"scathing" poems
Why can't we have meaningless talk
the way people have meaningless ***
you would crash over me into a
river of un-scathing emptiness
and leave marks on my skin-
stories that this was where
you started to tear at
the seams
effortlessly
like the silkness
of your sorrows on my floor.
You would become a sultry verse
in this anthology of every day
lodged between the rush and
vacancy of broken hearts
and anguished limbs.
You would radiate the heat
of your angry, angry heart onto
the cold deadness of mine,
and we could burn and melt
all at the same time.
Meaninglessly you would leave
me out of breath,
gather your clothes
and go home.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
i sit with my legs uncrossing on the toilet seat, 7th period
smells of puberty
of wasted ambition and scathing regret of everything
of whispered secrets and sore thighs, ***** dripping out between your lips into the bowl
of tortured angst, of pulling your skin taut and drawing the blade against you over and over, for trusting someone like him
of hope that the next day will be better than today (it isn't)
of high school.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
the words used to flow like silk through my fingertips
i used to know exactly how to weave them
make them fall into tapestries, hang them from walls
emblazoned with unadulterated innocence.
it wasn't until you asked to look at my creations
that i realised sunlight could be so damaging
my words felt frivolous under your scathing gaze
and they stuttered, crumbled. my tapestries fell.
now they're dust and i'm on my knees, crawling
grasping fistfuls that seep through my hands
you can't write about something you can't feel
and now i can't feel anything.
this is the last poem i'll write about you.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
The invisible scar
Of the patriarchy
Hangs over us
Masked by the shadows of tradition
Concealed within
Dazzling bursts of color
Billowing skirts
And spirited dancing
Hot acid flung
Scathing, searing, scalding
Because weak men
Cannot handle rejection
Wed the one you love
And bring shame
Upon the family
Honor killings
Does ******
Bring Dignity?
#JusticeforNirbhaya
#JusticeforAsifa
And now #JusticeforAiman
Our only crime
Is being female
Yet fingers are still pointed
At us
At the length of our dresses
At the makeup on our faces
At the way we smiled
How long
Until we are finally fed up
With a society
That would rather
A corpse
Over a girl?
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
A small skiff drifted in the harbor
guided by the eazy oars of a fisherman
standing in the hull to better view
the shimmering reflection
of the orange circle hovering overhead-
dancing with the gentle waves
in the morning mist.
Monet had to name it something
so he called it what it was:
"Impression, soleil levant."
A critic, wanting poison for his pen,
seized Monet's title to squeeze
a lethal dose into the radical veins
of the artist and his fellows of the gallery
(Renoir, Pissarro, Cezanne).
With scathing indignation
he dubbed the lot of them,
"Mere Impressionists."
The label endures (minus one word)
but how many recall or care to know
the righteous critic's name?
November, 2011
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
I don't apologize for my blackness and your fear seems like this beautiful melanin enriched skin is a blessing and a curse. police offers using our young men's as target practice ripping our rich black roots from the ground and scathing them them all over the cold blood stained concrete streets that my people paved.they just want us to dance sing and play ball to entertain them. they don't want us to succeed and move on to bigger and better things so sinister grins creep upon their faces as they watch us slaughter eachother in the streets. they watch us struggle to get out of poverty they say we're all on welfare and ain't **** but how can we move up in the world and get out of poverty when this system wasn't built to benefit us? we are more than the stereotypes. we are doctors lawyers entrepreneurs nurses designers filmmakers activist.we are intelligent intellectual beings with knowledge that surpasses all understanding. they don't want us to open our mouths and speak our truth...they want us to shut up and chuck and jive and kiss their pasty white ***** to the bone they want us to ignore the blatant racism and discrimination we face everyday and be content that we aren't enduring as much pain as the ones before us have. but we will not shut up. we do experience racism. we do experience discrimination. and our people are dying everyday from it.how dare you utter the words respect yourself and well respect your from the same mouth that slandered my ppl and taught us to hate ourselves with? we were taught to love everything that was white and hate everything that was black and love blonde long straight hair and blue eyes and hate our chocolate skin and ***** hair but these ***** roots are deep...no matter how much you try and destroy them they are deep and run through us all. so my brothers and sisters... be proud of your roots take care of your roots embrace your roots love everything about yourself from that ***** *** hair that breaks all the teeth of your comb to your chocolate skin that glows in the sunlight and those strong minds and powerful voices because black is beautiful, black is powerful black is brilliant, black matters.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
My chest aches
As tears threaten the corners of
My eyes
They're dry
Like the wind
She really damaged me
Y'know
I don't like to admit it
I'd rather just hide
The scars
Are red from scathing acid
It's not like you can see them
She didn't hit me
Afterall
We went through a lot
That's what we said
Back then
She told them
She might love
Only me
She never told
She never showed it either
I knew I loved her
More
Or less she admitted it
It feels like a curse
The people I deeply
Love
Others, too or more
Which could be fine with him
If it weren't for
Her
Inability to carry out
Multiple relationships
Or at least to care about what
I felt
Alone and abandoned
Unloved and unworthy
To her I wasn't
Apparently
She loved me more
I don't care that she never told me
Just that
She never showed me
Lasting love or compassion
Never proved that poly works
And then poly came up again
With him
I'm sad about it
The idea makes me feel broken
I'm so sorry
I don't want poly
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
1414
Unworthy of her Breast
Though by that scathing test
What Soul survive?
By her exacting light
How counterfeit the white
We chiefly have!
5.2k
***Rip off the masks
Veiled remarks are scathing
Speak from the heart
The words that do not hurt
Come with true identity
To instill faith in humanity***
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
Laying alone in my bed
************ in the dark
******** sending scathing ripples
Across my covered female anatomy
And yet in my mind I didn't see that
I pictured myself with women
Which I always attributed to
My hella queer identity
Except I was never myself in the fantasies
My friend told me that's why I couldn't ******
Because I needed to make the thoughts
Much more personal than that
Yet it didn't feel the same
As watching the strangers in ****
In my fantasies, I wasn't me
But I also was
I felt synonymous with the person I saw
I imagined feeling what they felt
But they had a *****
I did not
I thought it was just a kink
I don't think that anymore
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I am common.
seemingly feminine
but shoulders strong
as barbed-wire.
like a chicken I am
underdeveloped—my wings
weak and unable to
lift me into the air.
I am preoccupied
in self-identified war
with the 875 square foot
apartment and the pasta
that refuses to boil.
on my knees, I
crawl
reconciling rhyme
and reason for
suffering.
the world has gone awry,
I say to myself on an
afternoon bike ride
through wooded
pain, my face
a perfect plane for
scathing branches.
quick and easy blood
am I.
wretched and astonishing
is the rhetoric I
find in the hollow of
my rib.
I am common
but not so when
written by hand.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
Walls and gates kept her away
from what she needed
but didn't want
Beds of white cotton
submerged in what she
thought she didn't feel
Dusty pens in a dusty cup
on a dusty desk
She hammered at armor
that she had been hammering at
for years
since she was a young child
binding the pieces but
secretly
looking for cracks
to break out of
Kicking *** and taking names
but throwing the names away
Ripping keys out of the
typewriter
Every fifth letter
scratched into porcelain skin
Soap stripping her of what
made her normal
But there is no normal
She was still abnormal
Trying to open herself
to let the oxygen-free blood
stain her outline
so she could be seen
for a moment
Just one moment
and then get erased by
everyone
else
like always
She wanted to fly and shine
but there were others already
shining
and flying
Sun flashing and illuminating her
skeleton
Her skin transparent while lit
by the sun
Her heartbeat
skipped
and
stopped
and faltered
She tried to lose herself in everything she could
You could say she was selfish
but
you could say she just wanted to
be found, though,
by the right person
There is no right person
because anyone can break a shell
but nobody cares enough
to see what kind
of radiance
will light up the
universe
Nobody cares
that with every
single word
she is thrown
through windshields
Shards of glass
scathing her
inside
and
out
Drowning in pristine lakes
of beautiful love and
joy
How painful to not be able
to inhale
while drowning in
pristine lakes of lovely happiness
She could feel the
currents rushing past her fingers
but couldnt hold on
But she wanted to
She wanted to
hold
on
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
O Christ—Thou rarest flower of hearts—Thou didst sail on the storm-tossed lake of prejudiced minds. Its evil-scented, gloomy thought-waves lashed Thy lily-tender soul. They crucified Thee with their evil. Yet Thou didst shed the aroma of goodness and forgiveness, and didst help them to be purified by remorse, so helping them to become attractively sweet-scented with Thine all-loving Flower-Soul.
O Thou Great Lover of error-torn brothers—an unseen monument of the mightiest miracle of love was established in each heart when the magic wand of Thy voice uttered: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Thou hast healed the cataract of hatred, and now we have grown to see: "Love thine enemies as thyself, for they are thy brothers—though sick and sleeping."
Thou hast taught us not to increase their delirious kicks of hatred by battering them with the bludgeons of revenge. Thine undying sympathy hath inspired us to heal and wake our brothers, suffering from the delirium of anger, by the soothing salve of our forgiveness.
Thy crucifixion reminds us of the daily crucifixion of our fortitude by trials, of our wisdom by ignorance, of our self-control by the scathing hands of temptation, and of our love by misunderstanding.
Thy test on the cross proved the victory of Thy wisdom over ignorance, of Thy soul over flesh, of Thy happiness over pain, and of Thy love over hatred. So are we heartened to bear our crosses bravely and pleasantly. Teach us to pour out sweetness when crucified by harshness, to bear with calmness the assault of worries, and to give understanding unceasingly to those who unjustly hate us.
O Shepherd of Souls, wandering hearts are of themselves seeking the one fold of divine devotion. We have heard the ever-calling music of Thine infinite kindness. Our one desire is to be at home with Thee, to receive the Cosmic Father with joyous, open eyes of wisdom, and to know that we are all sons of our own One God.
Teach us to conquer the Satan of dividing selfishness, which prevents the gathering of all brother-souls into the one fold of Spirit.
Calling to one another by the watchword: "Love him who loves you, and love all who love you not," let us rally beneath the canopy of the universal sense of Christ-Oneness. Amen.
Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
3.2k
I know that you look up to me;
For one, because I'm six feet tall,
But I think that I have done my best,
To keep you safe -- away from all,
The little things that ****** me up.
For you are young: with scathing tongue,
Opinions you cannot express,
A lack of words,
And fear of hurt,
And are yet to fully comprehend
The singing of your encaged thoughts.
But listen to me little sister,
I cannot be your wall forever,
For, one day, you will draw your sword
And embark upon your own endeavour,
To quell the beasts that hide within.
You will only ever need these words,
And the gumption to unleash their rage,
To part the seas of social norms,
To dispute the words on any page,
But I warn you; they bring trouble.
For one day, little sister, I
Will lie a living corpse in bed,
Encroached upon by inner beasts,
Of longing, love and loneliness,
But I assure you, you are safe.
For I was one who did not speak --
Until the world was tucked in bed;
So when the world lends you its ear,
Discard the lines that they want read --
And tell them what your brother said:
**** YOU.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
New dawn highway
The desert road
Eternal barren road
Metal death shut in
Onward rubber roll
Everyone is lonely
In their heads
Rollin mojo
On the road
Fiery arid sun
Vulture eyes shine
Daytime drunk
Poet of open road
Wind lamenting
Outside the window
Desolate desert canyon
All set up for failure
The devil’s desire
Burn the inferno
El Sand de Diablo
And the City of gold
Woman on the move
Women on the road
Rebels in trouble
Man in the back
With an iron tongue
Sun thirst of cactus gods
Spring sprung on scathing sun
Sun thirst of cactus gods
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
With wings like barn doors, perched upon the tower and scathing
The king fell, the Earth moved and let him drift slowly to death
Bukowski on the bedpost sang rosy melodies through tin can headphones
and the daffodils of a thousand fields wilted at the news of her death
Needles fall from the junky's arms, a rain drop escapes
Coca-Cola bottles strewn on a green carpet, smooth under foot
and the festival casualties drift aimlessly to their scorching cars
Pills fall from pockets as a forlorn criminal collects coins
The clouds disperse from the estate, reggae disrupts cats making love
Bass that resonates, crumbling cars and the warring between neighbours
Lay with her as the coffin descends, gun crime statistics
Spinoza makes accusations from beyond, ethical misappropriation
Stop talking, for your voice could make an angel weep
but the children still scream, running, frenzied on the lava streets
Cracking bull whips at the backs of a slave, ********** passion, weeping
and the sun sets in the East, proverbial middle finger to the populace
Franzen now teaches me how to live such a lonesome life
While the night holds me like a mother once would
Until I pass,
and the arms of Susanna Blamire beckon
Hold me close
I'm scared
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Eyes having opened,
They were met by an infinite blue.
Deeply rich and sapphire-esque in tone,
The sea rushed into the mouth that was held agape
By both marvel and fear.
At first instinct was the will to resist,
But then came the strange comfort of allowing the passionate Blood that once boiled
Chill itself to a painfully distant frost.
It was ecstasy and torture coexisting within
A circular harmony of sensation.
This order of solace was short lived.
With a shimmer,
The once reserved and vibrant sea of blue transformed
Into an abyss of clarity.
The briny and familiar taste shifted in nature to something other. Something potent, something repulsive, something sinister.
At once,
The calm oasis turned into a scathing hell.
His inferno incarnate.
A body that at past times swam with jubilance
Now sank to the fiery depths,
Having already lost both the spirit and the ability to fight.
Crisped,
The corpse felt an enormous pain.
But the mind felt none for there was none to speak of.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
Interpreting Dreams Series Part 1
1/15/2014
I've got this idea
that the world has too many feelings.
Too many smiles that have turned upside down.
Too many tears that have gone unnoticed.
This couple sits at a table with a pretty white cloth.
Glasses of fancy carbonated water, bubbly like their first date.
But now, they hate each other.
They sit and complain about everyone in their lives.
and on their minds, they just hate their selves, not even each other.
They look at others with a scathing jealousy.
One guy takes a nap
He finds an electric taser in his dreams
He uses it to shock himself back awake, but then
he realizes he didn't want this moment to ever end.
Where dreams are reality and you don't have to suffer fraught with what's not.
She puts on her pearls
and then walks out the door.
She knows how she got them,
lies to herself, doesn't want to feel like a *****
But still, she wants more.
There's something special about being the only one standing in a crowd.
Whether you're up on stage or in the middle of a pit.
You feel this sense that the moment is great
but it isn't amazing without another person to stand beside you.
They cried at a bus stop,
a family knowing
they had no money to celebrate holidays this year.
They don't need to, but it's the feelings that matter.
They cried.
We never know what we will find, when we look for something.
Our feelings are dangerous if we go looking for them and end up lost.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
Fix the drama -
this play in my head.
A convoluted tale
that sees no end.
A wrenching story
entwined round an overused plot.
A lone actor.
Assuming different roles.
The heart, the mind
and sensibility.
Words of comfort
and swift resolve,
evaporate quickly.
Scathing verses
take root and fester.
Wayward thoughts
and rising beats...
Caught in an abrasive loop.
Fix this drama -
I keep playing in my head.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
The man in the mirror
envelops his fractal fingers
over my scathing sight,
seeking quixotic symmetry,
the apogean gift of harmony,
with his enigmatic allure,
disillusions me off vanity;
off a falsifying dream.
The liar traps me in his liar,
to aid in his endless search for perfection
while shaming me for the sins I repent.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC
Cleans the filth off a persons hair
Off their Bodies
From their hands
Cleans the swears from your mouth
A bitter recognizable sent
The scent of early morning
Clean Fresh New
With this my senses burn
Like these past few years are being wiped clean
All of a sudden I feel fresh
Invigorated
From the scathing hot water
The endless scrubbing
Of my raw flesh
Now no one can see my mess
They cannot tell where I have been
A fresh start
The one I have been hunting for for ages
There are still some scars left to explain
But with time those fade as well
I have found peace with myself
He is my soap
I'll never forget that smell
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:48 AM UTC
Naught the mages
Elm yellows plough
feigning eternities
dream of man;
the cradle of time
the realm of night,
Scathing Hekates
piacular restitution
heralded papally
upon Seven Hills
cradling Hades
tau cross-roads;
Eliciting with the iron
seminal sickle,
gifting the servants
of the servants of God
and slaves of slaves alike;
dismembering the boughs
of war- elsewhere,
Building broken bridges
Carving the lullabies
of humanity grafting
a sprig of Yggdrasil.
ELEETE J MUIR
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Like marionettes,
dancing, swirling, jibing
moved by strings of their desires.
Their bodies set ablaze,
by the fiction of their hides.
Despairing to escape by any means,
keeping their mem'ries in the haze.
Aimlessly thrusting til' Tilda tires;
swinging, struggling, scathing,
like marionettes.
And when the zenith is reached,
comes a fleeting sense of victory.
Their point of contact comes to an end.
***** hollow, and soul still empty.
Like marionettes.
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 2:34 AM UTC
I don't need a lullaby.
I'm tired of being told to sleep it off and that it'll all be better tomorrow because sometimes you wake up feeling as desperate (if not more so) than before.
Pretty lyrics aren't going to remedy ugly scathing words and a soft, slow melody isn't going to cover up the irregular sound of a heart trying to beat in a rhythm it doesn't remember.
So kindly stop trying to force me to enjoy a happy tune I don't want to sing and give me a song that's honest and angry and raw like I am because at least then I don't have to pretend everything is just fine.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC