"terrorize" poems
*Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize your neighborhood
And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpse's shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grisly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller*
© Michael Jackson
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
I put so much effort into random places,
so much effort into random faces
face it
im faceless
placeless
drifting
shifting
thoughts towards destiny
feeling empty,
wondering whats left in me...?
messages esoteric terrorize my rhetoric
pedestrians staring glaring gazin gotta get a second look
shook
layers shed, fall from those ancient snakes
left for dead
suffocated, stranded
damaged
god ******
this sunless planet is madness
immobilized
try to find sense in a broke world
what are hands without manipulation?
and in life? death is a stipulation
a fools gold is never within grasp
so
clasp delusions Grandiose
with a toast
to sham pain and champagne
emptied grails course through mans veins
oh to see what mirrors saw
would reflections appear at all?
peer into the endless ego
see nothing but self libido
we are all weary travelers,
existences' eternal passengers
remove masks, flasks, end the charade
let serpents slither, and sun bath
away from the shade
embrace the end of nights
push away the start of days
just keep in mind
which way
the pendulum sways
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
my entrails seaping crimson blackness into my heart
Bitten by the rotting incisors you force into my flesh
My body seeking your gaping void
mere mortals describe as a mouth
Your dark hollow soul blackening Cutting my thin cold skin i let you in. Feeling our flesh merging in this torturing oneness,
Filling the cavities of endlessness.
i yearn to feel you feasting upon my clammy cold covering desiring for the essence of your inner being to take me whole devouring my crescent moon in undertones of a wild demonic frenzy
Extracting dark passion from your soul Staring into darkest nights of your mind's cavity.
Through your soul, a black gaping hole. Darklights seeping through my sanity.
searching for a searing flame
it matters not that my etheral love is a force from another plain
i can only believe in the feeling of you
Perpetual fear of being hurt long i went through.
This torturing love you wrung me through.
my cold dead heart lingers in a state of confusion
serving only to terrorize my mind
forever playing tricks on me
for a soul ive left behind
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 4:39 AM UTC
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart
Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order
A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am
I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage
I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
While you cover your profile pictures with transparent flags
ranting how terrorism should stop
retweeting and reposting those gory pictures of the victims
keeping up with the latest news
and trying to flow with the trend
like if this was the new ice bucket challenge
but with blood water.
In all honesty,
Do you really pity the victims?
Do you really feel the sorrow?
Were your families even part?
Were your friends even part?
Were you a part?
Or are you doing it for the sake of Likes?
Only truly
if you hate terrorism,
act like as you really do
because you look stupid,
hating what social media tells you to hate.
And only truly
if you hate terrorism,
You would do something more than a click from social media.
If terrorists terrorize to change the world into their own,
what are we doing to change ours?
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.
Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.
I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like ***** but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
i was told not to read that book
it said right there on the cover
that if i did
i would become a scourge
like a hidden genies dagger
the sight of which would terrorize some
and draw others to me
those strange few
who cry to feel it wound their flesh
and crave its rupturing cold edge
an obsession in motion
demanding they lose themselves in the rapture
of dangerous weapons of pleasure and pain
their kiss an obscenity
sure i thought
and as i read it anyway
it's words
where like a cocked gun blasting
a slow-motion bullet
like a bomb in the skull
shattering brains
with a storm of licking tongues
and kicking feet
my death scattered me
into a great light that casts a long shadow
of headless prancing nymphs
their menstruum,
kaleidoscopic winding red ribbons
fruits of both heaven and nightmares
like a river of elastic mouths
shifting form like chewed gum
thunder filled the house
a dark paradise found
lost in the realm of the senses
quaking and torn
from
this gleaming blade
its caress a sanctuary
pulled tight
over searching fingers
that roam for damp places
in a flickering daze
hiding a frozen scowl
in
impossible times
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
the darkest of my fantasies whisper
Your body is a scuba suit
insist i breath with your ******* through your mouth
dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom
where we petrify by gorgans gaze
i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You
nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea.
Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life
barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin
i am without Your oxygen
when breathing would terrorize the wind
where words belong
still, my forked tongue writes
i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy
when i had You, it was still selfish
the revolving doors of pain and perseverance
more time invested in us
then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You
out of habit
You begged me to beat You
it's been seven hands dealt
rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin
on the tarot card of death
my tolerance for vacancy
a brownish red stain
i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy
i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea
**the Pills... where are...
please no, God.
The Voice, run!
get out!**
*I would gladly go to prison
to **** your lifeless body.
I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow
of your affection.
there is only one true Sin, Objectification.
I indulge relapse
in every memory, find
your shed snake skin
pull it on, like your *******
how disturbed I've become
with you gone*
how selfish of you
of course "I" blames You
when the Pills dull
i indulge by studying Your location
i know where You escape too
i want to go there
does that scare You?
i want to bump into You
apoligise for what i want
"want" as a word
is like plexi-glass, or kevlar
standing between Us
keeping the bullet safe.
i want a hard impact
in a school hallway
where we drop all our
Books and look up and You
see my ghost, that would be enough for Me
i want the impact to hurt.
i want the tumbling of all our Book's
i want the messy hair and ripped knees,
then Our
eyes to meet
and linger
I want to watch the fear fill you.
i want to sit there,
watching.
petrify from parcel tongues
as i gaze at Your gorgon body
shedding skin
if i shed my snakeskin,
maybe i'll see You
i can't leave this Poem
i can't leave this Poem yet
i won't leave this Poem
please kick me out
Poem
Poem
end Me
..
end
.
I
..
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;[email protected])
Do you remember one era in Kenya?
During the dark days of dictatorship
When Daniel arap Moi
Was the tyrannical president of Kenya
And darkness of leadership
Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño
When forty district commissioners
Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins?
Whose main work was to spy and terrorize
As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy
Yoke of state terror of tribal torment
When the president claims that
He was not aware of such tyranny,
When we used to sing a lame poem
Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo!
On empty stomachs with no hope of food
No hope of jobs or even education
Street children swelling on the street
In total political nonchalance of arap Moi
As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths
In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was
Overfunded by the poor tax payers money,
Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are
With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience
As you are armed to teeth with modern education
**** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy
Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices
The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya
Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever
Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president
Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya,
Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser
Ignore him and embrace Kenyans
For common future happiness
Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different
He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli
His full badness is measured in absurdity
Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed
Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders
Of Kenya of yore and today,
Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became
A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension
Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap
Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial
Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing
He looks for them on daily circadian
But once he nears their political pigeonhole
Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga!
President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect
You won’t get a pretext to say that
I was not aware or not informed
Please dear darling of the people
The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes
Novate Moi with the people
And your legacy will smile.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
The Eastern wind blows and comes at such a slant,
that you can never, get out of the way, it is tantamount
both parties were in the wrong, standing in the way.
Dubai the insurance state
fifty fifty blame
what a game
shame over
honor,
terrorize the tourists,
workers, from domestics (imported)
for every hotel in sight
to oil patch imports,
oh the money,
as if it is worth the risk!
Good bye Dubai
Good bye, **** is not a male right,
the victim is a victim shamed already
by the act do not add to their plight
by dividing the blame,
your wealth enables bad
behavior with a religious fervor,
common sense,
common decency,
tells me to believe her.
Good bye Dubai, as pretty and
a delight to the eyes, you want the world
to see, I forgive you for your injustice
to an innocent like she.
©ClemC072013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
I am the devil in the night.
I scourge, and haunt, and terrorize.
All those who see me stop with fear in their tracks.
All do their best to avoid such a horror like me.
Those whom provoke me regret their actions,
for I rip them limb from limb.
I will show them the worst pain they have ever seen.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
Governors,
Mayors,
Policemen,
Night keepers,
Men folk and all of you
On the crest of powers that be
Don’t brutalize prostitutes,
Nor mishandle ******
Or terrorize harlots,
They were born natural
Innocent and callow
With plain white brains
Not tainted with any miss-morals,
Genuine in hearts
And humane in the genesis,
Until they grew up
Beyond father and mother
Clan and relatives,
Into the realm of money civilizations,
Where man and woman,
Must sell to survive,
Sell the wares of trade,
Commodities and tools of work,
Where men sell labour of their arms
To those crafty buyers,
And women sell smiles,
And the ******** of their *****
To serve vice of man
In the glory of warped thought,
Prostitutes have no tribe,
Neither class nor race,
They have no permanent foe
Nor permanent friend,
They have no permanent memory,
Their love is devoid of logic,
They love most but fickle,
Where they make no money
And love least but with nostalgia
where they make money,
So don’t brutalize them,
Only love them,
Pay them,
Kiss them fondly
And sing to them,
Lyrical songs of love,
Sent them to lull and slumber
With your sensuous ******
Of their ******** fountains,
Both male and female
****** of your rendezvous.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
These voices haunt me day and night,
Their mostly mean, their not nice.
I try to survive, they jeopardize my life.
They terrorize my mind, all the time.
They push me off this mountain i climb,
Its harder to climb everytime i try.
I pray to God and ask him why‽
I look up at the sky with my eyes and cry,
Wanting to tell these voices bye.
Jun 10, 2024
Jun 10, 2024 at 10:29 PM UTC
I dyed my hair ash brown
Ironed it
harsh and fierce
I cut thick forest bangs
that hide my angry brows
and flirt with my long
black lashes
I dipped my brush
in bursting green
and painted my lids
to disguise the navy
emptiness
within me
I stained my lips roaring red
matching the words
that I hide, tongue to cheek
Nasty verbs and abashed adjectives
want badly to sneak out
and terrorize your every insecurity
I bleached every tiny tooth
bright wicked white
to flash towards terrible
wreckless superficial you
I lost five pounds
to fit into my saphire body-icon
attire
and don't worry, darling
my ******* are still naturally
huge and angry
from being objectified by you, *******
and I know that every
******* person
will think I'm a
goddess
model
queen
moviestar
and **** I'll look like one and flourish
you will merely turn your head away
while I head to the bathroom
like a lush loser
cursing your ways viciously at the door
of your ******* gay boy bar stall
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
It is another Sunday in the winter.
I am properly tucked in my quilt.
I browse through the top headlines of the hour.
It says the temperature outside is two-degree centigrade and I quit
all ideas of leaving my quilt.
Sundays in winter were my favourite days
and letting me play on Sundays my cookies
for reading properly for six days.
Those Sundays, which seem to be distant memories,
are some of my best memories.
Saturdays were the days of preparation.
Arranging bats, ***** and bicycles, at least, four,
deciding time and venue for the action,
making strategies to sail us ashore-
were some important tasks to be completed before.
I used to sleep a bit early after setting
up a thousand alarms, in case I missed a few,
to ensure I woke up in the morning.
and then I would make a few
calls to wake up the crew.
Though while gearing up,
I would move as little as possible
my Mom would always wake up
and then I had to wear all the clothes ‘cause cold air made you susceptible
to sick and sick made you feeble.
Before I could leave home, I had
to close the door as slowly as possible
because I didn't want to wake up Dad
for he was predictably unpredictable
and it was too risky a gamble.
We dared not look into uncles 'n aunties'
eyes while asking our friends to come to play
for their looks could terrorize
anyone. We'd then go to the decided play-
ground on the shared bicycles without delay.
Quarrels to bat at the top,
the endless running around to save a few runs,
‘barking’ on fellow players lest catches they drop,
heated discussions on run-outs-
these memories still give me goose bumps.
The celebrations after winning the matches and
blaming each other for losing were
the customs of the day and
mom made ‘chicken’ and a good after-
noon nap - a perfect finish for a day to remember.
A lifetime has gone by
since we last played together
and bade each other goodbye
but those memories still lurking somewhere
inside our brains adhere us together.
I usually do not write about myself or my memories, which makes it special. Those days are some of my best memories. And in a cricket crazy country like ours, many definitely have similar memories.
© Devashish Kumar
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
My home is found not in the affairs of international companies, or the goings-on of diplomatic countries,
But, in the confines of my soul, and the reaches of my actions.
I do not seek solace in material possessions, or satisfaction from my wealth
But, in the depths of my imagination, and the thoughts I allow myself to conceive.
We can not tolerate injustice, or those who terrorize our populace,
Or, we too shall become unjust, and fall prey to their greed.
Until we learn to stand together, and learn to respect one another,
The beautiful ideas we create will only fail, and our children will only know hate.
You must learn to love your brother, and value your sister
Or we will continue to reap the disasters we’ve sown, and we will never know a world less tragic than this.
The world won’t change until you have found the internal motivation to change yourself.
How much is enough?
How far is too far?
What will it take to spark the revolution?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
if you slit your wrists
only nectar flows
You are not this body
You are Spirit eternal
Your body is a sacred temple
fashioned by
God for you to learn how
to love more expansively
So suicide is not an option
Swami says this:
“DEVOTEE: Swami, when I am distressed, I feel like committing suicide.
SWAMI: You should not. However difficult life is,
try to be its master and not its slave.
Every human being has a preordained life span.
It is like staying in a leased house.
Before you actually vacate the house,
you have to find another one to move in.
Similarly, before leaving one body,
God selects another body and a span,
depending upon the karmic debts.
In case death is inflicted arbitrarily,
you are denying yourself a chance to work out
your karma as early as possible
and reach a permanent abode.
In suicide, you are stranded midway.
It would be a frightening state of affairs for you.
There is no vacant space in nature.
God has filled the space with spirits
and many other invisible entities.
When suicide is committed, they show up and terrorize you.
Moreover, a jivi is blissfully aware of God only
for one hour in its life. First, fifteen minutes
while shedding the mortal coil, i.e., at death;
second, fifteen minutes after coming
out of the womb, i.e., at birth;
and third, thirty minutes during the marriage.
God is present with the jivi on all these three occasions.
Hence, do not destroy the life that God has given you.
Lead the life you have got righteously.
The person who faces the trials in life calmly
and always remembers God will one day,
definitely, get His grace. Do not doubt its veracity.
Face these tests with faith in Him.
(Swami asked other people to get their doubts clarified.
Nobody asked anything.)” ~Sai Rapture, p.82
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
She ran a boarding house in Boston,
But they used her size to terrorize men
And lead them to the lock-holes.
Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles,
Presented to the Queen in 1844?
Perhaps she was a racehorse
Foaled in Harlem and won a prize.
She had peddled drugs and run a gang
In the chaos of Civil War,
Black Mariah escaped from the darkness
Of Edison’s studio to roam the world,
But in it found herself re-imagined.
They named police wagons after her
It’s said, but no one knows the truth.
Did she cross the battle lines again,
To tread on civil rights?
Or swing the batons in Chicago
And fire rifles at Kent State?
She seems to take time out to charm
Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise.
She prowled the streets of Brixton,
In 1983, with truncheons at her side.
Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail.
Black Mariah is with us still,
Helping to create tyrants and traitors,
To stop the mouths of those who defy
She’s an accessory to the killing.
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:09 PM UTC
Not a day in your life, war have your eyes witnessed
You lay safe, secure, in your ignorant pocket of peace
But their memories play before your eyes and their nightmare dance on your eyelids
The chop of the fan blades remind you of the planes, menacing overhead and dropping fire from the sky
The popping of kernels from the microwave wring forth panic-- Duck! They’re shooting! Duck for cover, you fool!
The book, it merely fell, but was it truly a book? Or was it the boom of an artillery cannon?
Screams of glee mingle into screams of pain. Your best friend, why don’t you reach out and save him? He’s only a few yards away. He’s in such pain, don’t let him die alone. Don’t let him die like this. Don’t let him die.
Stepping in the puddles makes your skin crawl. You remember their blackened skin, rotted flesh. You step out of the water quickly.
The open water is calm. Peaceful. Under the surface you can see them, the submarines. You move away from the shoreline.
Your friend, hugging you from behind-- it’s their hand, just their hand. There was never a knife. They are your friend. Or are they?
The memories. They’re not yours. Whose are they? Why do they tremble like tenor in your mind, ingrained in your DNA?
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
The jungle, the desert, the forest, the wasteland. You’re not there, you were never there.
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of cracking rawhide and dirt. You were not there, this is not your reality. That white jacket should not make your breath hitch! That burning cross should not terrorize you so!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of fabric stars and canvas trucks. You were not there, this is not your reality. That red armband should not make your breath hitch! That fire should not terrorize you so!
Not a day in your life has this world brought its ugly head to look you dead in the eye and breath upon you, noxious breath liquefying your lungs and dissolving your eyes.
You are safe-- that blood on your hands is not real-- you are safe-- this is not your reality-- how it terrorizes you so!
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are theirs, their memories, and you see them every time you close your eyes.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are not yours and they never will be.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Legislators of social stigmatization
hand out identity before child birth,
reluctantly judged by your pigmentation,
you're given a name
and a pew in a church,
assigned to a gender with implications,
while ATM balance determines your worth
Bugs will certainly inherit the Earth
Disguised as your neighborhood
privacy invaders,
cops kick in the door
at your mother's front porch,
enforcing law written by legislators
for a routine seizure and search
Police brutality couldn't mask the depravity
of their warrants nomenclature
Capitalist crusaders terrorize Americans,
but can't keep the bugs
from their Earth inheritance
Men will shroud their evil nature
Malicious intent hides below the glacier
Camouflaged vindictive behavior
is electing dictators across the equator
Truth serenaders lobby for
congressional persuaders
to pardon these murderous
capitalist crusaders,
fitting agendas with tailor made suits,
who infect Mother Earth deep in her roots
Antibiotics couldn't heal or stop this
infection these players gave her
Pray for fire and fury
to burn away worry
when bugs surely crawl from the dirt
to inherit what's left of our Mother Earth
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 6:30 AM UTC
The peace of this small neighbourhood, is shattered as the door caves in
As masked marauders seek with guns, the criminals that hide within
But they find no deadly drug baron, Nor killer, or ****** animal
But a grey-haired lady, small and frail, in terror as she beholds them all
At gunpoint then her hands are tied, and her walking stick cast to the floor
As she is marched by mighty men, to the waiting van outside her door
Her heart skips wildly and her breath is tight, as she is bundled roughly inside
Her dignity and rights of law, are swept away and cruelly denied
And across the town there sits a girl, with kindly, smiling joyful eyes
A teen who spends her youthful zest, bringing hope and joy to other lives
But little does she know this day, that her future days are to dwell
Not in delight and dancing halls, but in a dark and lonely prison cell
And elsewhere stands a local hero, a man so honoured by decree
Acclaimed by peers and politicians, as a citizen of kindly deeds
Yet on this day, he is torn away, from his family who are left in tears
As this father and devoted husband, is imprisoned now for seven years
Who are these ones snatched by the state, and treated so unjustly
Held without cause or consideration, and despised so bitterly?
They obey all laws and pay their dues, and love their neighbours when they can
And share a hope of a future bright, even though their hope is banned
They are young and old, black and white, and gathered from diversity
They wage no wars, won't steal or lie, but treat all people with dignity
For their crime is not of violence, nor abuse, or fraud or robbery
But of being Christians and trying to show, Christ-like love to you and me
And what of those who terrorize them, the land where this grim drama is set
That mighty nation, so paranoid, that it considers them a threat
This pretender to the throne, bedecked in red and white and blue
Is a jealous king who hates the ones, who, to Christ their King are ever true
But as they languish in prison cells, awaiting justice from the King
The one whose commandments they obey, is smiling down and proud of them
For their hope is not in men of law, nor international decree
But their just and loving King, Christ Jesus, and in God- Jehovah's sovereignty
Dedicated to Jehovah's Witnesses imprisoned in Russia
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
***** 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-
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
It's not surprising that it was so easy for you to leave someone as ****** up as I am
Because my mind is a sea of monsters too dark and too primeval to ever be tamed
And they hide their faces in the day
But in the night my mind plays ***** dark tricks and I scream and thrash and I can understand how hard that would be on someone like you
Someone who defeated the darkness that used to terrorize them, and now lives as the king of their mind.
You were ****** up too once.
You woke up cold and sweaty with a screaming heart because your daddy left and you couldn't figure out why and you took six painkillers before Spanish one day and walked in high as **** and got expelled.
But nobody would guess that from your cookie cutter ties and polished shoes and phenomenal ******* eye contact when you shake a man's hand,
Nobody could ever imagine that when you got too drunk you'd grab my *** and throw me on the kitchen counter and bite my neck and your hands would explore places they shouldn't.
Because you hid yourself from the crowds and the daylight and the church congregation,
And when you stand behind me in line for communion I can hear your breathing and the hairs on my back stand up, but remember, my dear, when your nails would map lines down my back?
Oh **** am I ****** up.
And I warned you from the start that I was, that messing with me would only ***** up my broken mind again and again, my mind that's held together with yards of duck tape and the piece of gum we shared on our third date so your parents couldn't smell the whiskey on our breath.
I told you I was a mess, and you said you understood, but the minute my mind started to unravel in your lap you ran away as fast as you could.
I get it.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
When monsters fall in love, do they leave their ways behind them?
or terrorize towns hand in hand?
Do they still open tops of buildings like giant jars of jam
with giddy smiles striking fear for miles around them?
Will they still pick planes from the sky? Or just the crust from their lover's cloudy eyes?
Do their mangled hearts become manicured?
With razor claws brushing wretched jaws,
will children hear them making out in closets?
Will they huff and puff at armies, or yell sweet nothings to pass the time?
Their passion would be fascinating, making love while making masses fear their wrath.
And maybe if we're lucky, we'll see two monsters in the park--
with lipless mouths and fighting tongues--
showing us a love so stark, it would be a first to be given hope
by such vile a folk.
For there's a chance for all of us, if even monsters fall in love.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC