you use
when things get out of hand.
Laugh, but pass the laughter on
then most people will understand.*
#
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
I have a confession to make, I said. I drink to forget all
That my failings and foibles beget. Sobriety
Sends me to most fitful sleep. No rest for he who in his unwaking hours
Mulls over the wine of his life, which he sours
With his own cork of guilt and self-conscience. All mine self-confidence
Derives from Contradictions repressing. Catatonic sleep of great notoriety
Is my limbo, my heaven, perchance my sick death. The
Removal of a blot on the face of this land should solicit, I fear, cornet
Mouthed angels to sound clarion of victory. If I was religious
I should become a flagellant invigilate most excellent
Flayed as the poacher would the pheasant.
And the landowner would the poacher.
Silence from both. I take a drought from my drink, she a small sip.
She looks at me and I look a way.
Do you want me to pay for this? She asks. Just the tip
Quoth I. Another drought and a sip.
Another.
I break down. I have nothing to believe in,
To believe in foul dogma to wash my soul of sin
I find repugnant. Belief in Progress and people and
The wonder of Nature is akin to praying to the inconstant sand
Castle made by the hand of a passing child.
Belief in my girlfriend! More my love’s greatest failure
To grant her the care and affection she deserves
Due to my sand castle of pride in which I do serve.
And thus do I say, to purge all my lust
There’s only one way, in Self-disgust I trust.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
*the state or quality of being elastic.
flexibility; resilience; adaptability: a statement with a great elasticity of meaning.
buoyancy; ability to resist or overcome depression.
Physics. the property of a substance that enables it to change its length, volume, or shape in direct response to a force effecting such a change and to recover its original form upon the removal of the force.*
are you ready?
here it comes!
Slap!
having slapped you
with, to kind attention,
you may now recover
your original form,
when there was
no grief, no distress,
the great clarity
of eying the day's birth,
sweetly and innocently.
once again, you are
buoyant,
molecules of polluted memories,
erased.
wind scattered, gone,
blackboard erased,
whiteboard replaced.
you have been reminded,
even reprimanded,
for forgetting your
elasticity.
life, what ever that be,
is constant motion,
a reshaping of the heart,
for the heart has
no unique shape.
it's adaptation,
it's elasticity,
it's genetic forgive and forget ability,
is legend, is you,
you are legend,
You are elastic.
the human hallmark impressed
in the palms of your hands,
that cannot be erased
by time, fatigue, failure, or anger,
the hands that mold,
re-form for every need,
for every handhold,
for different are:
The hands that open closed fists
The hands that wave hi
The hands that are first to touch
and the last to leave,
waving goodbye,
elastic - tender when tender needed,
strong when strength essences.
so be elastic,
remember to be
ecstatic
remember
when you do,
you need show proofs.
Prove it to me.
Prove it to yourself.
shake, kiss, dare hug,
the one who needs reminding
that life is elastic,
even more than you.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
The worst thing about abuse
is not so much the guilt
of feeling you're to blame
that you should never
have been so attractive
so irresistible, so seductive
though in all other contexts
you felt anything but,
were filled with doubt
and lacked self confidence
No, the worst thing of all
is the way that when
it's repeated enough times
you get used to it, inured
then in time there's a part
of you comes to welcome
that expected familiarity
need it even, participate,
share the other's pleasure
But the rest of you
rails against this
taking of your autonomy
this removal of consent
and that part wages war
upon the part that
gives it's acquiescence
and you are fractured
hating your complicity
despise that you made it
in any part your fault
Yet to have healing
requires you recognise
the part of you
that went along
was no more to blame
than the part that didn't
it was just a coping strategy
you needed to survive
after all what else
could you have done?
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 18/10/13
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
A challenge to dating men
Is I don't want to insult them by calling them gay
Yet there's no way of knowing
Unless I ask
But I never know how they'll react to the possibility
Which is fair
Because the possibility of their wrath
Keeps me from saying anything
So I can live in a fantasy of possibilities
You may write it off as internalized homophobia
Or say that these are problems everyone faces
But the more I see the more I know
And I've seen an aura of toxicity
And the possibility of it's removal
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
my tongue tastes like cheap girls
and my mother’s disapproval
if I had any indication of a mind
it would be primed for removal
what a mess I’ve made of myself
and an even grander one of she
she really should have known better
I can’t even bring myself to love me
I’m vicious, and malicious
with venom in my kisses
I’m lonely and I’m listless
always your favorite sickness
seduction like it was seditious
amiable, and worse yet ambitious
sights and sickness set on you
I’m the monster inside your bed
like something similar to a siren
my songs stained inside your head
if love is truly a great battle field
no holds barred war will be waged
I will destroy and devour all in sight
no one will be saved, I am a lion caged
I’m vicious, and malicious
with venom in my kisses
I’m lonely and I’m listless
always your favorite sickness
seduction like it was seditious
amiable, and worse yet ambitious
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 9:00 PM UTC
To you i would give the passion of the sun
and the shine provoked from simmered grass
and if the moonlight was not safe from your eye,
it's buttermilk glow i would surely pluck down.
