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"stigmas" poems
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about. When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”. The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide… But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
0
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
An article I read. "Robin Williams did not die from suicide."
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about. When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”. The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide… But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
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4
What does it mean to be a Chicano/Latino in the US? What does it mean to be Black in the US? What does it mean to be a minority in the States? You know what that means...it means that we have a lot to prove   As in the words of Booker T. Washington: "When a white boy undertakes a task, it is taken for granted that he will succeed. On the other hand, people are usually surprised If the ***** boy does not fail. In a word, the ***** youth starts out with the presumption against him." Now in a society where institutionalized racism, Or racism without racists, prevails We are disenfranchised from even being considered youth. We are a bunch of wetbacks, idiots, moron...you name it, Where failure is expected of us... ...but enough is enough, we should not abide to the stereotypes And stigmas that society stamps on our foreheads. As a matter of fact, I do not ever recall giving this white patriarchal society My blessing to call me whatever the **** it decides to call me. We are here to take manners into our own hands, here to do whatever the heck our heart desires. We are here to create the change that we wish to see in the world. We are here to become the few & growing positive statistics that we fight for. We are here to create voice and shed the light on those wins that we take to our hearts. No one is here here to reflect the stereotype that this ****** up society Tries to slap us with on an everyday basis. We are here to change perception of who we are and where we stand in society. We are positive statistics...not a stereotype.
0
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
A Positive Statistic...Not A Stereotype
What does it mean to be a Chicano/Latino in the US? What does it mean to be Black in the US? What does it mean to be a minority in the States? You know what that means...it means that we have a lot to prove   As in the words of Booker T. Washington: "When a white boy undertakes a task, it is taken for granted that he will succeed. On the other hand, people are usually surprised If the ***** boy does not fail. In a word, the ***** youth starts out with the presumption against him." Now in a society where institutionalized racism, Or racism without racists, prevails We are disenfranchised from even being considered youth. We are a bunch of wetbacks, idiots, moron...you name it, Where failure is expected of us... ...but enough is enough, we should not abide to the stereotypes And stigmas that society stamps on our foreheads. As a matter of fact, I do not ever recall giving this white patriarchal society My blessing to call me whatever the **** it decides to call me. We are here to take manners into our own hands, here to do whatever the heck our heart desires. We are here to create the change that we wish to see in the world. We are here to become the few & growing positive statistics that we fight for. We are here to create voice and shed the light on those wins that we take to our hearts. No one is here here to reflect the stereotype that this ****** up society Tries to slap us with on an everyday basis. We are here to change perception of who we are and where we stand in society. We are positive statistics...not a stereotype.
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27
I want crazy, I want cranky Let me be that old woman who gets mad easily Let this misogynistic society grow so great it will never be over oh no Crush me, objectify me Romanticize the way I dehumanize myself Discriminate me I am the stigmas, don't free them from me I will drink your *** and be happy Break me, let me crumble I am a lump of inedible meat Make a bet on my rushing blood Don't lose, don't lose oh you will win for sure Just say it and ***** on my mouth Don't let me have worth without you I am lesser than a slave, don't let me stare at your eyes Play with my broken bones, cut my veins as you please Make me beg, step on me I am watermarked and it says your name And yes this heart beats for you to stop It can start again if you say so You are the God, just do everything you want, just do everything you want I can't not take it I am inanimate I am inanimate I am inanimate
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Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
inanimate
these thoughts... they are my own, walled within the deepest recesses of my cerebral labyrinth. sprouting out of vine covered walls, are multicoloured blooms brandishing thorned stems and thirsty stigmas, dripping with absinthe. mind full of poison in permissible amounts... i am caught in a web of restless stupor, anguish... and regression... these thoughts... rationed out sparingly, for they're not for unready ears blooms of thought meticulously triaged before necessary expulsion. hairline cracks between insanity and peace... i tread precariously the fine, meandering line. still clutching my flowers in a tight obstinate grasp... not letting go for these tainted blossoms are undoubtedly mine.
0
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
Absinthe Minded
American Democracy is setting a trend: American Democracy is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths tricking and manipulating the Public via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you because the burden of Choice is far too stressful for the Moderner without proper medication, and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking, some sort of re-edification which is far too much for us to handle in this socially sanctioned doped-up state and with such an intentionally failing Education system from K through 12 and beyond. With American Democracy, We have a grand Illusion of Choice. It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True. (Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!) For American Democracy, They don't want mass Education. They don't want mass Edification. They don't want Critical Thinking; Those things prevent a Control by few. In American Democracy, They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights, They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself and chain us to a system that benefits only a few while destroying everything else, like Climate and Environment. These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real: They tempt us with the things we don't need, filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears, and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education, all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us. This System of American Democracy has degraded into a  corrupted fractal of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror: Aristocracy, Plutocracy, Patriarchy, Oligarchy, Kleptocracy, Demagoguery, Bankocracy, Corporatocracy, Fascism; Tell me, What is the ******* difference? I mean, even Adolf ****** was elected democratically under the pretense of "Change" then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933, (for which the Nazis blamed the communists.) under the pretense of "Security": Demagoguery runs Amok Among disedified Minds. They say "Freedom" and "Democracy" as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
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Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
American Democracy
American Democracy is setting a trend: American Democracy is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths tricking and manipulating the Public via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you because the burden of Choice is far too stressful for the Moderner without proper medication, and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking, some sort of re-edification which is far too much for us to handle in this socially sanctioned doped-up state and with such an intentionally failing Education system from K through 12 and beyond. With American Democracy, We have a grand Illusion of Choice. It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True. (Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!) For American Democracy, They don't want mass Education. They don't want mass Edification. They don't want Critical Thinking; Those things prevent a Control by few. In American Democracy, They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights, They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself and chain us to a system that benefits only a few while destroying everything else, like Climate and Environment. These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real: They tempt us with the things we don't need, filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears, and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education, all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us. This System of American Democracy has degraded into a  corrupted fractal of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror: Aristocracy, Plutocracy, Patriarchy, Oligarchy, Kleptocracy, Demagoguery, Bankocracy, Corporatocracy, Fascism; Tell me, What is the ******* difference? I mean, even Adolf ****** was elected democratically under the pretense of "Change" then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933, (for which the Nazis blamed the communists.) under the pretense of "Security": Demagoguery runs Amok Among disedified Minds. They say "Freedom" and "Democracy" as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
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60
Upper East Side The Hamptons Aspen, Colorado The plastic people Follow each other Moving in herds Like cattle to the Slaughter Drifting Floating Shifting focus From one charity event To another Whatever’s trendy Whatever’s fashionable Whatever’s happ’ning Whatever’s the need Tainted new artists Society’s rejects The film-maker who fits in with The flavor of the month The disease or the cause That captures the moment Stigmas overlooked Deformities relieved By one hyper exertion By one pseudo good deed Changing bedrooms Changing partners New alliances Noblesse oblige Mrs. Astor’s Four hundred Reinvented forever Reinvented with fervor On the edge Of hypocrisy Keeping up with the Jones’s Maintaining the houses Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura Malibu, Palm Beach Couture fashion Madison, Rodeo Worth avenues united Avenues of the liege Location, location, location The right address unspoken Dinner in the right places Sporting events to be seen Three martini luncheons Halcion evenings Business is business Where money’s retrieved Look to plastic people For fashionable guidance No matter the moment No matter the need Remember to catch them While jetting to Santa Barbara Saint Maarten, San Troupe San Marco, warp speed They live in their milieu Can’t function outside it Can’t follow a shadow That others believe It’s easy to find them They leave behind footprints But barely a mem’ry Or singular creed Other than finding The latest in fashion The latest persona Or new plastic breed
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
Plastic People
Upper East Side The Hamptons Aspen, Colorado The plastic people Follow each other Moving in herds Like cattle to the Slaughter Drifting Floating Shifting focus From one charity event To another Whatever’s trendy Whatever’s fashionable Whatever’s happ’ning Whatever’s the need Tainted new artists Society’s rejects The film-maker who fits in with The flavor of the month The disease or the cause That captures the moment Stigmas overlooked Deformities relieved By one hyper exertion By one pseudo good deed Changing bedrooms Changing partners New alliances Noblesse oblige Mrs. Astor’s Four hundred Reinvented forever Reinvented with fervor On the edge Of hypocrisy Keeping up with the Jones’s Maintaining the houses Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura Malibu, Palm Beach Couture fashion Madison, Rodeo Worth avenues united Avenues of the liege Location, location, location The right address unspoken Dinner in the right places Sporting events to be seen Three martini luncheons Halcion evenings Business is business Where money’s retrieved Look to plastic people For fashionable guidance No matter the moment No matter the need Remember to catch them While jetting to Santa Barbara Saint Maarten, San Troupe San Marco, warp speed They live in their milieu Can’t function outside it Can’t follow a shadow That others believe It’s easy to find them They leave behind footprints But barely a mem’ry Or singular creed Other than finding The latest in fashion The latest persona Or new plastic breed
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73
Here’s to us to the next generation Here’s to us to the first generation with shorter life expectancies than our parents to the next generation to create the most lethal weapon Here’s to us to another generation that is perpetuating stigmas around *** and ****** preferences to the next generation to create cancer causing chemicals Here’s to us to another generation keeping racism and sexism alive And here’s to us to the next generation to **** up the next generation! Yeah, here’s to us and all the distress we cause Yeah, and here’s to us and all the mess we cause No! Here’s to us to the next generation Here’s to us to the generation craving to live deeply and fully to the next generation that will fight for our rights as blacks and whites Here’s to us to the generation that understands that sexuality is fluid to the next generation to walk for; work for cures Here’s to us to another generation of protests agains lies and fights won with mighty pens And here’s to us to the next generation to create the next generation.
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Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
The Next Generation
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
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Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Time changes us
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
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18
It's an animal beastly thing wrapped up warm in stigmas headlines daydreams sleepdreams ice cream headspin. pain. Sirens call in my upper chest or my abdomen, maybe. a ****** sea. fish of mens' hooks eels and seaweed wound around aorta blood pumping mind squeezing toes cracking new blister dried fluid. cracks and flakes a flushing cycle, not over the **** yet. salty eyes heavy chest silver parcels unending quest not shiny particles. Head spin crack of dawn hey look the moon is gone. observed the craters they were my neighbours a hole in my heart like the one...... Don't play mean i try and try green bean carrot pencil brush pen, still here? Run! too hard. Curdling scream turns sour on my tastebuds my tongue has been dissatisfied. Add it to the list! lately I know these things should not have been acknowledged. Bed. No. Kitchen work? Yes. Hurts me through and through and I know it's because it is me and it cannot be handled but it settled in the pit of my stomach and it made itself a happy home. I HATE IT. BLOOD: *juice gore cruor claret hemoglobin sanguine fluid clot plasma vital fluid* why would I ever use blood? Porous salt bruises help mind chooses slugs and moths but i want insects like ladybird bees. Keep me weak and feed me lies because not once did you see me you only looked right past me. how does it feel, little peach, to be dishing out bowls of dinky lies. i ate it you were trusted you were good there's just so many people coming. when the moon rises and the sky twinkles lights about you its easy to be sad but its time for you to blossom
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Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
A Stream of Consciousness
It's an animal beastly thing wrapped up warm in stigmas headlines daydreams sleepdreams ice cream headspin. pain. Sirens call in my upper chest or my abdomen, maybe. a ****** sea. fish of mens' hooks eels and seaweed wound around aorta blood pumping mind squeezing toes cracking new blister dried fluid. cracks and flakes a flushing cycle, not over the **** yet. salty eyes heavy chest silver parcels unending quest not shiny particles. Head spin crack of dawn hey look the moon is gone. observed the craters they were my neighbours a hole in my heart like the one...... Don't play mean i try and try green bean carrot pencil brush pen, still here? Run! too hard. Curdling scream turns sour on my tastebuds my tongue has been dissatisfied. Add it to the list! lately I know these things should not have been acknowledged. Bed. No. Kitchen work? Yes. Hurts me through and through and I know it's because it is me and it cannot be handled but it settled in the pit of my stomach and it made itself a happy home. I HATE IT. BLOOD: *juice gore cruor claret hemoglobin sanguine fluid clot plasma vital fluid* why would I ever use blood? Porous salt bruises help mind chooses slugs and moths but i want insects like ladybird bees. Keep me weak and feed me lies because not once did you see me you only looked right past me. how does it feel, little peach, to be dishing out bowls of dinky lies. i ate it you were trusted you were good there's just so many people coming. when the moon rises and the sky twinkles lights about you its easy to be sad but its time for you to blossom
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17
we have been stripped from this from this discerment between what is intimate and private and public and a spectacle of its own social stigmas and rules and plots should they be followed, or understood ? all should be seen but none should be witnessed by the distant ever-present all-encompassing eyes of the people
0
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
big brother
At the going down of the sun will the world be less complete, the cinched robe of night less intolerable, as she ebbs away on cosmic string, emulating a massless, dazed neutrino blinking in and out of existence, unobserved and uneffected, liquored and unloved? In the wake of a June flowering, when foxglove lures the honeybee in six day flash, bud to corolla, blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas, digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back, the bee comes gathering where none else dare.
0
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
Mottlings for the Anonymous
(history) Quell the bard was silken-clad and ever young. her flute connected earth and sky, tamed lightning in the higher notes.. her ancient horse would winnie to her song of endless breath she blew her story even into stone. having borne the stigmas of a ***** her martial prowess struck, trampled disrespect to cacophonic dust while over hills and vales he carried her-- a love-sick equine heart at peace at last upon the road between her thighs, commanded loyalty of beasts and men. none claimed her for their own, though some risked instant death to try ..stirge beaks tap on bones and rock to seek corrupted blood of elven kings, who having reigned and fallen to a royal troglodyte of dragon times, paint each eon with ambivalence... i conjure what my heritage beholds --reclusive double-tongue to hoard all words, reinvent religions for a lark what legend am i privy to the making of that hasn't had its underwires stripped, hung about a square in lewd display of Fact to purge a sense of mystery awry? i am alone within my fantasy. its symbols still mythologize my i. i will not bare it here, or anywhere-- concealment is its freedom, and its boon-- in which a frame of tenuous material appears where antidote addictions cycle musically, the timeline's summoning a game of recompense, compensating wanderlust won by whim and licorice for thought; it finds familiarity untamed-- adolescent anchorage aweigh-- adventures into wildernesses lost .
0
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
window *** and wandering. pane 3
i'm walking down the street bare feet, without a care **** uber, metro, I hate public transportation, i'm dirtying up this sidewalk, for a few years already i'm writing down a will, in my mind, close to my eyelids, because i'm on the wrong side of my mind i feel sick, tasting the bitterness of humanity when I wipe mankind on the side of the pavement, at the very deep, there's masculinity mixed with ***** i'm walking down a bridge full of empty shells i pass hordes of girls who are smiling insincerely and again, i feel a boost in my veins and again, i'm louder than mirrors and as in the mirrors, voidness space, and it is me, who takes the best from it i absorb this poisoned air. In the ears of mine, i can hear electro heat, i feel like one man one Jean-Michel Jarre, rain is pouring through me, sticks to me like fog, i wrap myself in the warmth of two MDMA's, someone glances surreptitiously and steals my soul, you have a backpack full of cash, i have a suitcase full of emotions, i'm going on a journey through the cursed city like a hermaphrodite with a broken rod, streets, like stigmas, cry with hollow screams, in front of clubs content abortions on the sidewalk, let's leave this lie, like the walking dead assertiveness and pride to the gutter washed away. And again, this booster is kindling my veins i'm dirtier than a new jerusalem and similar to it, i'm sticking to everything and so I'm taking the most out of my heart and I absorb this poisoned air once again. and so the booster flows through the aorta it is flooding my tarred heart, destination reached. and my wallet is shimmering with bitter crystal nothing will change the course of this chemistry, betrayed. betrayed by their own bodies vidi, no vici, veni on its own, and i'm catching a laugh, standing still in the subway i am still absorbing poisoned air. hatred. jealousy. i've seen enough. today, in my city, sun rises in the morning. you will remember this day forever or forget it for eternity.
0
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Poisoned air
i'm walking down the street bare feet, without a care **** uber, metro, I hate public transportation, i'm dirtying up this sidewalk, for a few years already i'm writing down a will, in my mind, close to my eyelids, because i'm on the wrong side of my mind i feel sick, tasting the bitterness of humanity when I wipe mankind on the side of the pavement, at the very deep, there's masculinity mixed with ***** i'm walking down a bridge full of empty shells i pass hordes of girls who are smiling insincerely and again, i feel a boost in my veins and again, i'm louder than mirrors and as in the mirrors, voidness space, and it is me, who takes the best from it i absorb this poisoned air. In the ears of mine, i can hear electro heat, i feel like one man one Jean-Michel Jarre, rain is pouring through me, sticks to me like fog, i wrap myself in the warmth of two MDMA's, someone glances surreptitiously and steals my soul, you have a backpack full of cash, i have a suitcase full of emotions, i'm going on a journey through the cursed city like a hermaphrodite with a broken rod, streets, like stigmas, cry with hollow screams, in front of clubs content abortions on the sidewalk, let's leave this lie, like the walking dead assertiveness and pride to the gutter washed away. And again, this booster is kindling my veins i'm dirtier than a new jerusalem and similar to it, i'm sticking to everything and so I'm taking the most out of my heart and I absorb this poisoned air once again. and so the booster flows through the aorta it is flooding my tarred heart, destination reached. and my wallet is shimmering with bitter crystal nothing will change the course of this chemistry, betrayed. betrayed by their own bodies vidi, no vici, veni on its own, and i'm catching a laugh, standing still in the subway i am still absorbing poisoned air. hatred. jealousy. i've seen enough. today, in my city, sun rises in the morning. you will remember this day forever or forget it for eternity.
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47
I waited for an elevator It was an exceptionally long pause, And there was a group of three arguing Over the meaning of a clause. I knew the answer to their query, But questioned if I should reply. Social stigmas can be strange So I decided to be shy. They searched their minds, They racked their brains, And I just stood there - The answer boiling on my tongue. My elevator arrived just then, And I reluctantly stepped inside. The doors closed slowly, slowly, And I heard their voices die... ...So it is with my faith. Many people are searching And I have the answer, But I am too afraid to speak. So I step inside an elevator, And lift myself above their problems Pridefully rejecting the searching Of those who need an answer.
0
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
I Stepped Into an Elevator
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly over the perceived salience of his musings    It was as if there were a veiled mystique that left hopeful understanding ,                    ambiguously obscured ... His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale , like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,                    drowning acumen ; albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions , scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye                     Illusive accord ,                     beclouded by seeming stigmas                     borne of the flesh ;                     delicately sensitive nuances ,                     misunderstood imperfections ,                     bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ... In the hush of pensive repose , flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ; bequeathed as if darkness was magnetically drawn towards light , purging muted understanding ...                     Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,                     accepting , that all answers sought                     are not meant to be understood A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ; the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved , befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat , understanding a circle is vulnerable , only makes it stronger ―                     hence ,..                     it had been written                     in countless misunderstood ways ... Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ , tattooed on introspective walls far removed from the afterglow of light , where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;                     heart speak hushed , deft words avowed                     in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper                     soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow                     from unseen depths , permeating                     deeply within inner realms The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :                "Spell words that bind together passing strangers                    *Coalesce  thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone                  Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual                  hearts and minds with words of love and light.                    Conjure written  spells to bespeak sincerely ,                  a faith in unabated love*" and yet ,   he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words …words grasped from emerging thoughts                    drawn in to the light                    searching for other adept words                    to recite yet another way ,                    sketch another word-scape ,                    written with the relentless inexhaustibleness                    of an unstoppable awakening ...   Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light                    he will write it again and again ,                                           ... finding another way to be set free ...                                                                  Harlon Rivers
0
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
A fog that seemed to hover ...
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly over the perceived salience of his musings    It was as if there were a veiled mystique that left hopeful understanding ,                    ambiguously obscured ... His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale , like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,                    drowning acumen ; albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions , scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye                     Illusive accord ,                     beclouded by seeming stigmas                     borne of the flesh ;                     delicately sensitive nuances ,                     misunderstood imperfections ,                     bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ... In the hush of pensive repose , flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ; bequeathed as if darkness was magnetically drawn towards light , purging muted understanding ...                     Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,                     accepting , that all answers sought                     are not meant to be understood A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ; the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved , befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat , understanding a circle is vulnerable , only makes it stronger ―                     hence ,..                     it had been written                     in countless misunderstood ways ... Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ , tattooed on introspective walls far removed from the afterglow of light , where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;                     heart speak hushed , deft words avowed                     in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper                     soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow                     from unseen depths , permeating                     deeply within inner realms The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :                "Spell words that bind together passing strangers                    *Coalesce  thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone                  Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual                  hearts and minds with words of love and light.                    Conjure written  spells to bespeak sincerely ,                  a faith in unabated love*" and yet ,   he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words …words grasped from emerging thoughts                    drawn in to the light                    searching for other adept words                    to recite yet another way ,                    sketch another word-scape ,                    written with the relentless inexhaustibleness                    of an unstoppable awakening ...   Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light                    he will write it again and again ,                                           ... finding another way to be set free ...                                                                  Harlon Rivers
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61
When did feminism become a taboo? When did equality become uncool Men not superior to females Us not superior to them too. When did I become the taboo? When did this become uncool. So I wish we are all square and blue true, it'd make dating difficult but what'd you do, you'd talk to people true *** would be awkward too angles too many rights won't create create the sweetest wrong but at least we'd break the taboo No colour No gender No looks apart from the individuals descriptions Believe: I am female I am male without doing a cursory glance up and down believe: I am intelligent I am creative without checking my pigment or my **** because I am done with it I am tired non-acceptance Snap decisions Stubborn judgements it's nothing personal No, you made it personal You stole a personality Smeared it Said it was wrong Said I didn't belong. So I wish we were square and blue No stereotypes No stigmas No *** cos maybe we don't deserve it yet. If all we see are pigment genitals and stereotypes.
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
When did I become the stigma?
To be a Mrs Joe or become a lady Havisham? I weep for him I weep for him I weep for him and me. I lose tears salted with his stress or his concealed thoughts plugging up his brilliant mind i weep about him, about me about us there's no shame in being pure we're all pure at once there's no shame. To him there is. in the doubts of his voice and tongue there is shame. i love him. i love him with everything i have everything i see everything i believe or know i willingly give to him but he loves me not. ill slip him some purple petals dipped in yellow stigmas or become a ghost of a girlfriend. a ghoul of a lover. one insignificant link in a long shackled chain of exs forever bound in his vast memory and mind as ***** "cow" **** "ungrateful" "unworthy" Am I Cleoparra? Mrs Joe? Havisham? Estella? I have no twinkling green eyes i have no slender waist or vast, indefeatable wit i have no enigmatic undeniable beauty That would quake the heavens and make angels sing and string Apollo's lyre or beam such light that would Diana's breast i am insignificant .unspecial. he is special. i believe in no such god but he would be my proof my tear of hope a small ray of belief and defiance tearing apart a black unbelieving universe i am a passing pair of peepers he'll see a million as insignificant as i ill only know a love like this once. For him. he should live forever he will if not this world in a wasteland am i Estella? Cleopatra? Mrs Joe? Miss Havisham?
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Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Untitled
Halloween is the one day a year all the people with stigmas against Cosplay drop it and Cosplay also. Funny how stigmas are dropped if there happens to be an established cultural holiday. Can you say "subconscious cultural double standards"?
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Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
Halloween [Cosplay]
I wonder sometimes What it is the that people see When they look at me What it is that people notice first It never ceases to amaze Just how many seem to have A hard time really classifying me I think that we tend to classify people in general Its often very easy to just To automatically make assessment off of what we see We almost have a harder time Dealing with the people that are ambiguous That we can't classify right away Than the people that seem to fit The stereotypes Or are preconceived ideas About how we think People should behave Or even look And if people don't Automatically fit Into our neat little boxes And into a neat little Classification Its almost like we repel those people Somehow it scares us to see people That don't fit into our ideas Our ideals of normalcy that is based On social constructs that we have Built ourselves I think we need to step Away from putting people In small boxes We need to start really Looking at people Getting past the stigmas And the social constructs That we put on certain people And seeing the person for who they are Everyone is lost in their own ways We all could use a little help here and there But when you automatically Shun someone Or push someone aside Based on superficial constructs You ultimately end up alienating them But you are ultimately alienating yourself Living in lies and false fears That are based on false precepts in the first place We all want to be seen as people We all want to have our own voices To have our own views Without worrying about being judged Or classified by anyone We are all human We all deserve to be treated as such
0
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
Classifications
I wonder sometimes What it is the that people see When they look at me What it is that people notice first It never ceases to amaze Just how many seem to have A hard time really classifying me I think that we tend to classify people in general Its often very easy to just To automatically make assessment off of what we see We almost have a harder time Dealing with the people that are ambiguous That we can't classify right away Than the people that seem to fit The stereotypes Or are preconceived ideas About how we think People should behave Or even look And if people don't Automatically fit Into our neat little boxes And into a neat little Classification Its almost like we repel those people Somehow it scares us to see people That don't fit into our ideas Our ideals of normalcy that is based On social constructs that we have Built ourselves I think we need to step Away from putting people In small boxes We need to start really Looking at people Getting past the stigmas And the social constructs That we put on certain people And seeing the person for who they are Everyone is lost in their own ways We all could use a little help here and there But when you automatically Shun someone Or push someone aside Based on superficial constructs You ultimately end up alienating them But you are ultimately alienating yourself Living in lies and false fears That are based on false precepts in the first place We all want to be seen as people We all want to have our own voices To have our own views Without worrying about being judged Or classified by anyone We are all human We all deserve to be treated as such
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56
I bury exhaled consistency, the branch cultivated by stigmas locked to stock. Back to the trenches To be digested by A faded blue of obsession for depression Enamored with culpability. Ingested as scattered Parables punctuated with Shadowed flaws forthwith Swept over by sponsors Who fix; protect.
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Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Ingesting Flaws.
sadness how could I ever forsake the sacred? indeed child sometimes we seem to forget where we come from on our way to where we are our current plans for tomorrow i never forgot i just didn't always remember. stigmas of the past social tap dance transgressions left me aghast; mouth agape confused marinating it never mattered, nothing did. that was the motto life long LSD lessons to follow at times not adequate others still so hollow make room for others and make room for tomorrow
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Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
sipping diner coffee with swollen lips
I linger in absolute dedication for your sanctioned words to me. Your cuneiform gives me life when all of mine has been suctioned dry I am a budding tulip, to the earth the propinquity of its butterfly effect With each ripple the beautiful insect of the world ***** the very soul out of my being You, my dear pollinate each of my empty stigmas with your cloying words Sticking to my dry soul with an ease that can only mean in sufferance, we will find our happenstance *Leave your unease at the door you have no need for it with me, love.*
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Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
With Time & A Better Place
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam Sandler, great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of Paradise, Ikiru, Open City. This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people thinking, the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and silliness, silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical lucid progression. Deep art. I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with hydroxyapatite that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness, an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite. Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice. Looking for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then forgetting them. The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens, sticky stigmas. Striving for immortality, some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote) says he understands and it's alright. I will read what he wrote and probably agree but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts. True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms. To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing electrons, disrobing and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts, every whim.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Wings of Desire
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam Sandler, great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of Paradise, Ikiru, Open City. This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people thinking, the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and silliness, silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical lucid progression. Deep art. I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with hydroxyapatite that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness, an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite. Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice. Looking for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then forgetting them. The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens, sticky stigmas. Striving for immortality, some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote) says he understands and it's alright. I will read what he wrote and probably agree but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts. True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms. To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing electrons, disrobing and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts, every whim.
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32
Could thou, sweet flower, grow in any garden besides that closest to mine, just past the fence that bounds my lush, ever-growing heart? And weak shrubs cannot veil you, for lucid scents prevent and taunt my tangled garden, green and always lacking. At times I descry those delicate petals kissed with color and wonder – and wonder what could have been had I not left your strong seeds out to dry, had I overcome two stigmas' azure. Regret is such a reoccurring dream. I would soon whack redwoods and evergreens that overflow my empty flower bed and plant my cherished flower there instead.
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Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Could thou sweet flower? (sonnet)