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Look to the person on your left
And to the person on your right
And pull out your phone, and look at yourself through the reflection of your screen

Each one of you has been affected by toxic masculinity

If you looked and saw a woman,
You saw a victim, someone
Who's been tied down and told what to do
To stand in the kitchen and do the dishes
While the man stays in the other room with the TV
And has an affair with the sofa

I hear the two of them are happily married now,
In fact, the couch and the man are inseparable

The man becomes the couch, and the couch becomes the man
defiling that once holy entrance to that place you used to be able to call a home

When you were younger, you couldn't have known what the world would tell you you are
But now that you've grown up, you felt the pains and gained the scars
Now you know where the world wants you, and what role you play
On this stage, where the director's decrepit creaking hands come and defile you,
You holy sacred place.

He sits there and pays no attention to the hardwork going on adjacent to him
His thoughts are confined to whatever pretty colors and captivating sounds float across that screen
His eye lids shut only to keep from having a drought because he does not contemplate
He just sits there and waits for you to be done making his dinner for him

And what if he's working in the other room, and you can't see it, is there some sort of redemption for this man?
I cannot say, but he cannot expect to stand to the side of his life, pretending he has no emotions, teaching his sons that this is acceptable behavior,

Stop sinking into oblivion!

And when the woman speaks up and expresses these buried emotions, hurt ones, she is antagonized, like
Isn't this just another ***** with her crazy feelings?
Like shouldn't she be watching so that the chicken doesn't burn on the stove?
Like what happens if I let my guard down and let her in
And acknowledge that she is a human being?

The man says he can't do that
He can't lose his power in the situation
So he tells her those feelings she has are invalid
He makes her feel like the antagonist of the story of this man's life
And the only reason she stays with him is because she's developed Stockholm syndrome
And she doesn't want to be alone
And because if she's heterosexual, this version of a human being is the only one that's so readily available to her,
The kind that treats her like garbage, disposable, unable to have her damnable emotions redeemed

But a critique of something doesn't merit doubling down on that ideology you grew up with,
It merits its changing
So,

Men in the room, hear me now

You are victims too!

You are told to keep it in, keep the tears back
To stand up straight, to provide, to not show any weakness,
But you are most strong when you acknowledge those weaknesses openly
And possibly discover that some of them aren't even weaknesses
They're just a part of being human

And this trend is so hard to break, so hard to crack through stone that was laid 22,000 years ago
But here we are
The buck can stop with us

We can stop antagonizing
We can start acknowledging
We can stop treating people as subhuman when they express emotion
We can start skipping in the streets and holding each other's hands

Because there's nothing masculine
About treating other humans like ****

We can eventually reclaim that word, but first it has to be exposed for all the harm it's done

Look to your right
Now look to your left
And look at your phone again

Each of one you can be a part of the solution
Not a part of the propagation of bad myths
This is the script to another talk poem that I wrote but never published.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
one - i don't understand why saying "it's the 21st century" is somehow seen as a compensation for 20 centuries of our inhumanity, or a case of: only improvements reside in us - seems just as false to say - men can overcome angels, as stated by the first Christians... yeah, we can do miracles with technology and ultra-secular communication dynamics - discarding the existence of such beings resulted in hen parties with plastic wings and halos... what a great method to discard such being, and subsequently appropriate their features, if ever needed, but altogether unnecessary... two - that disrespecting heterosexuality aligned with the power of science has made it altogether a pointless endeavour in re-enacting the monogamous nature of swans: if we can breed the many perversions, ahem, deviations, we surely require en equal share of respect, before science undermines any deviations into an economic format of breeding pure heterosexual contingencies... three: who the hell said i was throwing anyone off a roof? i was just curious about the slack pressurising the alias big brother / grey matter dictator into teaching us language, then to later make us into a Koranic cyclops or having to sway one side, but not the other, teaching us vocabulary in school, but robbing us of a fluidity of language beyond school, in society... any rational man would say: just teach me the knuckle, the stone and the stick to express my manners... because, to be frank, i'm not into faking being civilised, just teach me to be a barbarian from the start, don't dangle the magic carrot in front of my eyes when it's a fake... teach me the barbarism you want to suppress later on in life: i'm not into being Dolly 2.3419, and an attache to a sheepdog for herding purposes to take it up the **** and shut up: because a member of Parliament did it to me aged 14; for example.

subjectivity is doubled attacked, it's not the merely rationalist
approach of an objective side of things,
i could understand tiresome efforts
Chinese politics while walking
the tourist plot on the great wall -
in a society that's seismically acknowledging
social or whatever coherence,
i find it a bit of limbo of paraphrasing
trans - or trans-physics, or the active
way to usurp metaphysics, by deviating
from thought as an activity, and more
how words are sense datum co-ordinates
that are like dictators: because it just, feels,
funny, and, offensive. ***** vocabulary,
that's what i call it... after a while you concentrate
on what ****** you off, first the educational
autocracy teaches you a vocabulary,
then come the St. Thomas' terrorists with:
you need to revise your vocabulary...
like **** that'll happen, you don't own
language, i don't own language, you're
little fascist agenda to censor such awoke
the boy that was supposed to wake Barbarossa
from his slumber with the cry: crows! crows!
a cloud of crows! funny how the eagle is a
failed emblem for empires, and the crow isn't...
mind you, the English succeeded with
an empire half-and-half: a lion and a unicorn...
i'd guess as much with a monkey and
a centaur, or at least a Cerberus - something
mythical - well, sure, the Poles are attacked
in Britain... but ever hear about the Scot
being attacked in an English village?
a Scot was attacked just the other day,
because kilts were deemed offensive...
so trans-gender is good, meta-gender is:
had a wee t'ink 'bout it...
   robots start with the pronoun use: one...
royalty start with the pronoun use: we...
                 and in between we have paranoid
they and we... and insecure you and i -
or as e. e. cummings would have it:
    *i say no world
                 can hold a you
   shall see the not
             because
  and why but
                          (who
        -
true, but as much of not is entanglement
              with knots - or ought to tries -
  to not or to knot and be -
                              Shakespeare also said:
  funny how i was born neo-liberal,
millennial tattooed - and fake-left...
   i hear the right is a tsunami of focus these days,
all the generation Z are buying into
obstructing gay-marriage, and are adamant
   on not abusing pronouns - hence the current
revival in grammar school education in England -
they don't drink, i.e.: taking psychopathic gambles,
they're prone to social-media overdoses
rather than succumbing to excess ecstasy and palpitation:
i had 190 "friends"... let's just call them vantage points...
   sheered that social media sheep: only 13 left...
but at least objectivity outright says:
       subjectivity is subhuman, science taught us
that subjectivity is the fire between two flint stones,
all in all necessary - but objectivity said:
             two flints! two flints! no fire!
what attacks subjectivity is not objectivity,
it's satire... to humanise everything: good or bad,
with a standard of humour... well... telling a sad
joke to later tell the same sad joke by satirising it...
punch in a face; because there are only so number of
things that are funny in life... the English language
doesn't seem to understand that even the odd chance
of black humour, will not lift the spirits of those,
who, quiet frankly, don't want to be humoured...
the only humour left is not to provision the public
with barbaric satire, sometimes empathy will do,
because it's emphatic humour,
   it's Godot's roundabout humour: the shared experience.
laughing for the sake of laughing is
             a cry from apathy's lost interest in
being pardonably dasein - laughing at all the truthful
autobiographic desecrate is apathy's last
chance to impress: but how foul it all sounds by then...
   the western version of buddhism suddenly feels like
  a taste of pears in november: not sour, not bitter...
just maggoty foul - yucky goo
                  of a plum-shaded rouse of the skin
tinged hue after contact with knuckle and knee.
  but they attacked a ******* Scot in an English village,
because of a kilt...
                                   he knows the strand of ganging up
in hyena numbers and then the celebratory drink
of compensating conscience - they'll sooner accept
     a trans-gender dunno'h than a hot-blooded
heap of tartan - ever ask the homosexuals what
they think of St. Thomas' gospel?
              i think: too much, too early, too innocently.
and if they tell you: speak differently!
they will, i'm ****** sure they will want to
control your grammar without any specialisation -
you'll wonder: summer in Syria?
                     because as racism goes,
they attack the difference, and the difference is only
skin deep, like they did with the Afros of Kentucky,
the Kentucky Afros will spring right back,
    because the abuse was only skin deep,
therefore their soul was enlarged, and they'll
play the blues, and the jazz, and rap, and break-dance...
but if the abuse goes to the depth of soul...
in that it's soul-deep...
                                and because it's white v. white...
it will ferment, and nothing positive will come from it...
no jazz, no blues... nothing of cultural importance...
   it will be haggled in the political market
to the point where both sides will find it utterly
unbearable: and then start to sheer their skins...
        you won't get anything from this soul-deep
attack... if the holocaust is what it felt like,
            then this is a minor post-holocaust episode,
a reminder...
                          and by god, i thank god
for the fact that the Picts are involved -
                                                            whe­re to now?
O Imperium Gladstone paraphrase?
                            it will be hard to beat the unicorn -
all empires donning the eagle duly fail -
centaur and a frog? maybe next time.
Xan Abyss Apr 2018
I am the Great Connector
I was born to unite The Horde
I am the Great Collector
Of souls felled by my Axensword
They all call me subhuman
And revile me as a beast
But they do the same to you and
For that they'll pay the price
(No Peace)

We are strong, We are brave
Though they wish to see us caged
We are wild and Untamed
And we will never live as slaves

Conquerors, We Are One!
Same blood in different skins
At last you'll see, when the victor is me
I am the Lord of our Kin
Wastelanders, Join the March
The World will burn as we sing
When the battle is won, I'll announce to everyone
"I am the Ogre King!"

I am the Great Divider
I was born to brew up storms
I am the Annihilator
My path was forged in war
My reign began in chaos
In Bloodshed, so it ends
All this Strife has nearly left me with
No Kingdom to Defend
(Descent)

We are Violent and Enraged
Now that we have been Betrayed
There are Consequences Grave
For Manipulated Faith

Revolution, it has come!
Same blood but different sins
The Empire Falls
And all Hear the Call
For A New Order to Begin
Decapitate the Tyrants
& Slaughter those who Resist
When the battle is won,
At the top of my lungs, I'll cry
"Long Live the Ogre King!"

I am the Great Destroyer
The Throne is mine to take
I will be king at any cost
Dead nations in my wake
I am the Great Conniver
With Sinister Designs
Never cared how much is Lost
So long as what is Left is Mine
(Arise)

We are rabid and insane
From lives of misery and pain
Now that the world's ablaze
We fall into our cages

These Horrors have just begun
Same gore from separate veins
What have we done,
To our daughters and sons?
A History Bloodstained!
We threw our lives into this war,
And lost more than we gave
When the killing is done,
I'll tell everyone,
"The Ogre King is slain!"

Now Our Planet is a Grave!

"The Ogre King is Slain,
Long Live the Ogre King,
I Am
The Ogre King!"
Lately I've been inspired by the goings-on in my tumultuous homeland to start writing Epic Fantasy lyrics that double as political protest songs.
july hearne Sep 2018
women should not
and do not
have to choose
between literacy rates
and basic human rights

if the sight of any part of a woman's body
is too provocative for you
gouge out your eyes, castrate yourself,
and chop off your subhuman hands.
you haven't lived
until you've been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody
snoring
at once
and some of those
snores
so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable-
dark
snotty
gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell
itself.
your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like
sounds
and the
intermingling
odors:
hard
unwashed socks
****** and
*******
underwear
and over it all
slowly circulating
air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage
cans.
and those
bodies
in the dark
fat and
thin
and
bent
some
legless
armless
some
mindless
and worst of
all:
the total
absence of
hope
it shrouds
them
covers them
totally.
it's not
bearable.
you get
up
go out
walk the
streets
up and
down
sidewalks
past buildings
around the
corner
and back
up
the same
street
thinking
those men
were all
children
once
what has happened
to
them?
and what has
happened
to
me?
it's dark
and cold
out
here.
Caitie Aug 2014
The drapes in your skull
and your sunken in eyes,
who has broken you?
-
Collarbones protruding
from your withered chest
and your lungs heave for one breath-
one breath too many.
-
The stress of the days,
and the strawberry blonde boy
you fell in love with
on the countryside.
Your heart is broken.
-
Slumped in the cracked city
you are forced to call home,
and the loved ones who have passed
but whom are not dead.
-
Ridiculing the creeping insects
looking for a home.
*****, gross, worthless
You realize.
That's what they call you
-
Sun setting a forcefully pale orange,
awakening the night.
Time for your dismay to set.
-
Light your cigarette
and ash it on your skin,
amazed by its burn.
Pain? None.
-
An insomniac's racing mind
and all the wonders of the world.
Waiting, time contemplating.
-
Wishfully disappearing
just like your soul did.
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
1937

bushido invasion
memory still vivid in the Chinese
of a slaughter
prisoners
chopped and lobbed into the river
display their heads
let the next line kiss the remains
but the time is ticking
and the water is only pink
prisoners
mowed down
with bullets
and laughter
they can turn and swim
Japanese aim is good
not one makes it to the other side
the pink
is a deep red flood
becoming a dam
with the bodies of
children
ladies
gentlemen

why did those murdered forget
the purple mountain legend
when it burns
the city falls
why did they not flee faster

the policy issued
plunder
burn
******
do not let that little boy
take revenge
5 years old
they severed him

Japanese leaders saw a chance
to remove any pity
in the solider
they ripped out
humanity
inserted
brutality

training exercise
hoist your bayonet
plunge forward
twist
extract
plunge
twist
extract
men with bound wrists
considered subhuman
butchered
plunge
twist
spit

routine puts soldiers at a disadvantage
fire is added
fields are swamped with oil
and laced with people
patrolled edges
keep the cries alive
the only release
death

movement is needed
tanks must pass
chatting soldiers hang out the sides
wheels roll over the bodies
filling the ditches
carcasses
and
wounded
if there is not enough
they found the closest Chinese
and added it to the pile

competition
2 leaders
in a fight to show superiority
uptake a challenge
to win is 100
swords are withdrawn
ignore its' eyes
the race
a beheading
lost count
up the stakes
150

only the beginning
for the women

a hunt commences
females do not leave the house
there is not one in the streets
rounded up
army trucks
bringing in loads
******* like animals
chained to racks
*****
commonly gang-*****
bleeding to death
aged under 8
over 80
a pregnant women
***** to death
her fetus cut out
and destroyed
encouragement
from higher ups

and the advice given
pikankan is acceptable
every warrior should
do not let them talk
**** the pigs
when they are done being women

more than 20,000
maybe less than 80,000
defiled
in the carnage

journalist support
with authentic recounts

but with time
confused hospitalization
of the soldiers
who puked every meal
and gagged from inside out
as the horrors ate them

the only relief
an international safety zone
perhaps 20 Westerners
to help a mere 300,000
only half
at intervals
Japanese crossed the fence
for the women hunt
for Chinese soldiers
recognized by calloused hands

irony
******* on a Westerner arm
a symbol
as he aided
survivors of the massacre
and the Nazis in Nanking
aghast
leaked information
on the horrors
and
****** ordered silence

a single surgeon
a lucky boy with only one bayonet puncture
another
missing eyes
missing ears
half a nose from
100 tied together
set on fire

Japanese photography
of bonding moments
as they watched
a house packed tight
panicked people on roofs
to escape flames
jumping

6-8 weeks later

more refined brutality
enforced prostitution
and intake of *****
****** cigarettes for children

the West
in ignorance
watched the German rise
forgot responsibility
to humanity
in the Asian wars

no apology
denial
unfair hatred
of later innocent Japanese generations
mention of Hiroshima
amuses some Chinese
doesn't bother others
it's not everyone
that's still too many

lacking sympathy
the road to brutality
lingers
Horrifying and saddening, considered by many to be on par with the genocide of the Jews in brutality. If there are any deep questions please message me, otherwise comments are fine. Anything confusing, just ask. Please do not take offensively, I believe most of what I have said is fact, not interpretation.
B Jul 2013
we were at the hospital the other day
on acid
saw some people
that looked
subhuman
started thinking those thoughts
like
how i would **** them
and get rid of
all of them
the acid talking
i breathed
and stepped out of the hospital to breathe
no smoking sign
telling me i can't do that
right here
fresh air
is near
over here
by the flowers
i smoked
a girl with purple hair
around me
very near
"is that your peoples?"
no no no
laughing
i don't know why
he thought she was with me
we were just staring
fading
tripping
the flowers looked 3D
the bee inside
looked like some **** from planet earth
i heard it there first
my first trip
a visit
to see a friend
struggling to breathe
while we smoke out front
walked into icu with a blunt
celebrating life
thinking about memories
and how they make us
rely
on what we know
and remember
to tell us the future
but
it's really what we make it
we can create new
break down barriers
break down the walls
make new paths
in the brain
heal
recover
breathe stronger the next day
Gaye Sep 2015
Yong Marx, yet to die, jumped
out of an air-conditioned car, a
journey Berlin to Bombay as the
Dream merchant of Utopia
metamorphosed him into a subhuman
white bearded national bourgeoisie.

The third world girl who was climbing a
tree without Motorcycle-
Diaries hung to her clothe looked
like an Engelian mistake possibly
not from Cuba, Zambia or Bolivia,
certainly not a Soviet artefact.

Alienation, self-affirmation and all
unlike modes of production confused
his surplus brain. The dichotomy
of imaginings and reality with the
girl proven anti-thesis kafkaesqued
him an added ****** struggle.

A shift in his struggle with a smile
on her lips gave a  hint of welcome to her
Animal Farm. He did get inside.
The moulded furniture, preoccupied sickle
and the lacking exploitation
left him a disappointing proletariat grin.

She opened her mouth, blue words
did not discharge. Neither the mid wife
nor the revolution pumped her conscience.
He got up, disappointed, alarmed,
cursed the chap who misdirected
to a class-less renewed pattern.

“Comrade” she said shaking his hands,
the blood did stir for a moment but
the fight less slant , **** suits and
her distant reality pained the rationalist.
The amusingly alienated young Marx
jumped into his car and left for utopia.
We are born with luck
which is to say with gold in our mouth.
As new and smooth as a grape,
as pure as a pond in Alaska,
as good as the stem of a green bean--
we are born and that ought to be enough,
we ought to be able to carry on from that
but one must learn about evil,
learn what is subhuman,
learn how the blood pops out like a scream,
one must see the night
before one can realize the day,
one must listen hard to the animal within,
one must walk like a sleepwalker
on the edge of a roof,
one must throw some part of her body
into the devil's mouth.
Odd stuff, you'd say.
But I'd say
you must die a little,
have a book of matches go off in your hand,
see your best friend copying your exam,
visit an Indian reservation and see
their plastic feathers,
the dead dream.
One must be a prisoner just once to hear
the lock twist into his gut.
After all that
one is free to grasp at the trees, the stones,
the sky, the birds that make sense out of air.
But even in a telephone booth
evil can seep out of the receiver
and we must cover it with a mattress,
and then tear it from its roots
and bury it,
bury it.
Daivik Jan 2021
I am untouchable, right?
You don't want to touch me
Be near me
I'm so ugly

An outcast, I gripe
Sparkles of dust
Flying aimlessly
Towards the void

I disgust, don't I?
An abomination in flesh
A ***** -inducing nauseating pile of thrash
I'm nothing to you
You are nothing to me

So you fear I'll give you the disease
Honey, there's no disease worse than the one that is rotting your brain
To you
I'm dispensable
An object
A slave

So you won't touch me
But you want me clean your dirt, your shame, your filth
For they would make your hands *****
My hands, what hands?
I'm subhuman ******‌, right!
They don't matter
Nothing matters

So you won't touch me?
That's fine
I DON'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED BY YOU
NOT IN A MILLION YEARS
YOU DISGUST ME
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Drink up the radiation
Subhuman viral nation
That or starve in skeleton cars
Chewin' on lettuce and candy bars
It's a caper world but there's no dancing
Skippin' like a child? Prepare for the violins
An interlude of electric tubes
Pushin' you closer to the cube

Tinted windows beg for bullets
And she makes *** feel like school
I've climbed the mountains, crawled in the caves
Still can't tell the veins from the beige
Still don't know if I'm better off in Nod's nowhere
Or Pan's wonderland of the living dead

Don't talk much except to my shaky fingers
Nibble nimble, spin a spindle, see the symbols, give a little
I've got a man who lives under my tongue
He fixes all my cavities
And when the paycheck comes
He sits atop the pink carpet-
His anti-gravity
I had a dream-weaver
But now he's vacationing
Somewhere in Himalayan Mountain territory
He's been there for two moons
And I doubt he'll ever leave
He sends me postcards and fancy little things
I put em' in a cigar box, hoping one day I'll see wings

****** was eaten by maggots
Before he took the helm
Insanity breeds anti-gravity
Life breeds cruel leaders
Forget divide and conquer
It's swarm and swallow
Tools of the revolution
Intravenously protrude you

Same In Nazarene
Spit In the Name of me
Go limping with a tishbite in the Cherith
Stating the obvious facts of Sin
Livin' only for lunar limbs
And Bailey's beads
Screaming,
"My God!
It's full of stars!"
Michael Kreitman Nov 2015
When I was a child, I was told the story of my Grandfathers mother she was a refugee from mother Russia.
He told me that we were no longer considered white that is a luxury.
And we have become subhuman in most places.
We were either locked behind iron walls to be kept in or out.

He told me how they sacked and burned our villages.
Then they proceeded to chase us on horseback, with swords pointed too the distant future.

She was led to the nearest boat, headed towards The Land Of Opportunity.

At the island she was locked away for Tuberculose and possibly Lice
When leaving she refused to put an X for her name for obvious reasons.
So she signed ****.

Years later I found out, she had opened a pawn shop down south.
In what now is the forth most segregated area in the states.
She sat outside with a shotgun in a rocking chair and windows barred.
when there King died.

Sadly, the last thing remembered by my Papa's mother including my family is a fist fight.
In Santa Barbra.
I saw the look of panic and pain on her despondent face.
At this point that look was a common occurrence in my day to day life.
Hence, the reason I wasn't allowed at the funeral.
I was locked away at another rehabilitation center.
For crimes I had of course never committed

Since then I have not laid any tulips or morning prayers.
Leelan Farhan Jun 2013
"*****, filthy, subhuman creatures"
They don’t care if you’re doctors,
lawyers or teachers
They’ll kidnap your children,
spit on your soul
Terrorize your family,
kick in your door

They’ll drug your mind with propaganda
Cut out your tongue if you try to stand up
They’ll beat you till you bleed
But we never plead for mercy,
No we never claim defeat

They’ll kick you under the desk,
send you slamming into the wall
They’ll laugh and kick you harder,
if you try to get up, if you try to crawl

But our crawling brings us to our knees,
Slowly, we rise up to our feet
And we’ll face the persecution
The vile, mind-prostitution

They **** our women and our children,
Just as much as they **** our minds
****** our emotion,
But they will not ****** our pride
Our dignity is our iron,
Our religion is our crime.
But you cannot destroy us
Believe me, many have tried.

There is silver in our blood,
Gold in our soul
Oil paint coats our skin
And our words swallow you whole

Our hearts are poets,
Constructing your fears
Our thoughts are daggers and arrows
Our minds are cunning engineers

You can hang us from the ceiling
You can throw us in a tank of gas
But our lungs are as pure as snow
And this pain will never last

We have risen from the ashes
Hear our battle cries
We do not yield weapons
In silence,
we ride
*-lf-
This is a very personal poem, about the human rights violations occurring in my parents' homeland (Iraq).
© Leelan Farhan 2013
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i believe that there lives a counterpart
of me in Spain and in France -
equally critical - not me per se,
but two individuals to compensate
my efforts in England,
Eastern European, hell-bent
to overtax the happy meal and frozen foods
for "the busy lives of 21st century love-e-dub-e's;
a seance of unification might be far away
mind you;
they say they cite the Bible as if it
were an Encyclopaedia -
you reared the African as subhuman,
you think, that other European nations
will succumb to the African systematisation
necessary for integration?
you actually think i'll abandon my
mother tongue to engross myself
in your filthy history and sing god save our queen
like a kindergarten sing-along readying
myself for Oompa-Loompas?
oh i'm sure that's just due to your genetic
makeshift tents on the steppes of Mongolia;
any news from Mongolia? none.
any news from Kazakhstan? none;
except irony... or the great Tao principle:
forget the world and let the world forget you;
i'm not too eager on the Heidegger octopus either
having to be in the world and care for it -
or at least tax my existence with a concern for it.
but of course it's like an inbreeding principle:
little Britain meets the Empire,
Darth Asthmatic... coo khhh... coo khhh...
H vocalised is the best painting
of ancient static in televisions,
motivational ashes lost with digitalisation,
the kaleidoscope of flies and 8-eye spiders
hacking the flight with spider-web geometrics...
prolong the first two letters of the word Khan...
and i'm sure you'll genealogically stress
the origin of Pakistan as being in Mongolia.
imagine aluminum Mar 2010
my idol led me to his office
and shut the door behind us:
first glance, piles of paper, not unusual
but then, the glasses atop a teetering stack(!)
so i raised an eyebrow
and he grinned
it was a dare
put them on he said without speaking
so i did.
hesitantly, yes, but i did.

XRAY VISION i cried
shh he said with a finger to my lips
it's my secret and you can't let anyone know
of course not i said
then i shook my head in wonder
so this is how it's done
this is how you know
how you strip them down
they are naked and trembling
you poke and **** to find
the weak spots and then
you offer them to the world:
a subhuman sacrifice.

this turns me on i said
can we? please?
put them on
what do you see?
if i'm already bare
and willingly exposed
can you still pick me apart?
i sacrifice myself, does that
make you blind?
Elizabeth Milnes Jan 2012
When man fell, he saw a constant
downward acceleration of
nine-point-eight meters per second per second
over a time span of approximately
eternityinaninstant
until his speed caught up with
the subatomic particles that challenge light,
and he became subhuman,
challenging Light.
Other ideas for the title: "c" or "299,792,458"
Thoughts?
Dorothy A Apr 2015
Abraham Horowitz thought he was dead. Maybe this was what death was like, desolate and bleak, no different than his last few years of sheer misery, humiliation and pain.  He already felt he was in Hell, for Buchenwald was a Hell on earth, but what was going on now?  Just where was he exactly? His glasses had been smashed by a **** guard months ago, and now he couldn't understand why he could not make out the hazy figures of the guards barking out orders and smashing the butts of their rifles into the heads and backs of tormented inmates.  All that seemed to exist were walking skeletons aimlessly drifting about in the blowing wind.

His situation was always dire, but today was an indescribably odd day.   It wasn't good or bad. Lately, little aroused Abraham to ponder upon as he had long ago begun to believe that he was an animal and not a man. After all, different walks of life were thrown away like subhuman trash—left for the flies to feast upon—and it had powerfully defined the ghastly surroundings of his disgraceful existence. People who once were somebody to someone had soon become nobody in the world.  The rotting corpses proved that out. Since he was deemed as a beast, Abraham no longer thought or reasoned like a human being. There was no longer any reason to think or to feel or to imagine anything that could inspire his will to thrive.

The inhumanity had taken its toll. Too weak to stand, he had been fading in and out of sleep and consciousness when much of the chaos of forced marches took place. The Nazis were desperately trying to avoid encountering the allied forces that opposed them. They weren't going to give up easily as they'd sooner shake their fists and make all the prisoners suffer to the bitter end. Many of prisoners were moved out as possible, but not all went willingly. The remaining prisoners—those who weren't half dead—now had their chance to resist.

Abraham's back was leaning against the splintered, wooden wall of one of the barracks. He had tried to prop himself up in an attempt to sit up and then stand up. He only succeeded in sitting up in an awkward slouch, much to the discomfort to his bony backside. The sun beat down on him, his only solace to warm up his frail, battered body, his only comfort in his state of wasting away to the shell of the man he once was. Soon the sweet sun was quenched as he was engulfed in the shadows of a soldier standing before him.  

There was nothing left in him, no more will to live. He was done. No more fear flooded his mind, only thoughts of nothingness that gave him an actual period of relief.  If he was still alive—he had thought—the best thing to happen would be that the soldier now in front of him end his miserable life with a bullet to his head. What once was deemed a horrendous fate now seemed like a welcome surrender

"Hey there... sprechen sie Englisch?", the man asked him. It was the worst German accent that he ever heard, but it might as well have been the voice of God.  

Did he speak English? Oh, yes, he did! "Ja…Englisch", he managed to utter, in sheer bewilderment. He struggled for words to say, but they could not leave his mouth.

The man crouched down and said, “It’s okay now. You can say whatever you want, buddy.”

Abraham still struggled to speak. "That is yes...I...I... do....I do...and Hebrew... and Yiddish... German and… a bit... Polish", he answered with a parched, throaty voice.  Abraham had enough strength left to place his quivering hand up to his eyes. He simply cried as the light went on in his mind. The rumors going around the camp were true! The Americans had come!

Tears are for little boys. The image of his father, scolding him for crying as a youth, dashed into mind. Abraham tried to contain himself. Weeping was one satisfaction that the inmates wanted never to give to the Nazis. Only the irrevocably broken ones begged for mercy, wailing uncontrollably as they were laughed at, mocked and scorned by their enemies.  Conditioned to show no emotional response was one up on the Germans, the only control and dignity that a man had left.  Self-restraint meant you were never owned by anyone.  

Soon a slightly cool cup of water was placed upon Abraham’s shaking lips. He slurped at it—getting more on the ground than in his mouth—like a man coming out of years in the desert. Oh, how precious was that water! He could have drunk it by the gallons, splashed in it, played in it—danced in it!  If he could only stand and be given the chance!

"Easy now, buddy”, the American advised. "My name's John, by the way". The young, freckled-face private smiled proudly, stating,”John Dunn from the good, ole USA—from Jersey...New Jersey, that is."

He was only the second soldier that Abraham ever met in this entire ordeal of brutal capture and madness of war that had a heart. The soldier was rare sight in that he showed him even an ounce of kindness. John Dunn reminded him so much of Otto Brumler that he began to weep, again. He didn't know he even had it in him, for he had stopped crying so long ago that it was as if he had forgotten how.  Lately, there just weren't any more feelings left—not even hate. Oh, how he used to hate! There were only numb movements of a dead man walking about. The tears felt cleansing upon his dry and ***** face.

Otto Brumler was a rare anomaly. He just didn’t seem to make sense in this sea of insanity. A **** guard, he liked to talk with some of the inmates, discreetly giving them gifts to pass around—some cigarettes, chocolates, cheese, bread and sausages. How peculiar to be coming from a German soldier!  Some of the inmates were suspicious that he was a spy that was out to trap them and feared him even more than the most loathing of the guards. Abraham was one of them who at first thought the man was purposely trying to get them in trouble.

Trouble abounded in the camps. If the men couldn't work hard enough, they were daily beaten and tortured, so badly beaten down that many could not get back up again. If it wasn't an act of harsh aggression, it was starvation and disease that got them. Herded up like animals, the filth from their ****** fluids and human waste was an ever noxious presence, their ragged clothes soiled in the foul mess. The stench that was once unbearable eventually became to define them as trash to be thrown away, and they had forgotten what a clean existence smelled like.  

Abraham would sometimes wake up in the morning and find the one next to him had not made it through the night. Sometimes, it was on both sides that dead bodies had sandwiched him in-between. If not those succumbing to the horrible conditions, the weaker ones were taken away while alive, never to be seen again. And some would give up the will to live by refusing to press on, passively taking a bullet or a fatal beating. Then there were those who would end their own lives as the only means of escape. It seemed one less triumph for the Nazis, to deny them the sick satisfaction of killing yet another, wretched soul. Yet the Nazis always won the victory of a victim’s life ending.  Regardless of how the death of any of the undesirables occurred in the camps, it fed their ideology of superiority just fine. Many of the prisoners lay awake at night wondering how this barbarism could flourish and go unnoticed.  When would it end? Had the whole world gone mad?  

"We survive and that’s how we win”, one of the Polish prisoners, Jan, encouraged some around him. "We make it to the end because they will be defeated. They cannot last forever. You mark my words!"

"And how do we do that?" “a doubtful Jewish teen, Eli, insisted. He once was so spirited, and he had great plans to travel the world one day. "I lost my whole family. I'm the only one left and it will just be a matter of time before they get me, too. We are all doomed!" His gaunt face and hallow eyes spoke for themselves.

Abraham needed to believe he'd have even a glimmer of hope to be free one day, or he'd have lost the battle by now. His sanity would not hold out. Many already had no hope and that was like a death in itself.  Most of the men knew that to hold on, they'd have to defy logic and hold out for hope. They'd pray with each other, regardless of being a Jew or Christian or even the agnostics, sometimes losing the meager hope that they were had. It grew as scarce as their rations of crusty bread. Nevertheless, they prayed.  

One time, Abraham was grabbed by a guard by the throat and hurled to the ground for being too slow. He had been dumping out human excrement from the campgrounds. The guard berated Abraham as he kicked him over and over again while the poor man curled up into a ball in helpless submission. Protecting his face and head, he soon found himself sheltering his groin, writhing in  pain in that sensitive area that had been attacked by a heel of a boot.

It was Otto Brumler who astounded him. Why wasn't he like the others? As a Jew, the disgust the Nazis had for Abraham was as obvious as the gloom hanging over the camp. Hatred defined Abraham’s world ever since ****** took power and convinced the people that they would be better off without his kind.  Otto was looked upon as being too soft on those he guarded, reprimanded for not being too tough and rough on the prison ****. He did not go above and beyond his duty, nor did he take pleasure in anyone's pain and suffering.

"My best friend was a Jew", he confessed to Abraham one night, sneaking him some salve for his cuts and abrasions from that last beating, providing him some meat to satisfy his longings to fill his stomach.  

Abraham actually showed a real emotion that was a rare sight these days, a slow expression of surprise. "So why are you here at the camp?" he asked him.

Otto puffed on his cigar and passed it to him. He laughed a little, replying, "I think ****** is a little man...but a big bully. I would have gladly be no part of this greedy thirst to devour other nations, but I was forced into it." He looked at Abraham and smiled a bit with sad eyes. It was quite the contradiction of mirth. Otto had a ruddy complexion and dark blonde hair. In his youthfulness, there still an air of innocence about him, a kindness that the ugliness of the war had not killed in him.

"I love my country", he admitted.  "I just hate what they are doing now and how blind we have become. It will be to our ruin."

Abraham admired his honesty. "I guess there are a few good men in this world", he admitted. "My father taught me that it isn't where you come from but who you are that counts."

"That is true, my friend." Otto patted him on the back and added, “My old friend, Avi, had saved my life."  He was speaking of his Jewish friend from childhood. "Many years ago, he rescued me from a lake in my hometown. We went there to cool off from the summer heat.  I couldn't really swim, but I became overconfident and dove in like I was the best swimmer in the world.  There, I found myself in water over my head and didn't end up so well.  I would have drowned without Avi rescuing me. Unlike me, he was fearless."

"So now you know we Jews aren't devils." Abraham remarked, with a hint of a twinkle in his eye.  

"Of course not! Avi was like a prizefighter, a real proud kid. He never backed down from a fight, and there was always a challenge for him..He had to fight off the boys who picked on him for being different from most of us—for being a Jew. So he learned how to stand his ground. I was a fat boy, and Avi would defend me from the bullies who picked on me, too. He was a good friend to me. I know a a bully when I see one, Abraham” He pointed his finger all around, “Bullies everywhere, but they are not men…just weak, little boys who need someone to kick around to feel better”

Abraham knew he had a genuine friend in Otto. “What happened to your friend?”he asked about Avi.

Otto just shrugged his shoulders. “I hope he hasn't lost the fight. I wonder what has happened to him quite often...if he is alive now…if he has made it this far."  

It was nighttime, but it seemed even less secure to come together like this than if mingling in plain sight.  There was never a time where anyone could feel safe, not one minute. Abraham knew this encounter was risky, deadly for sure if caught. He talked about his lovely, young wife, Rivka, and how she felt she was not blessed with having a child. Now it seemed like it was a blessing not to rear up a child, not to have it cruelly ripped away from them and mourn the aching loss and its tragic demise. Rivka was already dead, herself,. Women and children were often the first to go. All Abraham had now was her memory, the image of her sweet face in his mind. Otto talked about his young sweetheart, Gretchen, and his dream of starting a life with her once the war was over. He still believed in a bright future.

That wish would never come true.  It wasn't long before Otto was found out about for his secret encounters with some of the prisoners and shot before a firing squad as a traitor. When Abraham found out, he wanted to weep over the loss but the tears wouldn't come. They couldn’t even come for his lovely Rivka. They only came now when Private John Dunn had given him water, mirroring the same kindness that Otto had once done, redeeming him from an animal to a man  once more.  

Abraham was eventually placed on a truck with other survivors and transported to more humane conditions. Allied soldiers were fully in charge the camp now, and there was no going back to that hellhole ever again. At last, he was truly a free man, though a heartbroken one who was not the same man as he arrived. He had not died—this was not just a dream—but he still was not convinced he would have the will to go on. The breeze on his face felt wonderful, the sun in his eyes, miraculous. That held some shred of promise for him. He passed by trees and mountainous views that he was never convinced he would ever see, again.  No more smell of death, but even the most fragrant flowers could not mask the memory of the horrible stench of his war-torn memories. Some things did just not die away that easily. Memories had a stink of their own that could not be masked by beauty. He had seen things that few could bear, much less go on to tell about it.  He'd never forget being penned up like pigs for the slaughter and made to have no hope. But by the front of the truck, there was Jan, the Pole who once said that the Nazis would be defeated and everyone could mark his words.  

Abraham looked at him until Jan's eyes met his and they both managed a smile. He had come too far to give up. He would not win the victory if he did not survive. He owed it to those who did not make it—to his people, to his fellow inmates, to Rivka, and even to Otto Brumler.  He had no clue, no answers of where to go or how to conduct himself in the world, again, but he would continue to hold onto hope that he would make it.

It suddenly dawned on him that his wife had a few cousins in Chicago that she grew up with. His mind was alerted with the remembrance of Rivka exchanging pictures, postcards and letters throughout the years, All he had of her was robbed from him in the war—everything. To lay eyes on her image—once again—and the possibility of maybe holding her actual words in his hands began to overwhelm him. His imagination could barely contain the thoughts, and he began to weep yet again. As once, crying was weakness to a man, the tears just now meant he was alive. To be counted among the living—to belong somewhere—it was the closest thing to pure joy. Thoughts of America started a small spark within—just enough to start a little fire in his soul—to lead him on to a path with a hopeful purpose. There was no turning back now.
Jeremy Duff Oct 2012
subhuman.

desolation.

desolation.

discrimination.

distributio­n

It's nothing but a everlasting dynamo.
Powered by anger and rage
it will never cease to turn.

Spawning
the hatred that has conquered our race.
Overcoming
the mutual love that has seeped through the cracks.
Defecating
the morals of those immoral.

Foundations
that our fathers built
have been destroyed.

Killing
the dream that
is now a nightmare.

Suffocating
the choices that define us.
Abandoning
all hope, ye who enter here.
Deformation
of the unborn child.
God.
Heaven.
Hell.
Earth.
Nature.
You.
Me.
Them.
All of us.
We're all the same.
NitaAnn Oct 2013
As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.

I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.

Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.

I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.

At least that is what it feels like...right now.
Dani A May 2010
We litter the earth with our beer cans, our cigarettes, our roaches...
We leave our bad habits behind after we are long gone for the future generations to find.
Our intoxicated actions just as bad as debris in our oceans,
Our inebriated words just as harmful as the air pollution around us.

The only mark we leave behind the only memory of us...
Is the one trying to impress the rest of the population that remains faceless.
with our stupidity and self-harm and belligerence.
Our useless ability of the consumption of false courage, wisdom, and strength.

We know not to take a step away and look upon ourselves and realize and see
that the supposed 'advanced species' is reduced back to the primitveness and truculence we thought was long lost.
We know not to take a step back and see we abuse the loved ones surrounding us
Through lying, neglect, and verbal and physical attacks
We forget the things that matter to us most; ambitions, hopes and dreams.
Our friendships, family, and loves...

It changes us as people into something subhuman
It brings out the side of us that was never there; a rage and anger we have never experienced, and sometimes never realize exists.
It replaces the good intents we have with ones that are selfish and harmful.
The good amount of fear instilled, with false hope and courage.


We not only destroy ourselves physically,
But mentally, emotionally, spiritually...
Some say it is all a spiritual journey, and of course it can be, but when so abused and the supply so decimated,
It's digging your own grave.
Karijinbba Mar 2021
Kiriaki Olivia Eleni Mada-lozi
from Piraeus Greece Billy
ugly Marcia, Sherry Shriki, Darni, Judy Gim, Alb- tch, Jeff Albr.. Henry Robert W
Impotent ejaculator precosē. Charles manson's advocates; Henry Robert narcissistic
your sociopath psychopath nurse from hell in LA CA.
You aren't above the law
Poisoners sterile hainas  
Susan WRat no.
**** human predators human traficants to hell with you all- ratas inmundas! Emilia Velazquez thief IHSS should put you in jail And immigration take your green card stealing my savings and stimulus money cashed. Shame on you rata inmunda ladrona.

Filthy rats
Creeping animals
**** of life
Shoddy monstrosity.

Subhuman
Spectres of Hell
**** vermins
How much damaged you've done to me and my daughter's
Poisoning them with hallucinogenic metamphetamins psychotropics without them knowing
Then, blackmailing them to give up their parental rights to sterile haenas jealous medeas
Add insult to injury to my family forcing psychiatric pill intake to hide your ancient crimes
Your hate crime is now public susan ra-t-ano hell *****

You bought my grown daughter from the human predators I had escaped from
1982.
Coward filthy **** *****

Vermin word raitano
Poisonous serpent
Waste of life
I hate you and despise you.

Two-legged rats
I'm talking to you all
because creeping creatures,
even being the most cursed,
compared to your evildoers
vermin human predators,
a creeping snake
stands taller than you all.

**** leeches
**** cockraoches
you who infects with bites,
who hurts and who kills.
Slanders trashing whoever
is holy good and precious

You Vermin
Poisonous serpents
Waste of life
I hate you and despise you.
I bind to you all my motherly pain I curse you in every life time.
Two-legged filthy rats,
I'm talking to you!
because a creeping creature,
even being the most cursed and ugly, in hell, on Earth
unwelcome in heaven,
compared to you **** brains.
stands much taller.

You're listening to me
useless
Hyena of Hell
How much I hate you and despise you!

**** leech
**** cockraoch
you who infects with bites,
who hurts and who kills.

Vermin
Poisonous serpents
In everyone's paradise.
Waste of life
I hate you and despise you.

Two-legged my filthy rats
I'm talking to you too ***** donors madalozi charms.bos henry welonek.
because a creeping creature,
even being the most cursed compared to you
You stand even smaller.
~~~~~~~
Repost.
By Paquita del Barrio
And Karijinbba.
1976-present
All Rights.
To my unprovoked filthy enemies
Child torturers may karmic dñnnnebt give you all
an eye for an eye poisonous night shades vampires may my light blast you all out
L Seagull Nov 2016
Disturbed to my core
Worried about the colors of rainbow
Equality of love
Justice to see women and men for who they truly are
Despite their physical nature
Terrified for the ***** teenage girls
And their children born to be despised and abandoned
Hardworking imigrant parents
Poor starving civilians in Syria
And their children under the bomb attacks
Jails overflowing with innocent people
All the poor children who will fall through the cracks
Never cared for by neither parents nor the system
I am terrified that the world can be so affected
By nonsense proclamations
Of a narcissistic subhuman
To whom life is but a reality show
How the **** did this happen?
Couldn't sleep at all night
Teo Mar 2015
It's been raining since I woke up at 2:30 in the afternoon
I can hear it throughout this empty house, in this empty room
I've been here all day, it's 3:53(AM) now
Literally all day, and I'm thinking "wow…"
The only person I've seen at all today was my mother
Well, Mrs. Internet, at least we have each other

I can't even find a job
I have nothing to do with myself
I didn't take a shower this morning
And I must've masturbated like 5 hundred times
My mouth is fuzzy and I only taste sour
I feel like a piece of subhuman slime
Wearing red sweats and a ***** tank top
Still having crust under my eyes from when I woke up
It's a good thing I guess, lack of human interaction
I'm like a corpse in a chair, just less attraction
And my friends are all busy so we can't get together
I couldn't even go outside to enjoy sunny weather

Thank God for my pets, and you, Internet

Only two people chatted with me..... briefly
There's a fine line between insanity and imagination
Same thing goes for boredom and relaxation
When I count a day in facebook notifications
So, I'm kinda depressed, goodbye motivation
I'm a complete failure concerning human relations
I need some elation to ease this frustration
Something other than even more *******
Like a car filled with babes and a freeing sensation
Or a trek through the woods and across the nation
Devoid of people who sympathize with my situation
Which is long overdue for complete termination
Of this trepidation moving towards desperation
As I'm slowly coming to the awful realization
That I'm a complete loser… congratulations
I can't even write a poem worth your admiration
So I guess you won't save me from this isolation

Even Runescape is boring me to tears
Please, Ms. Internet, that's the worst of my fears
That even you'll abandon me, don't drop me off here
In this empty house, back in this empty room
Which is becoming more and more like a tomb
Because I'm feeling more and more like I'm dead
Are your viruses viruses? Have they actually spread?
Out of your motherboard and into my head

I'm blacking out and losing long lapses of time
I think I'm out, time to end this troubled rhyme
But you know I'll still be here, dead eyes on blue screens
Mouth as sour as before, clothes still unclean
Browsing through pictures of strangers and what they have to show
Not being able to tell if time is moving too fast or too slow
Headaches have grown, are growing, and they'll grow, grow, and grow
And I'm ******* again, just thought you should know

I'll finish off a couple more cups of cold coffee
Thanking Ms. Internet that the reader can't see me
my letter to the internet
i crack myself up
and that's the most important thing
Street by street we will fight
death before dishonour
how many will the Reds take
while my Berlin falls

How many rapes make justice
you sad sick *****
you Russian subhuman ****
**** the third and **** me

You ******* rapists
you Stalinist ****
I still hate you today
as I was young, with a gun

You ******* were no better
both you're nations were ****
and I will hate for ever now
till one day all of you have gone

This country is not your country
why do you fight your war here
our town has almost gone to ruin
and both my mother and father have died


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris;
Simon Clark Aug 2012
Forced to wear a sign,
To declare their private lives,
To make themselves subhuman,
And unwittingly let evil thrive,
And now we say we wear it well,
As a symbol of passion and pride,
Very few remember the struggles,
Or give thanks to those who died.
written in 2011
Sam Temple Jul 2016
wordsmithing virus lyric
twisting lines empirically
like British empire builders
treating native speakers
subhuman /
reading worn cliché
daily lamenting regurgitated
form and style
while smiling at the beguiling nature
of multisyllabic structure ~
it’s easy to forget (in a legalization nation)
that the idea of utilizing parentheticals
is really
just using parenthesis  ~
creating space between the artist


                     and
                           the
                                reader


is pretentiousness personified /

it is our job to play Ishmael
and take them with us
not leave them shore bound
watching the speck of sail
slip into the stratosphere ~

come with me
lend me your hand
more importantly your eyes
and an open mind ~

then we can journey
together /
Derek Apr 2014
this self-loathing is too much for me to bare.
i mean i bare everything:
the actions, the words,
the snickers with
an inflamed chest.
and the struggle cannot be conquered;
i am no soldier, no fighter - subhuman.
i struggle for a sense of purpose
like an infected toilet brush
or maybe a half-chewed pencil eraser. quality beats quantity
but i cannot quantify how many tears i have shed
or the glass-stained memories
that leave ****** scratches on mind.
all along there was no end to this journey,
but shattered dreams paint a more vivid picture
than happiness ever could.
A Flemish
girl here
this season
with the
sun still
got her
tan with
alabaster lotion
and coconuts
while her
gratis was
her navel
shone lustrous
that subhuman
portrayed their
South Beach
fine indeed
Theresa Grace Nov 2012
I've been wondering.
When did i become so cynical?
I used to be the definition of an optimist.
I don't want to lose it
But it's hard to maintain
Such a sunny disposition
When most people just want rain.
I mean really?
What's the point?
I feel like I've explored every in
Every out
Every and any explanation
I could get my mind around
When the truth of it is
Your life *****.
Therefore my life must also ****
And if it doesn't
You'll see to it that,
While you're around,
It does.
Or could it be
That because I'm part of the lower lower class
I'm somehow subhuman?
Because I make you fat food
For your FAT FACE
I'm lesser than you?
Really?
I'm trying so hard
To not turn out like you.
But, to be honest,
You people are wearing me thin.
I'm not sure how much I can take
Before I rip apart
And blow away with the wind.
Don't take it personal. Or  take it personal. I don't care.
I tried to write last night about my mother,
And all the hurt she gave me.
But as I wrote and as I rhymed,
I got lost
In
My
Thoughts.

I am hurt and I am harmed and I am heavy from said pain.
It's been 9 years and it still hurts.

I want to forgive her for selling out my love,
I really ******* do,
But I CANT.
I CANT FORGIVE HER FOR BEING SUBHUMAN,
SELFISH,
SHALLOW.

You threw away your children,
Your family.

I just don't understand.
Larissa Marcile DeWitt
Clem Mar 2017
I am not here
very often anymore
I am far too busy
staying under the covers
listening to the monsters
growling from under my bed
and by my bed, I mean my mind
how cliché is that?

I am usually in
my car, my broke ***
big red SUV that needs
its AC recharged and
a shift solenoid replaced
and it’s good that I can’t
lock the doors because
I don’t have the key

And I think that’s pretty
corny but accurate way
of describing who I am
I have the means to get
it all going but I lack
the self-control, the
the tools to keep it all in
and to keep myself safe
one day it’ll all come spilling out and
it’ll be all my fault

I make friends with rocks easier
than with people,
and I’d rather hang out with my
dog than with my friend
who I love and haven’t seen in months
because it’s easier
I’d give anything to be able
to take my pets with me to the grocery store

I don’t know how to love
human beings
--I only know how
to fear them, or
to pine after them from far
away
instead of interacting

I don’t have any little nuggets of wisdom
for you—I’m a borderline, a recovering nihilist,
I have spirits for friends and I worship
old gods shrouded in mystery
I wish I had a gender to cling to
and I wish that I could feel loved
by other humans

my boyfriend and I always fight
because I’m so insecure
because I’m borderline
because I have PTSD
I’ve spent 20 years trying to
cope with untreated mental illness
and a million past traumas

although I’m scared of losing him,
although the things he does
bother me because I’m scared
of how different we are,
I love him more than anything
But I’m afraid he loves me more than I
love him

because when it comes down to it,
I think that I still feel
more connected to
my little black mouse, Coffee Beans,
my temperamental python, Macchiato,
my dog, Joy,
than I ever can feel to him
to humanity

I never learned how to be a person
I was too busy trying to figure
out what I did to make my parents hate me
or how to stay safe from their rage
or how to make friends,
or keep them

too busy pretending that
the terror I lived in was normal
that my parents never hit me
so their screaming insults and
gaslighting shouldn’t touch me
pretending that she’s right—

I’m just a drama queen
and mothers are allowed to
call their daughters names
and punish them for crying
mothers are allowed to
make their daughters feel
so worthless as to be subhuman

I never got to become a person
I was only a mirror image of their abuse
waiting for my life to start
so that I could have friends, so that
I could have a name
and likes
and a style
and, maybe,
someone to love me

and now
I have a car, and although
I can’t afford the gas
I’m comforted by the thought
that I gave something akin
to freedom now
that I can go to the store and
buy food that isn’t filthy and rotted
that I could jump in and drive away
and never come back
if I needed to do that  
and one day I will
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
we used to leave the extra Statistic lesson after 3.30pm, used to jump across the wall over the playground, catch the train home... we used to break fast with dates when Ramadan came along... then the hens came along... that sort of brotherly ******* doesn't really concern me these days... i'd gladly **** your mother these days... like you ***** my mother telling me whatever that ***** said you ought to believe... do i believe in God? do i have to? do i have to believe you said those words rather than a maggot? personally i think a maggot said them... on an existential inspection, you're just someone that goes into a charity shop and buys everything for under a quid - you're just a ******* gypsy to me; but believe me, i really want to be a gypsy, mortgage free, living like river-rat... i'm comparing your intelligence to a donkey when is shouldn't be insulting a donkey... i'd love the circus, the gypsy uncertainty... i can't believe your mother actually liked me... and that you have to lie about me as "non-engaging" schizoid... when i meet your mother in heaven i'll not fail to mention that detail.

it's a funny tale,
how they cite the words          the 21st century
and subsequently ditto them    "     "           "      ,
ever the airs, every the formality,
ever the should have been,
contrasting the ever would haves...
it's hardly a reason to be comparative
with the 17th century,
the 21st century isn't that much
of a surprise... it's not a surprise at all...
it's actually quiet mundane,
the quiet everyday... as said:
via articles definite, and via the charcoal churning:
iron maiden's *strange world

versus duran duran's ordinary world,
as i said: subhuman, cancerous laughs
and still the belittling you:
it was all a worthwhile care for calcium salts,
petroleum jelly and aliphatic acids - some said
sodium acids too...
some mentioned chemists as it was
an aquarium for choir encores to a deafening,
but it wasn't - i too would have learned
the plumber's jacking-off without
groupies... had you minded my intent
to leverage the safety as worth nothing
anything but the Selfie and the jelly-baby sucrose
glue.
i'd like to go back to the 17th century with
the musketeers... i'd be fed less jealous comparisons
with the reigning Louis XIV...
i'd be diverted by an adventure, laying siege to
Lyon, which would mean much more to me
than paying the taxes as a medical doctor....
i'd be agile on the musket, a musketeer,
shooting heads to later write a Don Quixote for
a ballet... but as 21st century's writing proves:
i only wrote because my life was truly banal...
i would't have written otherwise...
had my life the attributes of a Don Juan...
you think i'd have written anything?
only banality prompts you to write...
if you decide to write, and keep banality
as a saintly ordinance best kept unscathed,
well... then you better salt your eyes for an improvement
of the bitterness of shed tears awaiting the
once anthem-blessed glorification a nation likened to Iran
having a pointless streak of competition
sparked alive with a necessity of breathing being excused
so that the competitive acquirement is stocked
and compiled to an encyclopaedic assurance,
preference: A prior to Z.
Chris Feb 2019
Humans are like the positive end of a magnet
Don't believe me? Just take a look on the net
There's dozens of people attracted to the negative.
But how often do they crowd around the good?

MASS SHOOTING DOZENS KILLED
draws more attention than
MAN HELPS WITH THE UNSKILLED

Is informing others of tragedies what makes us human
Or showing empathy to those treated like they're subhuman.
Enjoy.

— The End —