To you i would give the midnight chimney smoke
that sillouette on the sky putting cobbles underfoot.
Take my taste of salt as sea white mer-men come
a breeze in the laughter of workmen's homecoming.
I give the feeling when swallowed by field flax
pinpricks of cotton, i'd lay you down bare-skinned.
You empty the film on my flesh camera,
I keep the removal cuts.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
A student of the crowded breeze.
On a whim Raise like the dandelions' seed,
Vibrantly dissent like, in fall, trees' leaves.
An apostle of purpose beyond what one sees for the unknown is nothing and possibility.
Our lessons are on the topic of practical whimsy, in their way; the wind that cools your face also fans a flame and guides the rain.
The Sensei go by many names, I know them from the roles they play:
Boreas shepherds my turmoil,
A tempest;
senseless, cold and violent as if without vision only vengeance.
Notus shows my passion;
A gust to an ember on dry land,
Unreasonable, unpredictable and destructive without a plan.
Zephyr entices my love;
A subtle intimate current for dance,
The beauty of birds and bees flying from flower to flower and branch to branch.
Eurus reflects my way;
A flurry that moves the sand.
The removal of sediment,
the return to foundation born from action mixed with patience.
They can only guide me
I can ride the winds of the odyssey or resign to the winds of dreams
but I know
I Am
A student of the breeze.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
Love at first sight is but an arrow away.
If Cupid's bow would fire,
maybe this dead man's pyre
would be simple wood for a blaze.
Turn off the lights, and say what you see.
I hope it's love for life and a gentle plea
to hold on to whats right in front of you,
because you don't know what you have til its gone.
I hope nothing but love for you,
because I have already lost.
Time has past, and I already know the pain
that comes with removal of the Cupid's arrow.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
the original trauma
like birth
traumatized
from the removal of nativity
destroyingn connection
inside us
and out
traumatized from the suppression
removal of evolution
the exile of nativity
the familiar
the history of birth
destruction of what we had
where we had been
where we are supposed to have gone
traumatized from the creation
of whiteness
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Standing upon a hill, I.
Under black & purple sunwheel.
Standing with sword in right hand, representing morality and righteousness.
Standing with mine own decapitated head in left hand, represting violent and sudden removal of Ego &&& it's prompt reclaimation.
Standing soaked in the blood of the wound as my sacramental rebirth offering and cleansing.
My own next level of Apotheosis.
Kept alive by sheer will & & & magicks.
Headless mystic standing akin to an Autosacrifical Kali Ma.
Standing as Ego.
Standing as Godhead.
I.A.O.
Standing as Headless Warrior.
Omnia et Nihil.
I am become The Other, the Ritual Evolution.
Hail.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
I wake up to a repetition,
The constant strive for approval.
A simple undying rendition,
Ideas in my head, hoping for removal.
A subscription for success sign me up,
One hefty fee of-not enough.
Same old texts, asking what's up?
This is not something that should be that tough.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Maturity is knowing what your limitations are…(my daily chore)
<>
“Maturity is knowing what your limitations are. Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.”
Kurt Vonnegut
<>
maturity comes when you cannot,
even try, to fool oneself,
indeed, you preposterousness,
make you laugh hardest
at your very, fully owned, selfhood
preening mirror disguise
Is this a poem, a lamentation, a pithy regurgitation
of Vonnegut, and you say: “Don’t care, it’s words
that gotta come out, be released to empty the heart”
a daily excess removal of that daily overflow of the
days first words when new day light and nighttime’s REM
sleep overlap, and the music starts of a life time of favorites,
and like a pleasant thorn direct into your temples brain,
the leaking, then the spilling spirals unstoppable onto the pages, and the first true relieving exhalation comes with
the excited exorcism of the stones of your life, come outside
your body and there is a freshly born stripe upon your face,
not yet a scar for it is yet to ripen by healing, but it is your
creature for loving…and it is good company with so many
prior guests who have checked in, stayed for a moment’s
observation, departed after getting an extended checkout
time, joining the many who came and went, disappearing
in to the internet’s ether, where we one will join them eventually,
though you smile at that thought, cause you’re mature
enough, baby, an all growled up dude, to know that when
you reached that stage, you will be, non-stop laughing
at *** serious you imagined you were, and wondering out loud
why it took so long to recognize that mirrored visage as
one big ole fool with a smile upon his face…
p.s so much for that promise to take a break from beating
yourself up, but you know what, it is pleasing, in that way
when upon the grand occasion of waking up to another
unexpected day of living deserves a deep, but rueful,
laugh out loud and others’ look at your self and argue to
only mischievously agree,
you are indeed,
still crazy after all these years…
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 8:24 AM UTC
Beneath the cloth and within a wire cage exists a living, breathing sentient being that is owned by the artist. Although the creature may seem to be in distress, the artist gains an economic advantage through use of the creature in his work, and his economic interests are protected by law.
Please be aware that any tampering with the artwork, including removal of the cloth, shall be regarded as vandalism, and you may be required to purchase.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC