"spoonfed" poems
The phrase "collateral damage"
is used so not to cause offense
to desensitize the public
'bout the ****** of innocents
We're spoonfed daily numbers
of those who won't come back
but for innocent civilians killed
we dont bother keeping track
Because they're "collateral damage"
a nameless faceless entity
so easy to ignore
if they don't look like you and me
But when the shoe is on the other foot
and our innocents get killed
we put pictures in the papers
and monuments we build
Have we really sunk so far
as not to comprehend
that "collateral damage" means people,
and that war just has to end.
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 4:40 PM UTC
Mother Media,
Has strapped us to her highchair of lies,
And spoonfed us,
What she believes is best,
Despite our protestant cries.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
Tangible toys to trifle with
Telescopes and televisions and telephones
Teaching us to tick and tock
Telling us time
Trading touches for tricks
Though doesn't it seem just so?
The collective ties then tears
Tucking individualism into sleep
Terrors of the twilight to wake and hint
Tweaked in turbulence to set the sails smooth
Trying at contentment to dig up but contempt
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Telepaths and tellers on muted megaphones
Teething a societal infant proves troublesome
Tight jawed and spoonfed
Track the time travellers, the ****** heretics
Tennessee in '33 preached inequality
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
Woke up on the cold side of
the bed again.
Lit my cigarette by the wrong end.
With decisions to weigh and debts to pay,
I dance better by myself.
Abandoned paved streets
shadowed by bright city lights;
a motionless breeze gives flight
to broken kites.
The man in the hammock dangling
by a string
stays aloft in his solitude.
In the trivial pursuit of a
worthwhile endeavor
a life neatly filed away is run
through a shredder.
Spoonfed as a child then left all
alone;
jilted like a bad penny.
Seeing through a prism of a dull
grey shade.
Bewildered at the ease of a
one-sided trade.
She built you a throne made of
leather and silk;
a throne made with only three legs.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
cough up yr misery lungs cough up whatever words u were spoonfed before u knew what words were
god,vermin,what have they done to u
u told me this is what chains feel like,tight bound against ******* silk
tell me,vermin,does it hurt to have yr eyes pecked out?does it hurt to be wrong,vermin?
yr a disgrace(is that what they told u?) but god u look nice tonight
i can see the bags underneath yr eyes outlined by every bad thing u've ever said
god u look beautiful
im waiting for a train.no,im waiting for ten trains,all going in the same direction
24-hour unrest system and all u can think to say is "dead birds
make good pets"
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Mid day moonstruck cafe somewhere in the city
where hearts constantly swoon over brighter neon skies
and the brightest settled at the bottom of my glass,
I am madly intoxicated by the spirit of free speech.
I saw hips swaying with strawberry and kiwi atop
the mahogany brown by the kitchen sink.
They sold *** by trade for a dozen foes and fetish laden
throes of pink.
I heard someone singing Auld Land Syne at the height of
November fog.
There were cups made of porcelain blue; someone dropped a pair
right after the washroom saga.
She kept coming and going, and coming and going, and coming
until she sat on my lap; beet red, as I was, when she stood
and left a pitcher more than we could handle.
Did we eat? I remember eating and cursing because they forgot
our forks.
And spirits matched lone spirits; they tended to one another
as one performed the greatest story ever told; that of a tragedy
left undiscovered by three people, maybe more.
I fell for the bartender, as with the hostess and the
guard and that one glowing illusion made up of wishful thinkings
and mere repetitions of whatever you are for the day.
Do you remember? I counted one full mid year for the buzz to finally
kick in.
I learned a few things, spoonfed with it, that’s the truth.
Did I ever thank you?
Dogs never lie, as with kids, and we are neither.
So that one letter tied with a big plump red ribbon adorning
the bulky box of heat, with the sugary high impulse perfect for
an ADD bloke, and that monkey – he was hairy, and thus I named him Harry -
became a last-minute Thanksgiving that year.
Because friends don’t lie, and presents don’t always arrive.
Glasses break, phones give up, and people forget.
But I’m mafia like that, so I don’t.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
Spoonfed a mouthful of soft poems,
the pangs of unthanked love numb your heart
to fortify against the abrupt attack of truth;
That one feels is a weakness,
or if he does speak of it is a fool!
This is but an unhinging maze
to soak the mind in waves of guilt and despair
stagnant as a melted nightmare...
And thus, the heart believes it
only to begin to freeze forever more.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
as i sit here plagued by forgetfulness
i realize that i am happy
i realize that my imagined suffering is a form of denial
that in actuality i do not care
i believe that i am content with my lot
that all i desire is what i am doing at present
that i will in fact realize my greatest desires in life
and that all the hatemongering i have been spoonfed
will also run down the cosmic drain
like so much curdled milk and mildewed honey
and that i will achieve happiness here
in this beautifully stark wooden chair
i will be happy
as soon as the final drops of detritus drip from my nose
and the final watery remainder of my brain matter completes
the Rorschach stain on my shirt
and i can no longer reason or comprehend
i will be happy.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
as I do I stand to bother
with thoughts of clouds
that rise from rubble all around
yet my mind wanders upward
I stifle sounds to stand in cold
and beckon yearning so abound
this little thing that I would mould
though all is fire all around
these sirens haunting so profound
are whispers falling to the ground
and here I bother lest confound
with markings soldiered and unwound
instead of spoonfed thoughtforms "found"
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Ha! *** God? hahaha
You're a ****** 'god'!
a leech, a tick at best and
sure you've got a bright side
but those interlacing threads
that you so easily hid behind
prevented me from thinking and
from feeling and I'm sorry,
I wanted to like it, I wanted to, but
I'm thrown into oblivion
by this power differential and
I'm a suspended particulate
in space space space and
whether it's perceived or
imposed is rather irrelevant
and fully functioning as he
held me close and he
spoonfed me snow and
he planted sick saplings
between my ripe ribs and
he carefully twisted them
as they sprouted out
of my skin my skin and
somehow he was my...
my savior but
he suffocated me
with his kisses and
my neck was never long enough
to pull back from those lifesuckers
and my throat was always numb
from what he put inside me and
it's what keeps him happy
what makes him happy and
my lips would dance dance dance
around sharp shards the sharp shapes
of words but I would only chew on
cotton ***** cotton ***** and
they'd never fall but
my castle sure did
my keep sure crumbled
and he's a crippled
conquerer.
I was just
another thing
to have to him.
I was something to win
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Dad promise me I won't die
She sobbed as her mother wailed in the background
He could not get home
He could not save her
Mom make them stop
It's too loud and I am scared
I can't feel my legs
Take this metal out of my skin
Oh Salma just close your eyes
Dream that you are a princess
And fly the skies
Rest in peace my child
The birthplace of saints
And the graveyard of angels
Nothing to see here
Just another dead Palestinian
Did we learn from ******
Would we allow another mass genocide to take place?
Stand up people and say
Not in my name!
Because until we do
You and I we are murderers
As mothers watch the rain of bombs
And we sit at the dinner table as though nothing is wrong
Be critical
Search for the truth instead of being spoonfed
How do your actions contribute to bloodshed
Is your tax aiding war weapons
Of mass destruction
And is CNN reporting truth
Unbiased and removed
True images polished with lies
Ethnic cleansing
Taking place right before our very eyes
We are not out for revenge or punishment
There are civilians on both sides
But injustice is wrong
And we cannot allow it go go on
Here on the ground in a war torn land
Israelians and Palestinians get on
Pain unites them
But who is fighting them?
Under political agendas
Peace will never embrace them
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
"I'm sorry"
said in six varieties
a thousand times a day,
he asks why,
why it's all I ever say-
but how can I tell him
that it's all I ever feel.
Sorry burns from deep within,
Sorry runs boldly through my veins,
Sorry is screaming from my soul,
whispering from my eyes
and falling from my lips.
Sorry was beaten and spoonfed to me as a child,
Sorry was branded on my skin
Sorry was woven in my clothing
and pricked into my heart.
Sorry is all I ever was,
Sorry is all I'll ever be.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
we were spoonfed cliches about parties and wild nights and kisses under flashing lights but no one ever told us about the other possibilities
that maybe people wouldn't like us enough to invite us
or life would throw us chemical hurdles to surpass
or maybe we followed those lights just a little too closely and found ourselves standing in front of headlights and broken glass,
having tried too hard to find our storybook lives and instead wrote the beginning to a somber tale of loss
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
been thinking of you lately,
every thought of you spoonfed to me on a hot summer breeze.
the kind that makes you exhale extra hard, racing for the next breath.
i crush the lavender sitting in my vase every evening
with my bare hand, just enough until it reaches my nose.
it doesn't make me think about a hand around your throat,
but it permeates the air just as sweet.
the fresh and rotten cherries knock on my window the next evening,
and i'm still looking for you between the mirage lines.
i open the window, and it's as sugary as a cherry pit.
no, not that one, the pit in my stomach.
the butterflies welcome the rotten core, a cannibal feast.
if you knocked on my door the next day i'd
imagine it as something like a little bit of both.
a pit in my stomach and a hand around your throat.
your hair smells like an unaired room from bygone summers.
the fan is turned on low speed, and my neck is stiff from the draft
and turning towards the window.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 7:47 PM UTC
Ahhh I hate it
No, not the way
I've fed you silence
You ate it.
But did not swallow-
Did not nourish.
I hate it.
I gave you words
To eat and sustain.
But they too slip.
Easily and inevitably.
Now, I'm misunderstood.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:54 AM UTC
i awake upon brewing dawn -
stinge of a last hit waltzes past
my beloveds’ fingertips taunted with ash,
and i succumb to hauntings
how i beckon with lost days
overindulge in spoonfed daggers
my blistered throat parallels zir inflamed ego
suffocated deceptive, guilt - scripted coerced, apologizes
escorted by fault down crimson carpets
what a provocative
refusal of touch names me ****
but the other femme knows another,
another i know well
the grim reaper looms amidst repressed dusk
i plead for rising moons
i appeal for reassurance
query the harlot?
i mustn’t
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 2:08 PM UTC
fungi sunshine ride try time
grimey-find me-blinding--house couch tv--remote variable-gruesome food spoonfed by joanna newsom
singing in the key of airplane noises--make-shape-exorcise fate from cups half full of lulls and binary--hi-bye--lycanthropic soda dealer guilt tripped by the full moon--cool dude though-fun crunch curmudgeon stuffing love into guts-upchuck-punch drunk-cousin to state vector wreckage-barbecue-hard to loot-heart over headaches--family-friendly--revelry-devil setting clocks back--watch-lost and boundless-child in a wilderness--eat-eat-drink-shit-piss-piss-pistis-missing person surgery--blind forensics-thick skin---little bitty mystical-sit down
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC