"storys" poems
What's your name?
Abubakar salim bin jahedee
sorry sir you will have to step back,
****** hypocrites,
how does my religion connect to terrorism,
I'm just a tourist in your territory,
no doubt,
my fellow brothers who dress like me,
act upon their anger due to ignorance,
and the quest for freedom ,peace& justice,
Just see,
What a curious coincides that is,
-but does that make me a terrorist?
Islam's a religion of peace,
yet they propagate islam with bad image,
Which is a huge damage,
Who's involved in horrendous crimes,
Who oppresses mere harmless civilians?
When we retaliate the world begins to hate and
start generalizing,
without realizing what conspired,
-does that make me a terrorist?
Its we muslims who suffer from terrorism,
all around the globe,
Terrorizing and vandalising isn't islam heritage,
Impressed and obsessed you are with your TV,
believing the twisted storys as it gets to you with
no atom of truth,
Corrupted by silly illusions,
Apportioning blame on hopeless islamist
seeking for peace,
Do you still think i'm a terrorist?
Develop some form of reservation when you
call us terrorists,
I need not to speak through my nose,
before you know islam is against all kinds of
injustice,
-How can I be a terrorist then?
Innocent muslims die everyday,
In the hands of american soldiers
yet we are never part of the mainstream news.
No one cares,
Take a soul of an american citizen,
Then the whole world will point at muslims as
terrorist,
how tragic,
-does that make me a terrorist?
As a Reflection & manifestation,
Of an expression to the element of truth,
My Quran says,
you with your religion & me with my religion,
-does that sound like words of a terrorist?
I dress in the most noblest of form,
Yet you criticize me while you breed monsters
in your country,
Man to woman, woman to man all in the name
of civilization,
All these leaves me spellbound,speechless &
riveted
In loneliness and seclusion,
Reflect over the word terrorism,
And you will see it has no connection with
islam,
i'm a muslim not a terrorist.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
I wish i had a daddy .
I wish i was the little princess of a daddy.
I wish i had a daddy to take me shoping
I wish i had a daddy to come in my bedroom why im
laying in my bed in tell funny storys then cover me up in give me a good night kiss on the check. Their was this one man how i realy look up to as my daddy he treated me like i was his own in like a princess in would sit in listen to how i felt in everthing eles he was the only man how i have ever look up to as my daddy in now i wont ever get to see him ever again he loved me as his daughter he would alwhys say how he more then a daddy then what jay is cause he dose more for me then what that jay guy has ever did 4 me . in his name was rohn he was gonna be my step dad in 2 moths but my mom in him brooke up now i am never ever oloud to see im again now so i am sad but maybe one day i will get to him again sincarly love me hayley >3
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Please don’t pity my situation
I’m frozen in situ
Don’t smile and **** your head
Don’t say awww or that’s a shame
Don’t pat my hand and assume it will happen
Don’t tell me I’m missing out
Don’t tell me I’ll never understand until it happens to me
Don’t assume your life is more fulfilled then mine
Don’t pretend it makes you more mature then me
Don’t make me a faux Aunty to another friends fruit
Don’t joke about lending or sitting like it’s the same
Don’t imagine Yours could ever be a substitute for mine
That they could replace the ache in my heart or fill it with what it’s missing - even worse be greatful for the privilege
Don’t act like it’s a grand gester like your giving my life meaning
When things are awful and bad don’t tell me you stay for them and use them as an excuse to not walk away
Don’t tell me if I had I’d under stand
Don’t make me feel incomplete because I haven’t - I’m already feeling it
Don’t call me lucky because I sleep in
Don’t say “nice for some” when I go out it isn’t my choice
Don’t assume this is about freedom
Don’t pretend it will happen one day
Don’t put your false hopes onto me
Don’t assume he will leave me if I don’t deliver - we’re much more then potentials Ps
Don’t assume it’s because of the weight
Don’t give me a gimmick or tips
Don’t tell me your storys
Don’t talk about it or predict about it
Dont tell me about feelings in your waters
Don’t treat me like this is my only purpose
Dont think I get hurt because you grow and blossom in a way I can’t
Don’t assume I’m bitter and resentful
Don’t pretend I can’t be happy for you
Dont treat me like I’m broken like my whole exsistence revolves around a broken womb
.......I’m so much more
.......I’ve seen so much more, felt so much more, grown and lost
.......I live so much more and want so much more
.......I have more plans and options then you can imagine
My back up plan is full of love and life still!!
(C) Ashley Kane FB
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
I swear I get melested by the stories.
why do they alway only open up to me?.
With my big eyes and my opened door heart
home to home,
Bin all alone...
all there sad hearts,
are making me fall apart.
there storys.,
are, are so gory!.,
These girls are so great and have bin put up to steak.,
mulested arested, and std tested..
they deserve better,.
10 moved to ben with a baby inden, ***** and untold,
born in a shack,
shows how the world can be oh soo wack.
12 no plan to move on to 18.
I am just **** One cent more then spit.,
You're a blessing, tore up mess lost kiss sad hug.,
don't give up , KEEP hold that tug.,
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
I don't care for my suffering only yours .I don't care for the cruption that has become the world. Call me careless because it's true. I don't care for any of it .
I don't care for your convertible BMW or your mansion three storys high. I don't care about your million dollar suit or your billion dollar welth.
I'm careless for the fate of the poor because they sit in their homes with ten cars in the garage and not a care in the world. I'm careless for the poor because they don't know how to react to the half blind man sitting on the curb with the hope of just keeping his faimly safe.
You can say I'm careless because I am
But if you say I don't care about the rich your so far from right that your of the radar. I care for those who can't go far and can barely aforde a car. They know who they are and don't bother with goin to the bar to drink away their sorrow.
I care for those who belive in tommrow and struggle for their lives to become right and their not blinded in the night.
They fight through with light and and won't take flight when they hve to prove their right.
I care for the rich and not the poor call me *** backwards but did you ever consider your that your the one in reverse?
Did you ever consider being the one who is careless or do you go with the flow of a sociaty that accepts the poor with open arms and shuts the rich out with the simple look and never consider that they've picked up a book?
Saying I'm careless can be so right but don't say I won't put up a fight because the ones who have everything have nothing and the ones who have nothing have everything.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 11:37 AM UTC
I write about you alot.
Shh.
Don't tell anyone.
I don't want them looking for my words.
There is a reason i don't where shorts.
I have to hide the words.
If people see the words,
I can't be a poet any more.
My poems are words.
Unspoken words.
Everything i wanted to say.
Everything i never said.
Don't ask to read them.
You won't understand.
The only person who can read them are me.
For they are my memories.
I am a poet.
I write things people don't understand.
Nobody reads my storys.
Because there are no words.
Just soal.
Just pain.
Just scars.
Just love.
I am a poet.
A silent screamer.
My words are powerless without sound.
I will scream with my life.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
I don't want something like Romeo and Juliet
I don't want something eternal
I don't want something perfect
I want something real.
I want something that we will remember
Something true
Something that nobody would know about
Except for me and you.
And I want it to be like our little secret
I want it to be barried with us
Because the most beautiful love storys
Were never really known.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC
To awake you in your sleep,
shake the covers from your bed.
all energy a simple memory
no more awareness of your soroundings
strait from the horror storys you've heard
your curse now your blessing.
Your body now with baby.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
then the full corn, in the ear.
¿Has the seed faith evidence,
made the dedicated monk
useless, due to evolving knowledge,
horticultural returnings to old knowns,
bringing hope to survivalists,
intent on living on Earth, warless
for the ever after this?
No, fighting
for a faith that must be kept,
pristine, clean, cleared of science logic,
such has left all reason bleeding,
use the rags remaining from the old
folded and put away worlds
in storys held
stuck in the stars,
so we may remember, lest we forget.
Those who knew nothing as we ought
to have been knowing by Christmas,
all are forgiven, or nothing is true,
self-evidently…
washed, cleansed from perceived stains,
white as new-fallen snow…
Deep Mind white room cinema effect,
preceding the ever after this…
you be come this far, alone.
You be edging up on after all's
been said and done, what you did's
been said to have done nothing,
nothing, thus
nothing done wrong,
nothing done to no effect.
Feb 28, 2024
Feb 28, 2024 at 1:25 PM UTC
darkness can come over us at any time, when we least expect it
turns our day into night, my darkness hides monsters, they are faceless
and yet each one,has my face, a face of mistakes
each bloodsoaked line, tells its own story
a grain of sand in a lifetime, of blood guts, and glory
a page in a book, a look into someones life
a good read, or a reason to hide, float away on the tide
i watch people, not people like me, there arnt any
just regular mr and mrs smith
i watch them shop, chat, buy, sell, argue,
i watch them watch me, i wonder do we all just watch each other
do sisters watch brothers, sons and daughters,
fathers and mothers, we all watch the clock, tick tock
time running out, death getting closer,life going out
people rush to get somewhere, rush to get back
sit for 5 mins and think about rushing, for this and that
not taking time to chat, laugh, or nap
no time to rest, just headless chickins
searching for slim pickings, life has to offer
sheep that bleet, waiting to be meat, on some fat ******** table
stuffing it in, relaying some useless fable
to guests that have requests, to be entertained
wine and dine, pass the time, like fat swines
feeding and breeding, living to eat, to consume
we are nothing, nothing that matters anyway
we just eat, bulshit, die, and fade away
we are here for a short stay, in this coffin life
living in stone tombs, for a price
noyone cares, noyone is nice, we are all rats and mice
kids and a wife
a sharp knife, to cut my own throat
bleed me dry, make me cry
leave this life, its not nice,
daytime fading, darkness waiting, life escaping
i dont care, nothing left here for me anymore
i am sick of being life,s *****
cant do it , feel sick, cant look in the mirror, to face myself
i am a blank expression,
eyes cloud over, time has run out, i am free, dont cry for me
i am finally where i need to be,
alone, in the ground, not a sound,
cold, old, no more storys to be told
just darknesss
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
Epic storys told every day
I can never speak my mind.
The grip I have on reality
Indeed its quite unrealistic.
To always know the current
Hurts like neddles poured into a current.
My thoughts are congruent with bullets
Before and after shots fired. This is my fire.
I live with my own spirits
I have jedi mind tricks.
I kick it with my mind all the time
We drink soda and walk the streets at night.
But the mind is not to be wasted, not mine
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 10:00 PM UTC
Pillows hold so many secrets.
There's the tear stained nights
and midnight chit chats.
There's whispers of regret
and sleepy heads.
Some turn to pillows from over exaustion
and others toss and turn with insomnia.
Drunken heads that have passed out
and ones that block out the bad with sleep.
Sleep talking, monolouges and bed time storys.
"Dont worry my darling it will all be okay"
Woes are spilt and soaked in
by our trusted pillows.
If only they could talk, oh the secrets.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
get more of the catalyst,
this leaves the kids less allowances,
you know the treasure trove,
its sickening hold,
our finger grow cold,
as our shadows do fold.
its a chapter too bold,
this storys too old,
you keep wanting me to do the
t plus o ld,
but ***** how many times you gonna wear an oldie.
smell that moldy,
lonely,
calling
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
Without God life is hopeless,
For what is there to really live for?
If not created by God then what's your lifes goal?
Breathing yes but purposeless,
For what can be created without use?nothing, yes!.
Or what can exist without being created and actually have use?
Nothing of use.
All of life is like a book,
You are a character,
But with free will,written by the greatest author.
You're not trapped like a fish on a hook,
You choose your way,
But the storys already written,
No matter how you go astray,
His will can never be beaten.
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
The night is not young
The night has rinkles
And tells terrible storys
About being bitter
but this night drives fast
And smokes menthols
Keeps the neighbors up late
With their antics,
Teenage dreams ascend
Cloudy with the white
And the stains of fun.
The night has jumped the gun.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
i love the way,
you put a smile on my face,
all the weird litle things
got me, thinking on the chance
of living again, or trying to thou,
the ways of looking back in secret,
the way you look like her, the lion owner,
the ligth of lights knows, someday i will
live, even if she owns my heart, some other will
accept that, and be with me, hopefully, and knowing
that my heart is not mine anymore.
that is my prerrogative anyway, a shared beast
a lover that will love you entyreli, and faithfully,
but knowing that in secret, he two, loves another
the same way he may love you, and that is it,
no catch or trap, no ******* crap, just an inpossible
story, that will remain for ever, secretly, respectfully.
silently and faithfully taken, a romantic beast, a lover
and a fool, a ****** killing beast, with love capacity
and a faithfull lover, adoring you, but knowing,
that he loves another, and for ever will,
if my heart can be shared, and i know it can,
she could be the other one, owning the lion's heart.
hopefully that other one understands,
there is storys that never end, last and last,
as looks in the distance, will never end,
and the distant lovers, will always be that,
distant and inloved, dispice the odds,
and dispice the distance, but that is all.
the heart is strange, and whimpsy, so
maybe i could love you, as i love her,
no buts, just that, i trie to forget, and trie to
not care or look back again, that don't work,
so crazy the litle secrets in the lion's heart.
dispice that, i will love again.
find someone, then, loving her,
she may know already, i could love her,
make her mine, **** his pups,
take her in heat, making her mi lioness.
a litle beasty girl, to love,knowing,
that the half of my heart can be hers.
the other half, is owned, and for ever
will be.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Love's a broken thing
It never works out
It comes with a sting
To wipe you out
It will find you and hold
And you'll embrace it
You're bought and sold
You're owned by it
Love will deceive
The kindest of hearts
You'll try to believe
But it'll tear you apart
There might come that chance
Where you will slip by
Ask her to dance
And love her till you die
All the memories
The sleepless nights
All of your storys
Will make it alright
So In the end
It all seems worthwhile
You'll look over at her and
Simply smile
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:08 PM UTC
For my first poem ill start with a welcome. You have now entered my world now step back listen to the storys of a young boy from baytown where hes from. I like to write mostly about life, and how sonetimes it makes u wanna **** yourself with a knife.
Everyone can is welcome here, you dont need to fear, for im not god im just like anyone on here. -Arnulfo garza
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
I wish a was a child a again
Sunny
Rainy
Snowy
Just to play with my friends once again
I wish i was a child again
Playing around and don’t worry about one thing
cloth
money
jobs
To a child thats not relevant
I wish i was a child again
But im just i child who is lost in this world and has to act like a grown men
He didn’t choose too step on this scary and dark game he was pusht by the time he turnd 18
I wish i was i child again
Too read storys about how a girl fall in love with a curst man
I wish i was i child again
Sleep on my mothers lap and not to worry about a **** thing.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
Once apon a time in london de vor poetry was hidden and never seen before people came all around people were quiet too no one came out there for the king and queen had a daughter name rose when she came out of the palace she was different from the others sure she was a princess but she like riding horses and fishing as well but her favorote thing to do though was poetry that was her thing she did most of the time she wrote the story of her life before she died and the people that were in her life she made peoples lives alot better after she died people everyone cryed she brought hope and happyness to others but no one will forget about her storys it will go on in history of the true beauty of poetry. That left the hearts of of happy ness shes the goddness of all the poetry the stories and all of time
By ashlee allee
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Thanksgiving,
What does it even mean?
I mean I know the dictionary definition,
To give thanks,
But what does it really mean?
I mean what is so apealing,
about sitting around a table,
stuffing your self to the brim,
and sitting in akward silence with all of your family members?
I know that with my family this isn't the case,
we talk and tell storys about thanksgivings past.
That is until someone,
gets in a fight with someone else.
Then comes the yelling,
and the screaming,
and the crying,
and last but not least,
the "Come on kids we're going"
And then the akward silence in the car,
that is the worst
then one of the kids asks,
"why were you fighting?"
and Mom just answers,
"Don't wory about it,"
and that is the end of it.
Then you get home and get in bed,
and lay there thinking,
"what is the meaning of thanksgiving?"
"I don't think it's fighting with your family."
And then you fall asleep
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
YOUR MIND IS LOCKED AND I CANT FIND THE GOD **** KEY
IS IT STORED AWAY IN A SECRET PLACE
OR IS THE KEY IN YOUR HEART OF STONE
UNLOCK IT AND LET ME IN THE DEPTHS
WHERE COB WEBS HAVE FORMED
AND THINGS YOU NEVER KNEW WERE EVEN THERE
AND LIKE TORNADOS BRING TREES TO THE GROUND AND UNHIDDEN STORYS ILL STORM YOUR MIND AND RESURFACE YOUR SECRETS
ILL SLIP MY WAY BETWEEN EVERY CRACK AND CREVES
BUT KNOW THAT ILL LEAVE PIECES OF MYSELF BEHIND
NEW SECRETS UNTOLD TO THE PUBLIC PEOPLE
THINGS YOULL NEVER FORGET
LIKE THE WAY YOU TOUCH MY FACE
AND KISS MY LIPS
AND THE SOFTNESS OF MY BREATHE ON YOUR NECK
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
I've been writing poetry for about thirty years now.
I have notebooks upon note books filled with many thoughts, storys and so called lessons.
Scribbles collected on stationery, box topps and restaurant napkins.
Many lost or thrown away, as I used the napkins to blow my nose when I had the flu.
I wrote poetry in my younger years
In 24 hour diners and when I wasn't to hung over to go to school.
Sadly though most of those lessons are gone to be forgotten, in dump grounds of Parma Ohio Set in the city's ground engraved on old desk topps and tables are these thoughts. Slowly fading, like my mind, slowly detererating more each year.
I've been writing poetry for about thirty years now. I haven't accomplished a thing accept carpal tunnel and a repetive mind. Collecting and capturing my thoughts really made me see how little I think, how repetitive I really am.
Collecting and capturing these thoughts, prose and so called lessons, really accomplished not a thing.
A bunch of notebooks, loose papers and dried out pens.
Maybe there is an accomplishment from this mess, maybe it has helped me see I am a hoarder and can't let go of any of my thoughts.
Although they are all the same, just rearranged according to the day, I still think they mean something. "If something was nothing, I would be rich."
Glancing back at thirty years of beer soaked ******** and coffee stained sobbing really gives one a new perspective of how deranged life really can be.
So I'll pack another 20 sticks, smoke faster then I breathe and write a new "profound" thought from this epiphany .
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC