"repression" poems
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
It is in my blood
I can feel its presence
When it’s on the verge
To emit a surge, every time my heart beats
An impulse,
Scurrying it’s way through the crevasses of my brain.
Tainting the walls of grey matter with a tendency for unpredictability,
Out of my reach.
I hate it
I don’t want it
I never asked for this
I can’t slow my mind down
Thoughts so fast, hit me with whiplash
It’s insanity.
No.
I’m not insane
I can’t be
I’m rationale
I think about how I think about things,
Like it’s a cycle that never stops..
Which I guess could be my downfall
My vision says it all
When thoughts travel my mind
In dark tunnels at times
My eyes blind to the surroundings
Tunnel vision that make you claustrophobic;
You feel trapped
When all you see at the end of the tunnel,
Is the darkness of insanity
But..
I’m rationale
I acknowledge I have a tendency to be blind to my surroundings,
How can I be blind if I can clearly see?
Is life objective or subjective?
I just want to understand--
You're stupid —
What was that?
Felt like a surge, on the attack
An impulse
That voice
That’s it.
Unpredictability
That lies,
In my brain waiting to be brought to the surface
With the surge of an impulse.
It’s the insanity that taints me,
From seeing what really is
I’m not stupid, I’m a learner.
Granted with the gift of analysis,
But darkened by the cruel nature of impulse
To taint my minds innocence
I'm not scared to think about it anymore
I am insane, because it’s what you make of it.
Insanity grants me with the gift of perspective,
Throwing a million different ones my way
Ones that are positive and ones that are new
Traveling at hundreds of miles
And this even includes
All the negative perspectives as well
At the times when I don’t want to hear them.
Insanity must be embraced and never repressed.
Repression tells you no don’t do that, it’s wrong.
When insanity isn’t embraced, it is feared.
When something that’s inevitable is feared
You’re no longer insane,
You’ve completely lost it.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
He finds repression
Skinned naked
By depression
In ultimate digression
Healed by succession
Only cheated by obsession
Fooled by impression
In every session
He burns confession
Hated for his transgression
In ultimate digestion
He finds progression
He finds repression
Skinned naked
By depression
In ultimate digression
Cut by oppression
Cheated by misconception
Fooled by concession
He burns mental possession.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
Better the gorillas of Rwanda are given birth certificate
Within a brief while of their visiting the earth,
Their security is guaranteed by the state machinery
Basking in the full confidence of three meals a day,
Not wary of political repression based on suspicion,
They have a national day in their honour
Fully agitated for clean environment
By the political incumbentcy,
They are now the first class citizens
As the Rwandese citizens of human origin
Of varied political stand suffer under agony
In prisons and exiles, jails and hideouts
On the run for ever for fear of their lives.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
I put little stock in counseling, simply because it doesn’t work for
me. That’s reasonable. right?
That’s why I’m not
going back.
Because contrary to the initial irrational paranoid belief held by
not me, I was not
***** by anyone this last July, I am not
an altered boy.
Repression? Obsessions? Depressions?
You’re right, in a sense. I was not
***** by one man this last July, I was
***** by the whole church for the past 18 years.
I learned, or perhaps deduced, from Sunday School
that all *** is sin
that inanimate objects had a goodness or badness about them
that Satan was in my head (by this I was terrified)
that all my friends were going to Hell (by this I rebuked them and was never forgiven)
that its true: my parents would have gotten me ****** to death in biblical times
because they love me
that I could choose who I was attracted to (apparently by watching straight ****
that God needs money
that the Internet is of the devil >mfw intellectual open market
that I could only achieve ****** once in a lifetime >mfw I came
that God’s love is conditional
that electronics are a sin if they make noise and are inside a specific building
that all Muslims are terrorists
that I’m worthless because I’m a sinner
that I’m inherently evil.
And I still miss it sometimes.
I miss the taste of Christ’s ****
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
A dream once was had-- for two to be equal,
For this is the land of the free,
Free for you; free for me.
Often we hide our faces, as if we were the ones shamed.
Instead of standing up with another,
Repelling awful names.
Silence has a power, often more than sound.
Silence tunes your true voice,
Silence shakes the ground.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
Young students go to school, all shades of different skin.
We all threw rocks and names,
Wanting equality was their sin.
Did it matter? Their race was who they were.
A few rose voices,
Others’ silences were fists furled.
What does it matter, of what color their skin?
Here comes another battle.
Here it comes again.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
If one was gay, would he not be a being?
Should you let others mock?
Does silence stop the grieving?
No, the pain is still there, still loud.
The silence is louder.
Silence is all around.
The names, the hate, all can be repressed.
Silence is the fermata.
Silence has the stress.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
What is the solution, to this lack of sound?
Simple.
Make it loud.
A word of hope, ringing upon new ears.
A word of sympathy,
Erasing all the fear.
A smile, a hug, a song, a dream,
All to be had,
All to be seen.
Shout against repression, against hate.
For we are all equal,
All the same final fate.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
Stand together, as one. Make the stand.
Stop silence, create music,
Ring it through the land.
With your words create harmony, create rhyme.
Create thirds and fifths,
Stronger than the flow of time.
Why must we stand alone? Aren’t we all brothers?
Did our ancestors fight?
Protecting our dear mother?
Hand in hand we’ll rise, voices speak as one.
Cruelness and evil gone,
Silence on the run.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
If we do not help each other, then who will assist?
Together we will rise,
Or fall together into the abyss.
Gay or straight, or be it black or white,
Whether you believe in god,
We’re all human, right?
We all feel, we all hear and see.
We can all make words,
We all breathe.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
So why must we be made different, called by our opinions or race?
Why must we be judged,
Simply by our face?
No more, I shout. No more the hate.
No more discrimination.
This is our fate.
No more injustice, social and the silence.
No more acts of anger.
No more senseless violence.
Let brothers protect brothers, let friends be friends,
For we are only human.
The same mortal end.
Let sisters love their sisters, let strangers be strangers no more.
For we are only human.
Our heart is our core.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
I will stand alone, if that is what it takes.
I will raise my voice,
Singing with quick haste.
I will be the difference, the smile to the weak.
I will help protect,
Helping shield the meek.
I will celebrate the differences, that make you and me.
I will turn the lock,
My voice will be the key.
Soon my friends will join, creating a choir of light,
Singing against the hate,
Harmonies strike the night.
Silence will not be my tool, silence is not my friend.
I will make my voice count.
I will make this hate end.
Silence is the foe, when words need to be said.
Silence is the killer.
Silence marks the dead.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
Gone are the sweet words of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Gone is her radiant light that illuminated our world.
We have been thrown back into the darkness that haunted us for so long.
Yet there are no screams to torment us. No hisses to harm us.
Even the Solitude is silent.
Perhaps it has taken pity upon us.
Or perhaps it has learned a new method of torment.
Yet there are echoes that boom through the darkness, flashing memories in the sparks of light that accompany them.
The absence of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity has turned the passion in our veins to poison. We feel our very soul dying, fracturing from its touch.
We beg for the light of the Perfection, but darkness is all that answers us.
There is none to come to our aid.
Our only solace is the words once written by the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Yet even these words cut deeper into our wounds, twisting into our heart as haunting reminders of what we cannot have.
The mind cannot help but endlessly repeat the memories we created, its gaze unblinking while they continue to cast lacerations upon it.
We have tried in vain to pull the mind away from the memories, to save it from the anguish.
But it has become paralyzed, caught in a horrendous cycle of elation and devastation.
We are left with no other option but to numb the mind beneath a sea of liquid repression.
Yet even then, she visits us in our dreams, giving us the company we desired so desperately before, only to awaken to the twilight that perpetually surrounds us.
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
We have been forsaken, left to brood over our deeds while we lie upon the cold ground that is littered with barbs and thorns created by our own foolishness.
The Solitude looms over us, watching us shiver in pain as the blood from our wounds stains the ground.
We feel its harsh glare bore into our very soul, while the specters of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity eternally whisper her words in our ear.
Our strength is dwindling, and our desire to carry on is fading, for all we see upon this path is agony and torment.
Our path is wrought with cracks and blades from lovers past.
The Sapphire-Eyed Serenity
The Traveler
The Fallen One
The Distant One
The Nameless
They have each riddled our path and our hearts with scars that shall never fade.
And the Solitude vows that it will continue this cycle for eternity.
That it will force us to crawl upon this wretched path, relentlessly reliving this horror if we dare continue.
Yet despite the twilight and anguish, despite our forsaken soul, there is one who has stretched his hand in aid.
The Companion.
Unaffected by our plagues and spines on our path, he kneels beside us and speaks a single word that sends the Solitude into rage.
Rise.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
The Lion and the Bull
The Wolf and the Crow
How we met and fell in love
is a mystery we may never know
But, here we are,
twenty years in
and we glare through glazed stares
wondering how to start again
Your freedom of expression
clashing against my sensitive ears
My rebellion against repression
is warring with your fears
How do we cross this battlefield
with our shields in the air?
With our spears raised high,
can we show that we care?
We're ready to fight
and we want to join sides
together against the odds
for the rest of our lives.
070815~1.34p
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
"Justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream"
Martin Luther King, Jr.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brothers and sisters
Arm in arm
In grace
With faith
And agape love
Marched towards hate
And the steel of repression
No door to heaven is easily opened
Sometimes the only choice is to die
Not quickly
But slowly and painfully
The arc of justice bends under the weight of human sacrifice
They thought
"This is it for me"
Yes this was it
But it was time
Time for the signs to come down
The signs that said
"You here"
"You there"
"Not for you"
"Sit in the back"
Separate but equal
A lie of monstrous proportion
There is no equality
When all is not shared
There is no equality
When a night stick crushes inalienable rights
There is no equality
When a child is called a ______
There is no equality
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some people
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for some hearts
When the love of Jesus
Is not enough for grace on earth
Let me take a moment
To cry
To feel the shame
Let us take a moment
And understand why some among us remember Selma
A memory of pride and pain
A memory of the willingness to die
For what is right
To give up their life
To give up their complaints
To give up their selfishness
To give up what we take for granted
So that they might die
For someone else
Because it was time
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Divergent as always, I'm flying a kite in an avalanche zone.
Inevitably, from your safe harbor, you will judge me.
I yell, "this, this is liberation!"
But you don't see me as a revolutionary.
You'll take me for savage.
Medicate the unprecedented out of my veins
Cover me in a quilt of your culture, label it safety.
Repression of variation, of the noise and the bold, is optimal for this society.
Freefalling enthusiasm isn't exhilarating to you, and paint splatters aren't modern art
They are just a mess on a clean canvas
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
I’ve been treating myself like there is something very wrong with me, particularly my emotions. Every emotion I get (most often, my “negative” ones), I’ve been monitoring and trying to control, when all I simply needed to do was to allow for their expression and not do anything. For a long, long time I’ve considered myself to be someone ill and in need of healing; what a difference a label makes. To be “ill”, in essence requires that someone “do” something to fix themselves as a “problem”. The very nature of thinking yourself “ill” promotes action and effort. I’m glad I don’t go to a dr, can you imagine how many other disorders and syndromes I would have to “fight” and contend with.
A lot of the time when someone gets traumatised, or undergoes some sort of negative event, they always look to the happy part of themselves as the “real” them, or at least the part of them deemed to be acceptable enough to be “real”. They lament losing the “real” them. But who are people really? Are they only who they are when they’re happy? Does the extent of one’s being only pertain to their happiness? What if a part of me is in despair, what if a part of me is in intense fear and anxiety — aren’t these parts of me also real and equally valid as happiness? Particularly if they’re perfectly natural reactions to intense suffering and pain. These parts of me scream for catharsis after having been invalidated for a long time and instead of allowing them, I've condemned myself as being ill for feeling them. This is why society is in part sick; repression is healthy and expression is deemed ill. We drug away “negative” emotions for fear we are somehow damaged for harbouring them.
From now on, I am no longer “ill” — what a difference such a perception makes in how you treat yourself. Whatever you do is acceptable, whatever you do is allowed and expression is an inevitability. My intense sadness is not a problem, my intense pain is not a problem, my intense fear is not a problem — do you know how freeing such an attitude towards self is?
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
West reality made so
that people forced to consume
whatever material or unmaterial goods
here any protest is legalised
in form of demo
which is necessary surround by police
northeless there are people exist who are illegal
beside of refugees from east lands
there also socalled insane people
who are locked in closed loony bin
or hunted like amok
untill they really get insane
if you take separately each after other
their fate and observe it precise
you will find there all the evil of
patriarchal repression
what is the consequence of capitalism
patriarchal repression
which is so masterfully comuflaged in west
but since the victims, the renegades live on rand of society
no one ever take their lifes and deaths under lenses
just example:
feminists dont fight for the rights of the debased woman
in their neigbourhood
but just speculate about arbitrageness in Iran
not ever able to change something in afar lands
they simply ignore evil which happens beside them
every day, every night
there is pseudo-publicity in capitalism
since those who rebel against
become mostly so oppressed
that they never ever get any chance to
speak out loud
and revenge!
While those anarchists and punks
who squats in city and towns
will never give political asylum
to the one who's life circumtances
penetrate to be betrayed by friends
living on the streets and parks
and hunted by psychiatry
during anarchists and punks are not
real activists of underground
but just kind of subculture
which live quite comfortably in capitalism
it just funky to be anarchist or punk
and nobody knows how they will act
in critical situation
I lost my believe on socalled leftists
in fact they are same equal part of society
like bankers or yuppies
with a difference that they
pretend they still had some ideals!
known to many
believed by the few as
the truth
Accordingly my individual struggle their claim
is nothing as fallacy
whom believe? Whom with resist in action?
Where hides real iconoclasts?
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,
and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,
I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,
See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,
she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,
this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,
she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,
she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,
no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,
she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…
∆aron L∆ Lux ∆
#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Indecisive
Maybe misguided
I'm digging myself deeper in the rut
Don't make any decisions
But expect a new view
To eclipse my tunnel vision.
I wish that I knew
But the whole city knows
The whole stupid city knows that I don't.
I've got some friends here
Some that I hardly know
Some that I know entirely too well
And regardless of category, I wonder
As I sit here, lookin' at laughs
At smiles, at scowls
How long it's going to be before we don't know
Each other at all
How long before we barely have
Memories.
I'm ready to go
We're all starting to grow
I really know that I should go
But what happens when you don't like the skin you're growing into?
What happens
When the things keeping me together fall apart?
What happens when it's my own ******* fault?
A glorious display of regression.
I'm indecisive
Pretty misguided
Putting myself farther in the wrong
Yeah, I'll admit that I'm wrong
Like you were wrong
I guess we're just going to be wrong
About some things.
I know that I am because it could never be
It would never be
It should never be this easy.
It should never be this easy
To not care.
Make everyone happy
Put it all on ice
And hope that global warming doesn't apply here
Hope that they believe
You thought that was possible.
Hope they believe
That you didn't know
I know it's almost time to go
I know we're all going to go
I know I really should go
But I'm too ******* scared
To know much else.
Doing everything with everyone,
Attaching to no one
Yeah, I'm full of solid ideas
Ideas and ideals and appeals
Appealing for belief
That I had the best intentions
A glorious display of repression.
Why?
Well, when your diagnostics team is ******
You're safe to assume
That the problem isn't going to be resolved.
I'd run the diagnostics,
But I'm too afraid of being honest
And honestly
I know that I'm misguided
But things just don't come full circle
When you're indecisive.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
Who am I? Who am I?
A question I always find myself asking and yet I have no idea why.
Almost as if I expect the answer to fall right out of the sky.
But seriously, do you know who I am?
I pretend that I don't give a ****
When really it's an act; a sham.
Feeling like you do not fit.
Honestly it feels like pure ****
I don't fit into society's giant puzzle.
If my opinion is outside the majority, well let me put it this way, if I were a dog they would force upon me a muzzle.
Freedom of expression.
Really? I think they mean repression.
Do this! Do that!
She's too thin! He's too fat!
He must go here! Now put her there!
All we seem to receive are your endless commands.
Expected to follow at clicking of your fingers or the clapping of your hands.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe we have other plans?
Have you turned me into some kind of drone?
Is my mind no longer my own?
Are my individual and unique thoughts not allowed to be known?
Somehow this hierarchy needs to be overthrown.
We need to let our shining personalities be shown.
Celebrate Individualism!
Let us express, share and have optimism!
And even scepticism!
Being ourselves is a basic human right!
Thank you and good night!
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Hark verily my indignant venipuncture retrogression
Saudade anthropomorphic coveting empathic repression
Bask wholly in its self indulgent verbose serendipity
Happenstance to necromance enigmatic anonymity
Applied psychology catharsis my make believe aggression
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.
A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.
Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.
By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.
Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
The one the poor has not, but does the fool.
Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.
If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.
In the heart deepened with old repression,
That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.
Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
On this planet whose population is in slices.
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 5:18 AM UTC
Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
I came here to seek refuge
I came here and slept in refuse
And when I searched for help, I found no love
When I cried for freedom, I couldn’t see above
So I gave my life, heart to you
I fell into you and found refuge
I fell into you and I couldn’t refuse
You took my life and squeezed me dry
You burnt my soul and left me high
So I lost my head, myself to you
All I wanted was refuge
All I wanted was not to be refused
Exchanging depression for oppression
Repression for apparent expression
And I gave my love, my whole to you
What I found was false refuge
What I needed was to refuse
I worked the night and pushed the day
I cruised for hope and fought dismay
Not for me, I fought for you
Time slowed and all became pain
I held my breathe and felt the strain
You tore my heart out from my chest
Held it above its open nest
You said you left me. But I left you
And now I clearly live in refuge
And sleep in peace and always refuse
I want the finer things in life
Not to be the minor thing in life
I fight for me now not for you
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
"What happened to the bully,
to turn him that way?
What is he repressing inside,
ignoring,
blaming himself for,
and taking it out on others?
Whats going on inside that head of his?
Did something happen as a child?
Is something going on now?"
These are the things I think,
when they push me down the stairs,
into the lockers,
or trip me in the halls.
I'm selflessly thinking about them,
while they're torturing me.
Why are they calling me ****
Are they secretly gay themselves,
and too ashamed to come out,
and they're jealous of my bravery,
to walk down the hall hand in hand,
with the girl I love?
Is that whats going on?
Because not all that long ago,
I was in their shoes.
I was poking fun at the girl who didn't quite fit in,
or the boy with the fabulous hair.
I wanted so badly to just be myself,
and then hated myself because I couldn't,
and then in turn,
I hated them.
So when the bullies do these things,
I dont judge,
or hate them for it,
or seek justice,
or revenge for their actions.
I just feel bad for them,
because they're the person now,
who I used to be a few years ago.
My friends,
they dont understand why.
Why I do just go tell the teacher of whats going on,
or tell my parents.
I dont want to do that.
It would only cause more repression,
and more problems.
Instead,
after they knock me down,
I brush it off,
and reach out a hand,
as a friend,
not a foe.
I'm there for them,
no matter how much they resist.
I tolerate it,
because I understand.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
I bid you all a fond farewell
As these bones turn to dust in capitalist shackles.
No more will my voice be silenced
By gender roles and repression.
My foremothers gave me my rights nearly a century ago
And you still act like it’s pocket change.
No more.
I will rise above this consumerist nation
And be heard.
Feminism means equality, not women over men.
Don’t take offense when I lock my car doors.
You’ve proven yourselves untrustworthy.
“Not all men.”
But enough men.
I am not backing down; I am not giving in.
I am breaking free of conformity,
Barely comfortable in the skin you told me was imperfect.
Flip-flopping your beliefs; I am never good enough for you.
But I will always be good enough for myself.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
cemented demented repression
ashamed of my being, plagued by second guessing
throwing caution to the wind is anxiety inducing
my icy disposition in your warm embrace was bound to ruin
kiss the drips, daydream until reality slips
Apr 28, 2023
Apr 28, 2023 at 8:07 AM UTC
It feels good first
That punch you throw
Powered with adrenalin
Triumph! you crow
Losing control
Each threat you shout
Driving Emotion prevails
Anger has clout
Primal howling
I cannot speak
A volatile Damnation
Beneath my feet
A fiend unleashed
A dark winged thing
Wrenching the curtain aside
Madness is king
You’ve crossed the line
There is no doubt
Dimensions of cruelty
Madness wins out
No forgiveness
The devil cheers
Waylaid in selfish desires
Demonic fears
Fear holds its breath
Sardonic gloom
Too turbulent to control
Foreboding doom
Peace is exiled
No looking back
Thrusts of heartless violence
Repression hacked
Paradise lost
Cherished hatred
Surging over boundaries
Nothing sacred
Stuff of nightmares
Robs me of sleep
Letting go with a vengeance
Monster’s relief
I cannot bear
This heavy weight
Id’s inner realm
Desolate hate
Transcendence shows
All states of thought
Each a world unto itself
Not shaken off
Silence that grudge
Revenge aint sweet
It turns back on you like a
Missile seeks heat
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC