"sanitized" poems
I want you, but I'm okay with your essence
Basking in your scent long after your presence
The pursuit of my happiness
Seems to wrapped up in your arms
Yet I'm wrapped up
And you seem to be gone
Our fate is as good as whitewashed
Unwritten history in the making
Sanitized love
I give and you're taking
I should never be ok with half
When whole is available
I was ok with your essence
Until it became untraceable
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
Tipping point reached, one final breath
Let the waves of inertia crash, contaminate
....
Alone in complexity, machinery, and everything
Perfectly formed human being
Slowly turning sour by the minute
Stale air, only growing in its bitter taste as
Seconds that feel like hours, add to feel like years
All the plans i made
All the plans i planned to make
Gone, but not forgotten
But then they were gone
Truer statement never read then
What i read on the back of the final bit found
Within my reach
Filtered through a layer of sediment
settled over my vision
Sanitized as life had been
But my shelter having been breached
To seep much longer...
Too accustomed, but it doesn't help
Found lacking in the company I had hoped to keep
A poor atonement, sinking further
Or, it kept rising
I was nearly covered.
.....
They stepped a little closer
And left appalled by what they found
Rotting in the dark, silently
Defensive at the outset, shaking at the sound
Sounding incomplete
Face down this
Eventual ending
For me
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
"tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self, the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
"Pain" has me pouring another,
and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
plus, what's one more?
yet one will never be enough. "sleep or shoot."
don't forget to swallow.
you know you love it.
stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."
stop fighting...
...succumb to the misery.
besides, just one pour will make it all better.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 2:23 AM UTC
"Boy toy
or girl
toy! Don't
make me tell
you again, Pedro!"
I have committed a felony
within the land of the Golden Arches.
I have gone through
another patient's order
and forgotten which gender
to assign to the child
standing right next to them,
as if in need of another
fresh new coat in
traditional roleplay,
as if these little ones
were the cattle of tradition.
How foolish of me to assume
that the tiny calf in pigtails
would enjoy the strong-willed,
goal-setting, leadership-evoking
action figure instead of the sanitized,
goal-admonishing, vapidity-provoking
fashion doll.
I wouldn't want to lose
another valuable customer.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
I can't vape
I’m too addicted
to the nicotine of my youth
I thought I could
But nope
I’m not good at moderation
So a short lived experiment
into sanitized smoking
dies a quick and ***** death
goodbye vape
I wish.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
I'm extremely disorganized
I don't know what belongs where
Take my eyes for example
I can't find a place to rest them
I tried setting them on you
But everyone agreed that **** wasn't working
They explained that an organized man
Adheres to categories
And you and I
Are not of a kind
I attempted to argue that you organized me
My heart
My mind
You folded me neatly
When you beat me
You always made sure to set me aside when you were done with me
You'd place me in a bin
Or release me to the wind
Yet there was a burdensome fault in my littered logic
They explained that an organized man
Is clean
I must use eyes that are sanitized
To see how we're not categorized
And avoid your matador eyes
Because things will get messy
When the bull in your fists
Sees the roses in my heart
My humanity starts to part
And my wishes I begin to opine
For the nature of a bovine
So I wouldn't misplace my eyes
And be what I'm classified
But that nature eludes me
As do most things
On account of me being disorganized and all
But I'm a quick learner order burner page turner
I may not know what belongs where
But I know I belong neither here nor there
Making my eyes not belong anywhere
This is what develops my entropy stare
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
Bukowski
your
seductive
stinking
honesty
makes my sanitized life
a lie
(poem dedicated to the late Charles Bukowski)
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
To the woman who scolded me for moving on with my life after my assault at age 13:
"Your life didn't skip a beat, you went to school and hung out with friends and everything," is what she told me.
Yes my life did not skip a beat when I was entirely uprooted.
What happens to a plant if it is uprooted? Can a plant survive if it is pulled up out of the soil?
I have found that just as with any other situation involving injury, there as some steps you need to take in order to repair it.
First you need to assess the damage. Broken stems and wilting leaves are obviously very noticeable symptoms of distress. What is important is the condition of the main stem and the roots. This will determine whether or not the plant can survive. The sooner you can take emergency steps the better.
The next step is performing first aid. The plant benefits from little additional trauma as possible. Torn branches need to be cut back, to avoid any additional tearing. Keep in mind that any cutting done should be gentle and done with sanitized tools to prevent disease in the already weakened plant.
One of the final steps is replanting. The plant can now be replanted even deeper than it was before, and watering it regularly can reduce its stress.
Lastly, monitoring the plants success is important. The key to restoring a plant that was uprooted is patience while waiting for it to adjust through a period called transplant shock. Note that the situation may look worse before it looks better. Large leaves may wither or drop. Transplant shock can last several months or even seasons. Provide persistent care to the plant, and do not judge it until the next season of growth, usually during spring. It is usually worth the wait.
So, yes. I did not skip a beat.
I did not skip a beat after I was ***** and my life became uprooted because the sooner you can take emergency steps, the better. I learned how to replant myself instead of letting my life wither away. And do you know what? It was surprisingly worth the wait.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
I wait for you and just so you know
I may be in love with you
And no pressure, in fact stay in your leisure but you're suppose to make my dreams come true
Wait, no no, don't get up, sit back down
I'm seeing the look in your eye
You're just lazy, but you'll call me crazy because of the words that fly
Don't look at me that way, shut up.
You don't think I know how I sound?
It's unsettling to be in this unbalanced beam and not so solid ground
Called love and you keep on giving that look like you think I'm insane
But it's you're fault! Oh, crap, don't do that....
Why did that come out of my brain...?
Now don't get mad... please?
Sorry? Crap! You're mad at me, aren't you!?!
I wish for a moment I could give you my eyes so you could see my view
But you sit there with that look on your face
And you simply stare at me
As if I'm a purple hippopotamus hanging from a palm tree
And... you're not laughing
You still think I'm out of my mind
But I have one thing going for me that I can fall behind
One thing that I can claim beyond sanity
And it's that you're a dream come true
Because you're the one only one who can turn my reds to blues
And calm me down and keep me settle
And love me all the same
I see that coy look on your face asking me what's my game
But there's no tricks, I did nothing wrong
My hands are sanitized
But I choose today to be the day to make you realize
That I love you and you love me just like the Barney song
That's been stuck in my head all day like when you wear that pink thong
And I got a smile. Hallelujah!
You're not mad anymore!
But the truth's still heavy upon my heart, stinging like an open sore
And the truth is this
In you lies the key to make my dreams come to life
To not end the trials but to bear on with me in the strengthening strife
To love and love endlessly
Through snow, sleet, hail, or rain
And to make every single thing in my heart come to... sigh... alright. I'm insane...
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
Corrupt the innocence
Poison the sanitized
Intensify the danger
Dischevel the brain
Starve the greed
Feed the curiousity
**** the clock
Ignore the hours
Bury the body
Cover it with flowers
Forget never the philosophy
Of the need for power
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
I. i was seventeen and bitter and you
knew nothing, old man.
because you said, "look how she hurts him, using her gender--"
(no, her *** her womb ******* sultry eyes they've sexualized since age five,
to make mincemeat of astronaut dreams, to make docile queens breed and)
"-- as a weapon"
would you not bring, at least, a knife to a gunfight, old man?
(have you ever had nothing but a knife against a bullet, 500mph to your head?)
II. i hate you. i hear my words in your voice,
in that awkward cadence, like you're telling an sanitized moral,
some comfortable truth, perhaps, or maybe the secret to your
moderate publishing success. can you leave my words alone
III. i'd like to apologize, maybe, a little, for the insolence.
i'm not really a rude person.
i'd like to prove that while staying honest, but what would i say?
"i'm sorry i'm a **** "i'm sorry you're a ****
i'm sorry this world's a **** i can't do the reading tonight
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
Slipping into consciousness
exploding with pain.
So much time spent, praying to this porcelain god.
Asking why
Begging for a break.
Those rare moments with the pain fades, and the absence feels like the strongest intravenous drug ever plunged into your veins
during those
late night ER visits that have become ever too familiar.
With sheets for walls.
And Judges for Doctors.
And cries from children echoing off white sanitized walls.
And you slipping out of consciousness
and into drug induced escape.
As the ceiling panels become beautiful,
and the scratchy sheets become cozy,
You breath a sigh of relief
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
Just My Job
I chop off hands, I chop off feet,
I'm the kind of guy, you don't wanna meet.
I chop off legs, I chop off arms,
if you wanna help, I'll take turns.
I chop off ***** I chop off *****
I freeze the parts with ice cubes.
I gouge out eyes, I chop off ears,
don't worry I use sanitized sharp sheers.
I cut out your kidneys, I cut out your liver,
Cannibals pay me good to deliver.
I chop off your ***** I cut out your heart,
then put them all in a shopping cart.
You may ask yourself why cannibals,
because they eat humans, like we eat mammals.
I peel off your skin, then chop off your head,
they eat your skin with some mayo and bread.
The payment plan is very well,
if it wasn't, I would never sell.
Times are tough in this recession,
please don't get the wrong impression.
This has become my career and passion,
sorry that I show no mercy or compassion.
I lure people into my home,
started with a salesman selling chrome.
Jehovah Witnesses are easy victims,
I guess you can say I have serial killer symptoms.
I sell the blood to all the hungry vampires,
if you could only read my secret diaries.
If anyone you know is considered missing,
it's because of me going fishing.
Cannibals give me a people list,
I'm doing Gods work with a twist.
Ten years and going strong,
I guess, what I'm doing is wrong.
People please don't judge what I do,
or my next victim, could be you.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
Shaken past consideration on my way to never again,
Once more toes break and bend to send away for better air.
Tethered to forever by force of will or won't you believe it.
Feed my limestone stomach with the bitter bigots loneliness.
Crash, amnesia..
Oh just forget it.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
to the humans with the glassy eyes,
i know they've been hurt before
(your eyes,
thrown against the wall,
like a jar filled with rotten marbles)
cauliflower-clouded mind
red-scented sleep
& i pray to God
those pills dissolve in your
sanitized hands.
don't cry when it's over; cry now
i can see milky white
stars in your eyes
and soft pink
bubble gum-flavored clouds
and lazy green rivers
and violent violet nights
and a deep howl in you
when you think you can't go on.
and you burn yourself
with empty looks
and break yourself
by lying down
and **** yourself
by forgetting that the lightning storm
ever came.
flying doesn't always set people free.
remember that.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
YOU WILL NOT FALL IN LOVE IN A HOSPITAL, YOUR SKIN WILL SMELL LIKE THE DYING AND YOUR LIPS WILL CRACK AND YOU WILL NOT FIND BEAUTY
I USED TO THINK I WOULD FIND SOLACE IN THOSE SANITIZED WHITE HALLS BUT ALL I EVER FOUND WAS MY OWN EMPTY EYES STARING BACK AT ME FROM THE UNBREAKABLE SUICIDE-PROOF MIRROR AND THERE WAS NO COMFORT IN MY BRUISED TENDER FACE
HOSPITALS ARE NO PLACE FOR YOUNG GIRLS WHO HAVE NOT YET TURNED AWAY FROM LIFE AND THEY ARE NO PLACE FOR KISSING YET YOU READ ABOUT MOUTHS FINDING EACHOTHER IN THE DARKEST HOUR AND YOU THINK OF CEMENT HOSPITAL WALLS; THERE IS NO DARKNESS IN HOSPITALS, JUST PURPLE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS THAT MAKE YOU LOOK SO PALE YOU MIGHT JUST REALIZE THE IMMINENCE OF YOUR OWN DEATH.
YOU WILL NOT FALL IN LOVE IN A HOSPITAL.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
How many times must my fists smack your stiffness until you soften?
I don’t want to use my fists, I’m not violent.
Even in defense, words raised to take the hardness,
silently, repeat, repeat.
Raised to repeat, repeat.
I never wanted to be violent.
I don’t want to use my fists, but your stiffness is contagious.
I don’t know how to look at you without them,
smacking every corner, separating hard shells.
I don’t want to use my fists.
my hands,
They’re raw and dry, too sanitized.
and my shell is colliding, oozing, fermenting
into juices of the berries you forbid.
I don’t want to use my fists anymore.
My hands want to open, softly.
Sweet unfolding fingers
offer demons blessed darlings.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 9:42 PM UTC
A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.
Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.
But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.
Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.
When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC
Halcyon days are over, baby
Summer nights whisked away
***** talk got sanitized,
Music box got terrorized,
Never again will we bake plum cake
In the shade
Halcyon days are over, baby
You climbed over the crib walls, big enough
Rock-a-byes grow to trees,
Willows weep as you leave,
Now you make buds burst in the shade
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
they are lynching Negroes again
.
(in a most-sanitized way)
.
lynching the simple nature of man
.
we watch expectantly
waiting for an Intervention
.
but NO!
all we receive
is an Intimation
of our mortal vulnerability
.....
the rope's around your neck
N---boy!!!
.
take it off and go Home
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
I only exist
In the words that I write.
I gleefully skip from line to line,
Basking in the glory
Of momentary inspiration.
I slide carefully from key to key,
Drinking in the soft taps of the keyboard,
Manifesting my way
Into the hearts of all people everywhere.
I crave a stage, a crowd, a platform,
A place to immortalize myself,
To form an identity clean of sin,
To raise a new, sanitized, beating heart
From the ashes to the spotlight.
I wish for my name
To sweep the world off its feet,
To be shouted, or whispered,
Or chanted, or cheered.
I desperately want to be someone,
To be known, and loved,
And adapted to the needs of the watcher.
I dream of being consumed, and approved,
And loved, and needed,
So incredibly needed
That I might just allow myself
To exist either way.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 9:56 PM UTC
Assume the employee smiles as you
wait in line for a sanitized shopping cart.
Assume she has slight imperfections
in her front teeth as you do.
Tiny chips from hard candy mishaps
back in the early 2000s
that you choose to notice while
you examine your mouth in the mirror.
Assume that they're eyes are telling the truth--
they didn't wake up with a fever this morning,
and neither did the lady or her four kids behind you.
Assume by their relaxed body language
that we're all still safe from something we can't see.
Assume that since your own smile is naked,
somehow, you'll get out of this public place untouched.
It feels like you do. You hope, anyway.
Assume that the governor knows what's best when he says
"It is suggested that all citizens wear facemasks,
regardless if they're showing symptoms."
You put the peanut butter in the cupboard
and the paper plates on the counter.
You wash your hands for twenty seconds,
singing "Happy Birthday" twice, just like they said.
You touch your face because you assume you're clean.
Assuming your own risk, you pick up your phone and
in a rigid, robotic fashion, your search begins.
Assume you will see "out of stock" and "due to high demand,"
and assume that you will come up empty-handed, again.
You find her though,
a young girl who has made hundreds face masks to sell
on her online shop.
She asks you to select your pattern,
and as I scan my choices,
I imagine what would accompany my feverish face the best.
"Cats," I say to her through a series of clicks.
"Cats, and I think, I'll take the one with roses too."
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 6:24 PM UTC
Calling out dead poets
as sexists or rapists or users
is the opposite of woke enlightenment.
The poet’s job is not to censor
his experiences or his madness
for sanitized comforts.
The poet’s truth is his gift
of insight, a naked wisdom
of hard love and difficult choices.
Narrow fools so often absorb
this sweat and blood poured onto the page.
After their souls are satisfied,
that’s when the fools unsheath
the long sword of ignorance
and ****** the blade square
in the poet’s back.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
(
•
)
hope
?????? ??????
( why ? )
Are ya gonna come around ?
•••••
Warriors lie in battlefields a'dyin
---- ----- ---
We talk about some football game
•
•
Free
WE ARE FREE !
I known !
Someone said so yesterday
••
Will we ....... ( ? )
-\\\-
The child is crying for real
For real
For real
He dies in empty fields and alleyways
Amid the buttered popcorn and the giggling
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC