"repressive" poems
A Muslim boy with a clock
Is seen as a terrorist with a glock
Maybe i'm right, maybe i'm wrong
But if he were White, Asian, Hispanic or even Pacific Islander
Nobody would of suspected anything.
When are we going to stop fearing an entire race for only a portion radical and illogical ways of treating others?
I don't tolerate people who behead others if they don't agree with their religion
I don't agree with the repressive governments that control everyone and stone them for minor misdemeanors
There are good men out there fighting this evil that has plagued their homelands
I'm all for ending terrorism of all kinds
But let's stop terrorism of innocents too
Sure, i'm afraid of what the radicals will do to their own people, my people and the rest of the world
But i'll be dammed if i treated somebody from the Middle East like a monster when i don't even know who they are
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern girl
The Syrians girls wouldn't have an improved education
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern man fending off the Taliban and risking his entire village to keep Marcus Littrell alive
He would of been KIA a long time ago.
What about the ones who fought and died for America?
Nobody ever mentions them
The media wants me to hate them all, but i laugh and shake my head
Warped minds trying to warp others
I only see the ones who want to do us harm, and the ones who want to live peacefully and away from a life of hell
Brothers and sisters, just a different culture and skin color
I'm sorry if America seems racist or hateful, but i'm proud to be the one who throws those two words in the trash
Because i'm not afraid to speak my mind
And i welcome everyone here
America is everyone's home.
If only the Soviet Union never invaded Afghanistan
If only the people were not scared
To be free like America.
Unity for all,
Religious differences and Cultures alike.
I hope one day a Muslim man or Woman can walk down an American street without being labeled as a terrorist.
I hope one day these repressive governments fall into the hands of democracy
And we start the Age of Unity again.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
I choose to be inhumane
undressed the layers of emotions
that occupied my heart
suffocating me
I need to breath
I choose not to care
allowing my mind to wander
beyond a single feeling
while others dwell blindly
in a perpetual repressive state
I observe beauty with a cold mind
destroy without hate
save without love
remain silent in a chaotic world
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
The lines have been jammed
Very difficult today
Horrific violence from the voices
That are coming out
The brave people going out to protest
Randomly shot in the street
By snipers in buildings
And planes from above
They have no choice now
But to continue
I think the Libyan people
Now have nothing to lose
They are willing to die
To get rid of a repressive brutal regime
And also you should apologise
It's fine to say you made a mistake
But he obviously doesn't believe
They made a mistake
You welcomed him in
You made him respectable
And sold him the weapons
He's using on his people.
You made a mistake
Say that you made a mistake.
- He doesn't believe that he made a mistake.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC
what is this love
for I have beheld it
cast in metamorphosis
a love that makes
transformations on the mind
permissible transformations
improvisations of the self
in ****** intensity
which emphasises the drama
of sometimes, dark, violent
and repressive potentials
vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment
of intense and exhausting experience
of vigorous vertiginous chaos
indomitable in its desires
what is this love
is it a registered predicament
made memorable by vivid language
that would butcher in ritual
gratuitous memories and testify
to an urgency of unwisely relinquished emotion
what is this love
does it flourish in flawed
and unreasonable understandings
accumulated upon the mind
in vicarious thrill of sympathy
where traits are highly exaggerated
and eagerly anticipates
the oppressive weight of the past
that functions upon a common collapse
of distinctions
or does it manufacture artificial precepts
pretending in attractive collaboration
to associate fiction rather than fact
what is this love
is it that by treaty or inheritance
with loving ferocity would embalm all tears
and hide all those collaborations
in flared conflagrations of the heart
and yes create a turmoil in the mind
hotter than a thousand summers
and vividly stamp upon a twisted body
a moral viciousness of fathomless malice
that wouldst close its ears
to the admonitions of conscious
and thus through an improbable
incantatory verbal rite
touch the hidden order of all things
in disassembling nature
what is this love
if only it was known
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
The gracile figurine
bubblewraped in warmth:: protected
She is smoke in a midnight room
Defying
any fingerprints::: vulnerability, for her, a vile, repressive word
oh that visage
oh obfuscated view... sacrosanct shadow in the dark
Her
Lenticular frames
Sit wide-eyed, unwatered and
::unmoved::
cold victory of another day.
another inward, in-word retreat.
for her braille heart untouched
still she fears punctuation
Endings.
I guess for her it’s the thought of losing
hope
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
He was sweet
Gentle
And Loving
She was bitter
Cold
And repressive
He gave her
Love
And much passion
But such things weren't of her fashion
He wondered what was wrong
But it was easy to see
That a woman like her
Wanted more than a man who would kneel on one knee
A woman like her could never be pleased
Because in this day and era it seems
That all that matters are those things evergreen
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Will I walk,
Will I talk -
Will I open up,
Or will I baulk?
---------
Moved by time, unremitting;
Approaching disintegration - universal dispersal.
Emotional denial, fearing the inevitable.
Procuring the future by biological means;
Neglecting angst instilled in collected dreams;
Ever hopeful for intervention - role reversal.
----------
Dancing betwixt light beams
Floating on echoed screams
Unsure what reality means;
Confronted by attitudes obscene
Lost amid chaotic scenes
Is anything what it seems?
---------
Hello - How are you?
Hello - Can I help you?
Hello - Did you hear me?
Hello - Who are you?
Hello - Do I understand you right?
Hello - What'd you say?
Hello - Are you with me?
Hello - Did you see that?
Hello - Are you sure?
Hello - What's this?
Hello - I'm trying to communicate!
Hello - Welcome.
Hello - Come in.
Hello - I am...Friendly (and Curious)...
---------
Too much angst
Too many sorrows
Too much fear
Too few tomorrows.
Too little, too late;
Too bad, too sad.
Too much waste
Too much greed
Too much gain
Too much need.
Too distracting
Too frivolous
Too complex
Too preposterous.
Too many scandals
Too many re-acting
Too muck shock
Too few enacting.
Too much terror
Too much blood
Too many agendas
Too much cud.
Too much goodwill
Too little done
Too...
...You...
You're 2 kind.
Thanks, mate.
---------
Rhetoric or ridiculous?
Rude or risqué?
Right or righteous?
Ruling or ruining?
Revolving or resolved?
Revolting or revolutionary?
Repeating or reposing?
Revealed or reviled?
Rambling or raving?
Rising or risen?
Robust or round?
Rigorous or regressive?
---------
Aggressive
Repressive
Depressive
Regressive.
Impressive
Oppressive
Expressive
Obsessive.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
I blew a kiss and you smiled
Your heart shook in tremor
Won't you admit the vacancy?
It's like a field of football
Ball bouncing from sides
For whoever holds it wins
A repressive defence chains
Diseased denial cog wheels
Mind played, tongue slated
Sublimation of eager emotions
Compassed in all directions
Comprehended ridiculoupsity
Sinking stilettos drills deeper
Barbed wire erected to fence
A barricade of a no wait zone
Hedges cut, trimmed to invisible
No allegations stains to appease
Peace to transmute,a game changer
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
The way that I know, you're knowing me.
Was the older me.
That old is over, see.
There's a few mistakes god needs to oversee.
I’ve done such bogus things.
I repent in the words of my poetry.
Refocusing.
The direction of a reflected
soulless me.
Misguided and couldn't hide it,
I wasn't fighting,
the vices holding me,
back
and whats sad is that these manic laughs,
as ecstatic as they come,
stem from the fact
that I'm feeling like crap
sad sap, too fast to play dumb
sad-sack ,
trapped rat
thats numb to the things that once would make me run.
Rock bottoms not a problem for my partna
who’s drug drama and habits are this fun.
These rhymes that I've designed inside my witty mind
redefine what is brand new.
The reflection of perfection,
the best is my profession,
and the rest belongs to you.
The professors teaching lessons,
of transgression in repressive,
unimpressive
back road routes
perspective is subjective but
effective in selection
and reflection of the truth.
Truth.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun
I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run
Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one
When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed
Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
and the skies with sudden encore come
filled with words not worked
orchastrating a full complement
of treacherous ambition
and will an exploration
of competeing claim of unsundry wills
and such as is gives men a will to transform themselves
to give a cause to anciet or recent voice
a permissible presentation of possibilities
in battle and brawl with a blunt rhetorical and physical disorder
which does emphasize such dramas
with stark, violent and repressive potential
all tantilized with the prospect of wealth in the ground
make a contention with vicious energies
of hate and ambition that propels
an intence and exhausting experience
upon a once civil-world to spiral
vertiginously toward an ancient choas
enacting old stories with the oppresiveweight of the past
now monstrous individualism
whose hideously fragile bonds to peace
no longer exeert their hold
and thus divorse themselves
with an individual rapaciousness
annihilating lives with a curiousley
derivative quality for a store of gas and oil
and disinherite themselves from moral constriant
evoking the soliloquy of historical hypocrisy
with a mutilation of truth
in a tragedy of lament for all human kind
then sudden uncalled for encore fills the skies
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Dark night of the tallest dreams
Whose visions yearn for a willing
Transformation of themselves
And cry pretensions of constraints
And possibilities of ****** intensity
Who emphasize a drama of forced elements
In dark violent and repressive potential
That leaves such visions impoverished
Yes impoverished of an outcome
Unable to shape such matters
Into coherent form
Allows for vicious energies
Of an intense and exhausting experience
Makes vigorous its form of monstrous depiction
That leaves an eternity of lamentation in their making
Inducing that of evaluative vertigo
That flares into a conflagration of the mind
Embalming the senses, allows for a turmoil of demons
Of fathomless malice and grotesque shadows
To be the inauguaration of the tragedy of my night
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
„one two three“ go to boulangerie
„four five six“ may be write letter to missis x
„seven eight nine“ my call you deny
„ten eleven twelve“ …i slowly despise rhymes with sheer vengeance..
out of coquetry and out of bravado, i desist our memory, i will turn to enter
in a new day, without prescribed lies and tainted tricks, without whens without whys, without "be blue" commands and daily ****** „luv-syndrome-disease“
& what in particular corrupts the works and days:
without nasty repressive syndrome as consequence of how ugly artistic comradeship can be.
Yah. just depart towards unknown, under guiding of trembling crescent,
to whatever oddness i will might to face..
O it wont be worse i still guess...
something wrong with me?
so strangely i rejoice out of any certain cause.. ?
tis is may be shy anticipation of the delight which the read of some few subterranean poems can sometimes make ?
is there „land in sight“?
is here some flower to breath in?
even if it merely about basking in darkness,
not alone, but with sojourner..
my nonsense, your nods, isnt it slightly utopia?
O b s c u r i t y i s o u r r e w a r d. seem be the single remnants to chant..
vomiting and scolding abundance is what only will remain to realize?
isnt it kind of tryst which satisfy the starving one at best..?
O to large demand!.., but still
towards all of futility my worn heart still embrace
the solemnity of unknown..
wish to inhale the solemnity of unknown..
to enshroud myself with solemnity of unknown..
to chock on solemnity of unknown..
..as long as poetry is yet not dead
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Into the night I marched
Into deaths grip I fell
Musical notes running after me
Violins weeping afterwards
Stars fading into matter
Nothing matters without love
Lights shine over there
Can I reach or do I dare?
I can’t get out of this repressive chair
I can’t stand the people whom stare
My mind is all wrapped in shrouds
Hiding within the skies dark clouds
My smiles stolen by royalty golden
Now my tears flow as I weep
Is there any hope to keep?
Or am I doomed to deaths grip so deep
Gargoyles yelping for their fare
Me, dangling from the air
Aurore are you there?............
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
Tick tock went the clock,
echoing
through monastery halls,
synchronizing the actions of men,
building up modernity’s walls.
Creatively destructive,
eternal
yet fleeting,
modernity was paradoxical,
according to the Harvey reading.
Art had expanded,
abstraction arises,
and Sigmund loves his mom,
more than anyone realizes.
Our friends the id,
the ego and its super,
tell us who we are,
Freud has the world in a stupor.
A catch-22 for dear Pablo,
who will sleep with a ****
but is terrified of syphilis,
as is seen in his art.
There was power and truth,
and Foucault says we’re repressive,
but suddenly things change,
Postmodernity becomes quite impressive.
PoMo cares not for beauty,
or what pleases the public eye.
It’s style for style’s sake,
in the buildings stretching toward the sky.
Uma dances with John,
a young boy finds a severed ear,
Joaquin loves his OS,
PoMo film is, well,
Queer.
Yuppies love pastiche,
their lofts were once a workplace,
they’ve coated them with chrome,
they’ve gentrified the space.
Unlimited breadsticks
have soiled the very Italian name,
Baudrillard says it’s simulacrum,
there is no truth, it’s all the same.
We traipse through this
postmodern world,
not knowing postmodernity
is where we are.
We wear workboots to fashion shows,
we worship that reality star.
We think we’re special snowflakes,
and skinny jeans make us cool,
and media exposure’s made us cynics,
quite impossible to fool.
What we don’t realize is that
we are not our own,
we are pseudo individuals,
through PoMo we have grown.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
Shall I die victim to the terrors I have anticipated
Those that creep by a scarlet moon at midnight
The terrors that return me
To the deep waters of my subconsciousness
Terrors that trickle and trail and impart no sound
Yet emphasize their dark, violent and repressive potential
Oh those terrors that stalk, that follow
Whose shadow can be diserned behind every door and on every stair
That lay me impoverished of courage and ridiculed of depiction
I shall die by these terrors who with want of word
Spread upon me such vicious energies that enact
An intence and exhausting experience
Terrors that empahasie a mind spiraling
Vertiginously toward an unknown chaos
Shall I die, victim to the terrors I have anticipated
I shall, shall I not, I know I shall
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
Too tired to understand, or too much understanding
making it simpler to punish, and push.
**** virtues,
and most importantly,
**** patience.
Flying back south and walking to and fro and waking up all on my own
and sitting by the window and biking or strolling with music
to the ears.
Self-inflicated solitariness feeling un-repressive, and un-defensive
and happily alone.
Never let self-inflicated solitary boredom be brought upon by another.
Indeed, cheers to alone-li-ness, when it is discretionary, and free.
Lying through my corroding teeth, I breath,
out mercy and breath in shame.
Over-dramatizing,
the wrong person is changing.
I am different;
You are the same.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Ok, despite the fight
How I try to resist it
I still miss it
I still feel it
I’m another male pig
I desire her
And society makes desire
A social offense
Mind crimes
Make for strange times
My body was made
For being depraved
For being enslaved
I evolved that way
And you want
Me to feel ashamed
While you claim
That your greedy ways
Are far more tamed
Seems a bit too simplistic
Bad ideas fly like bullets
And other bouncing ballistics
From the religious to the feminists
I won’t get specific
On what I would do with it
But, I’ve had enough
Of your repressive ********
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
Of the silence in this mind
Life once taken isn’t sacred
Staring at a mirror with one’s self, half-naked
After learning to accept the pain, there’s was nothing to escape it
One could make it better than fate ever did
Can’t understand what one was doing; just escaping
Jailing one’s self with their own personal hate and
Hiding away from the mental wardens that one stayed with
Discarding one’s self to remember that one had a very hand in
The destruction to the very world one was contained within
One believed it’s right, so the argument is always **** off-*
*go fix your life before you act like you’re a **** God.”*
It’s a long way from accepting all the blade does
But it never fails and the lines eventually fade off
Could be a saint and come to one’s defense
Or shut the **** up and watch from the ******* fence
Worn this mask so long, one tends to forget to fake it
Disillusioned to one’s self and all the things that make it
More lines to breathe across the skin appear soon
A novella of pain with no words to read through
Handling a smile like accessory to hide instability
Always showing through, but truly just a shell of ‘me’
Despite the calm you see
Through laughs and jeers
One still feels lost and uncontrolled
Everything warm when one’s heart turned cold
No chance to correct it, just craving an exit
Took the knife last night, now the demons are rested
Took the chance last night, now dried and decrepit
Relapsed again tonight, and one’s mind is repressive
Wrote about a horrid time, and now it’s all depressive
Happy stars and pussycats, unicorns and other ****
©2015 Neal Emanuelson
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
I'm nearing the brink of insanity again
because as the days pass by
I can no longer get the thoughts of you
out of my mind-
I wonder when I will lose it.
Cave into the solitude I've always known
and end every tie I have with those around me.
See when you left-
the music stopped
and my hands stopped being able to write
these fingers would type and type
but no string of notes formulated.
I do not hear the bells anymore-
just the sound of a car crash
because everything feels like such a wreck.
I can't seem to dream about anything anymore
except for something relating to you
and I would like to think these
are all signs we should start running back-
that all we need in this life is each other again
but now I'm too afraid.
I've become scared and insecure since you left
but gained a facade thats hard to let go of.
Hiding my feelings was routine before you showed up
and reminded me what the good ones felt like-
until you showed me even you can cause
the bad ones too.
I always keep things inside
clinging to my repressive tendencies
I wish I never had to.
I feel lost-
I just hope you find yourself
and I hope you find your happy
I'm just sorry it couldn't be with me.
I'm sorry I keep searching
for pieces of you I will never find-
for signs that one day things will be different.
I just keep clinging on to a hope
that I'm not really sure I should.
But love just doesn't disappear
it crashes and burns.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Lost in moments
Constantly
Sitting and spinning still
Outraged at the speed around time
Dangerous stillness of emotions
Trapped
Trying keys that don't exist
On a door that doesn't exist
Lost in a place of familiarity
Weak
Weeks, months, years
The cycle of deterioration
A mind blurry of joy, peace and understanding
Struggling in space
Amazed
Everything is a maze
With zero pace
A cynical turbo race
Visions
A clear sky surrounded by thoughts
Anxiety and lust
Raining blood filled distrust
Wait
Weight from the chains
Trapped in a place
Uncertain of a new day
Lost in everything
Struggling in time
A blurry mind
A maze
Amazed
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
I hear there is fear in your mind
The deep-seated preprogrammed kind
The kind that has soften slightly over time
From the cursing and calling negros mongrels
To the stereotypical fox news type portrayal
But it is a betrayal of our human nature
The denial of the better evolved brain
It is the maiming of our society
When we regress to the repressive ways
That we sought to overcome in our younger days
Some say things will never change
But the blood to brain-dead barrier can break
The rational can take hold with old and new love
With new scientific studies of all of us
We forgot that the legions are us
The whale beneath the boat
The behemoth that works and votes
The labor force that runs this country
The union of humans striving for a better world
That is us, in every tint, gender, ****** identity
Under each layer of skin there is a piece of me
And behind every strange shadow or reflection of myself
Is someone else different but in all the ways that matter
The same
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
That sound, like vengeance, bitter and whining!
The unseen terrors ‘midst an unstirring throng
Come weaving between my fingers, books, ears.
Why, oh, why does it target me?
A bee, a stinging assumption of the most
Prevailing type, a thing—if ever there was—
Most hated by the modern man:
A loafer inspiring fear, inspiring action
But to act would draw the cool judgment
Of my peers—a **** a twitch, a sound—none move.
This distance, for it does not bother you!
No hesitation to act progressively when charity
Is abundantly “there” but the coffers deign to open
And the kitchens are dry, and the powers are artifice
To shove the matter—illusory—to the great blue wayside.
Away, away thing! Do not plunge your itinerancy
In the soft of my skin—I do not want you here,
Remove yourself from my sweet drink,
Remove yourself from my food, remove
Your presence—transparently, I don’t have to think
About you if you…just…leave!
And it did—ha! Hell spawn! Parasite! But such a lonely
Planet finds its orbit just as drifting rocks find theirs,
Even if it unaccommodating, in the outer wears,
To sylvan marches—take thy there!
And it has, poor little creature, buzzing through the miens aslare
Spacey, empty, sans (attention), but sans care.
None will bat an eye as its well-meant body,
Interpellated annoyance, genetic condemnation,
Vermilion-paints on the walls of Hell,
Floats, broken, between uncaring faces, looking for
That thing called home, arms warm from its
Present-roam—uncared for Other on lithe little wings
Glass beats at the speed of sound, beat heard
Against the sky’s blue scrim, glass rippling, incensed
So quick, movement becomes oneness and still.
Who could not love you when you’re world’s ignominy?
These ******** are but foul, they can not love you
Steeled by the constant repressive ire
For that which is so homeless—what is spurned in steely pines
And flown away, far, far from the mind,
Ceases to be in the cosmos free, trapped by hate
And invisibility, objectively all, subjectively none.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
It’s kindness versus stupidity.
Good intentions beats censorship.
We don’t need repressive ********
To fight against insensitivity.
We just need information,
Intelligence, and the wisdom
To use it justly.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
*we waltz dancers,
we anti-gravity loafers,
mammoth or small fry,
no repressive impetus,
no stagnant blot on time,
when light, we glide,
when laden, we fall*
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC