"suppressor" poems
It's written all over
the internet that the
color blue is a
appetite suppressor
so why is it
that whenever
i look into
your sky blue eyes
i crave your touch
more than
//ever//
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
‘freedom is a state of mind’
Wars fought
Wars lost
Freedom gained
Freedom lost.
The mind is almost devoid of peace,
When a beast sits entrapped inside.
It is like two magnets of the same charge.
Conflicting and warring,
Trying to meet at a certain point.
Barbed wires of suppression
blunt knives of oppression
The head is a place of chaos
full of:
‘I’m guilty’ ‘No you are not’
‘I’m too proud’ ‘no you are not’
The oppressor just mollifies the pain of the suppressor
It is too weak to overcome it.
The head then bursts
And out flow tears, tears in a million shades
For they signify such different sorrowful tastes
The person, he sighs
An empty mind
Peaceful mind
War fought
War won
Freedom lost
Freedom gained
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
I have yet to manifest all I am,
Like the prolonged discovery
Of a well known secret.
Here's a free grand tour
Around here special guest,
I would very much like it
If you stuck to my side
Like a sidekick.
I, the heroic tour guide
Of so many surreal wonders,
And darling oh my--
The setting sun sat beside
Two bottomless candles whistling.
Before you knew it,
Their identities were indistinguishable,
In their fervid resplendence.
Frank motives are held back,
Control is so fallibly crass.
What would happen if the
Suppressor were to collapse?
We would expand,
Like we toiled for.
Originally written 2/27/11
Revised 10/19/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
She sits with a bottle in her hand.
The hippies mourning in sorrow
peace signs held, oil seeped
into the skin that you
now see as damaged.
****** images that will remain
unknown.
Rain and alcohol
Clawing at the front door breaking
your throat.
snow packed inside her lungs.
Years passed of abusive melodies
full of teasing whispers
Broken glass dancing with her flesh
My friends, you will remain unknown.
Cigarettes inhaled to shorten the experience.
Jeans too tights for the pleasure of his fingers
against her ****
He is your savior,
but your suppressor.
She will die unhappy.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Dark shadows circled my nest
on the ridgeline that
spooky winter night.
All I could see
was the moonglow
sifting through my misty breath,
glinting off my suppressor.
Icy winds whipped
up through the valley
to kiss my bearded face
& freeze my teardrops.
I thanked God for my pakol
and woolen fingerless gloves.
The fibers kept me warm
under the blanket of stars.
Not a cloud,
nor a single wisp
could I see against the pitch.
I had the itch to pop off a round
on a falling pebble.
But to do so,
might have meant certain death.
The area was crawling with bad guys,
insurgents looking for heads.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
The mad professor of slapping the lesser
the bad aggressor, facts to beat the guesser
no more oppressor, killed by the successor
the glad possessor, words against suppressor
waiting for the dormant informant to storm it
debating when to swarm and transform it
it's hard to form a new form and perform it
you never conform it's cold and you warm it
the mad magician of having rhymers wishin
the new edition, hell bent on transmission
so much ambition, with no need for permission
the new munition, made for demolition
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
I ache for our simple pleasures
For our tired, languid, gestures
For our vested, fruitful, leisure
Though our time and distance often measured
While both our suppressor
Let us never accept lesser
Than our treasured
Than our together
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
I’m Imagining a place where we make sense - the hot-chocolate
safe-house where we’ll tongue wrestle, watch Gossip Girl reruns
and cuddle - sustained by love and Cinnamon Life cereal.
This dark, coffin-like clock in the corner whirrs, mechanically.
Suddenly a little yellow-clock-bird bursts, jumping-jack-like,
through a tiny door on a blue, tongue-suppressor diving board.
“Cuckoo!” it shrieks, to mock me. “Shut up!” I say defensively
but it repeats, “Cuckoo!” like an oracle - an unfeeling instrument
of adult logic.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC
What is silence? Is silence just quite violence going on in your head making you wish you were dead suppressed like a gun with a suppressor I died in silence with a bullet to the head, im sorry I gave up I was just on my last thread
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
I loved her
from the first moment I met her.
So sleek she was,
manufactured to perfection,
I cradled her in my arms,
invigorating me
she did.
I fingered her trigger
& she reacted violently,
spewing lead
rapidly
from my hidden place,
her suppressor-face was hot,
molten,
effective.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC