"statistically" poems
We create our own worlds
To try and escape the harsh one awaiting us outside our doors.
But don't you realize?
Your existence is a miracle.
Every thought, feeling, and emotion
statistically impossible
but somehow you're here.
Why deny the world access to your miracle?
God knows, we need one.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
I once heard someone say
That they both tried to **** themselves
But Juliet Failed the first time
(Even though she technically just
Wanted to appear dead)
But statistically girls are more likely to
Try to **** themselves
And if you count that first time
She tried twice
And Romeo died the one and only time
Which makes sense because
Though girls are more likely to try
Guys are more likely to actually die
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
I'm sad and alone and everything I touch turns to gold,
but that's the life,
amirite?
Money's the only matter that matters and some kids three worlds away are getting kidnapped and killed for quotas while these kids are worried about their quote of the day. And,
by kids,
I mean little girls at age three being sold on the streets and in between sheets in countries that aren't all that far away, and little boys whose coloring pages are filled with explosions and guns cause it's literal
war
they're waging. But down the way, parents are posting posters in their children's rooms prompting inspiration: it's something about peace and love-- I mean, that's what they all say.
Well, I've made my peace with the pieces of this prayer, a priest standing golden over me as I throw my diamond-encrusted hands to the air and scream, "Someone
save me."
But these people don't care.
I am a man of gold with a heart of stone and no one cares because, frankly,
Neither do I.
Statistically speaking, everyone in the States clings to the belief that if they just earned an extra fifteen percent wage annually,
then they could live happily.
But,
darling,
when everything you touch turns to gold, statistics don't
quite
fit
the diagnostics.
I
am the outlier, the outright liar, the purveyor of pride that cost me my life but
who cares? I mean,
I've got my money.
I've got my money in a capitalist country that feeds off circulation and circumstance that leads brains to short-circuit short-cut economic politics and slaughter chances, rather than enhancing the value of a life that money can't add up to.
Welcome to the slaughterhouse.
Welcome to the tolerance of intolerance of humanity. Welcome
to the closing scene, where we can be seen on the Globe, on William Shakespeare's pun-fully named stage cause that's what all the world is,
and so's
this gold.
It's a play,
cause some day the curtains will close and all my props will remain on the stage and I am sad and alone with my heart still fo stone but without any gold. I've
lost
my
touch, and
without this cash I'll be nothing but a ten second news flash announcing to the rest of these underpaid actors that I've been knocked off my throne.
I don't think I was ever a king to begin with,
just a man who could forge
fool's gold.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
If you had the opportunity to live a high-risk lifestyle, would you?
I'm not asking this to be derogatory, nor to be accusatory
I simply want you to think on
what it is
to live a high-risk lifestyle.
As a mass, we seem to think of it as an undesirable thing.
Now, isn't that just ******* quaint?
Probability favors a percentile:
That which is unique enough
to leave it's mark
on our realm.
That includes us.
Risk, unless done in ignorance, is the acceptance of probability
More specifically, the pursuit of the more improbable chance.
Perhaps when you think of high-risk, you think of constant parties
perhaps of ***** needles, and/or STIs
unprotected *** or doing psychedelics
but I ask you to ponder
just how high risk Life is to begin with:
Some wish to claim that Life is a granted gift
by some benevolent Father figure who has our back, (but not theirs)
but I say that's just selfish, arrogant and, frankly, quite foolish to claim.
This Universe was not made for us and us alone
as if we were some sort of Sims for a bipolar teenage boy on *******
We were not molded after anything intelligent
with the exception of the Universe and her Nature itself.
The probability of the Universe existing is not %100.
The probability of the particular combinations of atoms within the strands of DNA in your body
are not "guaranteed" to occur. Ever.
But they did.
They. Did.
They.
*******
Did.
As if the Universe were the soil to the roots of our existence
and Her Energy is as the water to the roots
and her Chemistry allows it all to happen.
And her physical laws, for lack of a better term, allow that to happen.
On top of that, you ******* exist! You! In particular!
With your experiences, thoughts and feelings, insights and interests, passions and even DNA!
You! Wonderful, temporary you!
Mortal you. Ethereal you. Spiritual you. Intrinsic you. Extrinsic you.
You exist, if nothing else, in a relative way.
There is no way to be certain.
What are the friggin' odds on anything existing at all, let alone you?
There is no way to be certain.
If you could bet on your existence, would you?
There is no way to be certain.
Nothing is granted; everything is permitted by the brain.
There is no way to be certain.
Perhaps it is deeper than that. I hope and think so,
yet, there is no way
to be
certain.
~Addendum!~
Statistically, about 93% of people accounted for by census information who have lived-
have died.
Statistically, that gives you a 7%ish chance of surviving this life!
That seems like a high-risk Life, to me.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
force fed lies from birth
subliminal messages infest my upbringing
blindfolded by greed
I don't see you starve
or smell the pollution
I can't hear the bullets flying
because my ears are stuffed with lies
they say the government has my interests at heart
that the school systems are built to support me
and we're more equal than ever
so why is the wage gap wider than my young eyes
and how is it that a country that screams freedom
won't put down their weapons
when their children are bleeding
why do I know how to dissect a frog
ignorant of the fact innocent civilians are slaughtered
intestines on display
like the green amphibian under my knife
because I can kiss a girl
in a drunken game of spin the bottle
but such an act would get me killed in 11 countries
and is still illegal in 72
why do I know the sum of internal angles in a triangle
yet I don't know how
to read the signs of suicidal friends
when statistically 1 out of 5 people I roam the halls with
struggle with a mental illness
even though more than half of those suffering
have no access to treatment
we are collectively clueless
I am no stranger to privilege
my gratitude is not withheld
but why am I more worthy
than the child forced out of his country
for his religious identity,
for being himself?
why when accessing the privilege of education
they don't teach me how to help other humans
when did sums become more important
than knowledge of current wars
did you know there's more than 10 of them?
because I've only heard of one
I believe that you choose to do nothing
but if i am never aware that I have a choice
nothing can change
and even though everyone has a voice
people with the solutions only choose to hear those with a status
how is it that such screams of desperation
sound so quiet to them
why are those in power of whole countries
so blind to our demands
why do they make things impossibly easier
for those whom already have wealth and advantage
when those stripped of human rights
always seem to escape their greedy sight
but some of us have something they fear
something that never crossed their closed minds
we have the power to create our own opportunities
we can force those whom are voluntarily deaf to hear
so hear me in my passage only seen by very few
this platform may be small but my words shout at you
an action no matter how small
a voice no matter how soft
provokes change if not in yourself
then in even the most unfamiliar faces
but the difference between thinking and action making
is you
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
"Perfection"
Should be a profanity
Consigned to myth
We are taught to aspire
To live a life
That doesn't exist.
Glossy paper
And saturated colour
Feeds us a fiction
Force asphyxiation
Because you will live average
Statistically
And will not become
The thing of dreams
Staring out of magazines.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
I used to bury myself in huge jackets.
I'd mope about and hate my curvy body,
hate the way my lips puffed,
my long hair, the way I was soft all over,
the way I was expected to shave
everything but my face.
I used to hate makeup and dresses,
girly movies and shoes and bobby pins.
I hated boybands. I hated pink things.
It took me a long time to realize that
I didn't actually hate these things.
I hated women.
Femininity was lesser. I was not good enough
because of my two X chromosomes,
because of my ***** because of my period.
I was weaker. I was stupider. I was
statistically less likely to succeed,
less likely to be important,
less likely to be loved.
These things weren't right. They were never true.
But it didn't matter, because nine-year-old me
believed them. My opinion didn't start to change
until I was thirteen and I wore a pretty dress
as a character in a home movie we were making
and I walked down the stairs and my friends
whispered whoa.
I began to understand then the power I had.
As a girl I was never lesser. I was never weaker.
Maybe physically, but that was more my personality,
and all those lies I'd told myself about success
about my importance about love
I began to reconsider.
I thought hey wait hold on
this can't be right, I'm not stupid, I'm not weak,
I'm not ugly and I'm not fat
and I'm not any of these things because
I'm a girl.
When I started to see myself as worthy of
other peoples' love, I realized I should love myself.
I don't hide my femininity away in huge jackets anymore.
I don't walk down the street fearful
of the people walking past who seem stronger.
Because in my lipstick and my cute heels,
I am in total control.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
The days that i am happy
are few and far between
no, im not depressed
I'm just a statistically sad teen
i wake up in the morning
regret running through my veins
and then i go to bed
with the same amount of pain
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
I drove 150 miles round trip
To hear a friend preach
And see him baptize an infant
This morning.
My friend preached on the Father's love
For the prodigal son...
Said, "The father loves those outside the fold
Every bit as much as those inside the fold!"
Made me remember that the Good Shepherd
Hunted far and near to bring the one lost sheep
Back to the other ninety-nine.
I thought, statistically speaking,
The Good Shepherd leaves no sheep behind,
(A hundred percent salvific rate
I'd call it... Pretty good odds for even
A dumb sheep like me...).
After the ceremony,
Lunching at the family's house,
The older brother of the baptized boy
Looked up at me,
Cake in his mouth,
And asked,"Are you Jesus?"
Took me quite by surprise,
But smiling,
I said, "No, I'm not Jesus!"
He asked, "Where is Jesus?"
His grandfather said,
"He's here!"
Pointing to the little guy's chest.
A little while later,
When his mom sat next to him,
He pointed to his chest,
"Jesus lives in here!"
Sunday sermons...
One in a church,
One in a garage...
I heard two today.
------------------
Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
you have the formula
A Love Poem Recipe:
Fij = G(Mi x Mj)/Dij.
This formula, simplified, means that trade between two markets will equal the size of the two markets multiplied together and then divided by their distance.
(The model gets its name from its mathematical similarity to the equation in physics that describes gravitational pull.)
~~~
long ago, swore off
the love poem business.
lying that this
the last poem ever published
moan not,
statistically, for sure be
a heart-infected sick teenager
bemoaning/high fiving
their fated status
but I don't need to add to
that smoldering pile
the excellence, the richness,
the virtuosity
of the formula
a metaphor,
for the bounty and the risk,
in any love affair, thus love needy
for a diagrammed explication
two markets, soft upon each other,
multiply their trade in love and kisses
can you kiss her (him) but once?
nonsense!
saying I love you
but once a day,
like it was a vitamin,
preposterous!
no, love expands like a gas
(a distant cousin to our formula),
filling in the empty spaces,
escaping through crevices,
spilling, oft filling up
the nearby bystanders
in love,
there is no thing as
one touch clicking
but one touch
reveals the genetic marker,
the initial intimacy injection
Let the addiction begin!
ten thousand grasps,
some soft, some hard,
upon each other,
till fingers go lifelong contented numb
desire and affection spread like a
positive infection,
the curative powers
elegiac,
but never prosaic and though
formulaic
think more
voltaic and paradisiac
electric heaven
go forth and scribe
you got the secret
recipe
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
Typically, statistically impossible events
are often called miracles; for instance,
when three classmates meet
by coincidence in a different country decades
after leaving school, may be considered
miraculous. However, a colossal
number of events happen every moment
on earth; thus extremely unlikely coincidences
also happen every moment;
Events that are considered impossible
are therefore not impossible at all —
they are just rare, depending on the number
of individual events;
It was British mathematician &
Cambridge University
Professor John Edensor Littlewood
who suggested that individuals should statistically
expect one-in-a-million events i.e., "miracles"
to happen to them at the rate
of about one per month.
By Littlewood's
definition, seemingly miraculous events
are in actuality commonplace;
The law, framed by Littlewood,
was published
in his 1986 collection, A Mathematician's Miscellany;
seeking among
other things to debunk
one element
of supposed supernatural
phenomenology
& is related to the more general law
of truly large numbers,
which states
that with a sample size as large
as the totality of reality,
any outrageous thing is likely to happen
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
A statistically probable Car crash
tore open the night with the screams of twisting metal.
The phone calls, the text messages,
that threatened to tear apart my world,
that tore me from my apathy,
and made me feel again.
A statistically probable Break up
tore apart a dear friendship with empty words and tears.
The misunderstandings, the contradiction,
that nearly pulled me under the waves
into the sea of my depression,
to drown me there slowly.
A statistically probable smoker
torn between two sides of of a pained and troubled coin.
The spitefulness, the empathy,
that threatens to bury me in another's pain,
and smother my last shred of love,
leaving me cold and hard.
When you look at the troubles life lay before you,
Sometimes you cannot deny the troubling truth,
That we are all statistics to be calculated,
rarely less, rarely more.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Statistically speaking
my sample size
of your thoughts
is minimal at best
biased at worst
I cannot draw
a reliable conclusion
from this mess
Convenience hurts
my chances
Clustering too
separates me
from understanding you
Estimated Probability:
a questionable
unlikely to rare
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
quite honestly, i don’t want you to remember this.
i don’t want you to finish reading and think man,
at least i’m not that pathetic,
you know? if i can make you feel better
about your own life, then great,
i’ll take it, but god, please don’t remember
me after you’re done.
i think that people exist when they’re thought about.
if it was that easy to blink out of existence,
i’d erase my name from every government database
and, i don’t know, go and live on an island
until i got eaten by sharks.
actually, let’s talk about that instead. sharks.
everyone’s scared of them since jaws
came out, but statistically they ****
one person every two years. that’s 0.5
people a year; half a person dying.
i’ve killed more people than that in stories.
but hollywood thought “hey, let’s make the big scary
shark into the villain”, and everyone said “okay”
and ate it up with big wild teeth
and now people don’t swim in shallow waters
because their shadows look like seals.
i wonder if someone made a movie about me.
‘the big scary sad life of never leaving your room’,
because people cross the street when i notice them
cross the street,
so it’s only a matter of time before i join
the barracks of some statistic, too.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 9:13 PM UTC
I'm a bit of an agnostic,
sounds a little weasely I know,
But god in addressing you
should i be using a cap G
or lower case g?
As a compromise for this conversation
let's agree
you get a small g and i get small i.
If you've been monitoring events down here
you know we have some not small problems,
and one of those problems you could easily solve by making an appearance.
Nothing apocryphal,
maybe a United Nation speech
to seven billion hearts 'n minds,
and as proof its really you,
you could cause peace to reign,
cure hunger,
call off heart disease and cancer,
for a statistically significantly period,
let's say three years.
What's in it for you?
How about that capital "G"?
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
The cordoned enclosure saw room for exposure, for left was a gap in the gate
Climb too, or come through because you are just you, others will just have to wait
”Pass right along” they pulled from the throng, you’ve made it to pass, what’s wrong?
What’s wrong?"
Statistically I’m missing from the list if it’s your interest, I’m fit to pencil in a premonition’s false opinion
Prequisites parameters convincing your decision, it’s easy to chew if you pursue, (yes I do, yes I do).
Does it matter if the gap between the passage and the trap was rapidly adapting to the path of least resistance?
(Knock it down)
The fence was built for me, you can see, you can see, and I slipped through where the crow
bar cut the seam at your insistence.
(Knock it down)
Now you can pass for normal if we’re looking through my eyes, but for the sake of records,
please mark all that applies:
Are you now or at any time have ever been hispanic, how much cans of beer were drunk
this week, now tell me did you plan it?
Are you a woman, are you gay? Are you black, or something else, how much money do you
make and did you make it by yourself?
(Knock it down)
List the creed that most reflects your personal beliefs, condense it for the register, it’s such
a big relief to know
That we can track the chart, we can craft the slope
We can tell you just by looking if for you there’s any hope
but X asks Y if it’s a study for the pundits
then tell me how we’re told to build if no one plans to fund it
Climb the fence it’s common sense, the barbs are not for you
Go on boy you’ve made it, climb on through, climb on through.
No need to be perturbed as fence hoppers were before us
Well the fence was meant for us, you no longer can ignore us.
Knock it down
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
From the time we are born,
we are flawed,
both through nurture and through nature are we damaged,
but there is something so beautiful,
so fatalistic about that,
and since we are inclined to failure,
the only way we can travel is forward.
Sometimes we move only a few steps at a time,
and more often than not,
we measure improvement by leaps and bounds,
both are progress,
both are important.
We like to think we are rational,
but statistically speaking,
we trust in our instinct more often than not,
even if it is beyond its depth,
we are not rational creatures,
striving for excess is not logical,
for time is money,
and survival is logical,
but we want more,
gathering approval is not efficient,
in many respects animals are much more optimal.
The thing that sets us apart,
the most important thing to note,
is love,
love is not logical,
love is not efficient,
but we value it anyway,
and so in the end,
we are not what we think we are,
we are not animals,
we are illogical,
we are inefficient,
and we are healing,
healing from the day we are born,
born with a frail disposition,
we are human,
and we are slowly mending.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
1
The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts
have sent me a notebook. Tossers.
The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek.
The Animal Events Recording Notebook —
fits in your pocket,
if it happens to be a school bag.
A little picture on the cover
Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf.
Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate.
No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf.
The cow has a pair of horns
that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer,
statistically dead. Plus,
the calf’s a bit too healthy looking
and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either.
Between the covers coloured-coded sections
chronicling the animal’s progress
from Foetus to Fork.
2
Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those
additional comment columns.
De-horning
Next to castrating lambs,
I love this job —
all-the-more if there’s a gang.
The first has no idea what coming
and the last wishes they weren’t.
But seriously, I’d say it hurts.
A lot.
Castration
See Revival, issue 6 P.14 —
revised in Inheritance P.26
Weaning
Always good for poem.
I laugh from the comfort of my bed.
Ye’re only halfway lads
And how far along are you?
They inquire back.
3
Ok, I get it. Seriously.
Stop depleting the rainforests please …
I have my own notebook thanks.
I understand their dilemma.
They fear mindsets will be inherited
form the old flock, the old stock —
the canners and brass tags —
who never converted.
It’s like auld women and the church
engrained since birth
and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway.
So they concentrate, groom us
weanling growing up
in the Age of A.I.M
on BETTER Farms
4
Regardless, the second you tag a calf,
the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink:
so not to jinx yourself
and have to write a cheque;
adjust your Balance Sheet,
invariably affecting your Gross Margin.
I know … I know
S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@#
But it’s so cold the frost is complaining.
Plus, they said on the radio: be kind
leave food out for the birds.
I’m just thinking of the foxes.
And, if anyone asks —
she never came in calf
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:27 PM UTC
Some people strive for the highest grades
Or the newest car
Or the nicest house
Some people have a hunger to be the best
To get the highest grades
To go to the best schools
To be better
But what about those
who strive to not be hungry
Statistically 1 in every 5 kids go to bed hungry
And guess what
They wake up hungry
Not knowing when the hell they'll get food
And here we are hungry for the new iPhone 7
We open the stocked cabinets
In our kitchens
And respond with theres nothing to eat
Tell that to the 15.3 million children
under 18 in the United States
Who live in households
where they are unable to access enough nutritious food
necessary for a health
We strive to be the best
We hunger the newest things this Christmas
But what about those who every day
Strive to not be hungry
-StefC
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
Just gonna run for hours once the sun comes up
Sleep and rinse repeat until I reach defeat
Maybe I'll be alright, maybe I won't
Maybe I'll take those silly meds to keep them chemicals in check
Maybe I won't!
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do Maybe I don't
Money, money makes the world go round round round
And I just don't got enough
They got me got me got me
Right where they want me
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do maybe I don't
I'll be alright
Alright as a poor ***** can be In this ****** economy
With people you can't trust
Who leave you in the dust!
98% to be exact
Statistically speaking
They are waiting on your back breaking
So they can be there and care for you in your despair.
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do.maybe I don't.
Nobody has triggered my sense of utter disgrace in this human race
Well now that's a lie
Because its all of you
I don't give a.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
You have to lower your
expectations for life.
It probably didn't help
being fed clichés for breakfast
like strawberry pop-tarts
throughout your
adolescence.
Middle school only
made it worse, when you
discovered words could
describe sadness. You learned
about math and the
improbability,
statistically speaking,
of your dreams.
The sadness picked up speed
in high school, and the teacher
you loved who smoked,
who cursed and made jokes,
who taught you how meaningful
words can be, has already
forgotten your name.
The university did not help
at all. Your tall, lost professors and
brilliant lovers
only added to the distant,
dream-like ego
of the future. Piling hopes
one on top of the other
accumulating mass,
collecting nothing.
Your dream is a tidal wave
and we are nowhere near
the sea.
If you could, please,
lower your expectations
of me.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
i
if mental illness
become glamorous
(when glamour
is fear)
could see here
or little green
men peering in
our collective *****
in the mirror or
on a flying star..
or there
which statistically
certainly are
in doubtful reflection
alien sadness
fat or thin
their self
nothings to
**** probings
regardless colour
!
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC