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Andrew Rueter Dec 2017
When cops aren't held accountable
We're bound to fall
To unanswered calls
And free for alls
In project halls
With narrow walls

Fear gets the best of judgement
A cop shoots a suspect
He gives an explanation
Which doesn't pass examination
Only exacerbates inflammation
Stemming from the police station
When they go on patrol
To show who's in control
And act as rough terrorists
As the cuffs tear our wrists

The blood ceases to be red
As it gushes from our head
It becomes black or white
The difference day and night
The impulse is to fight
But is that right?
Will we lose sight
And become wrong
And sing their song?

Their favorite method for oppression
Is unbridled aggression
With discriminate discretion
Yet we're supposed to be nonviolent?
Even when the media has gone silent?
Even when a loved one has been maimed?
Or framed?
They depend on our inaction
To continue painful interactions
As we look for distractions
We build a mental immunity
Which gives the cops impunity
They think they're getting through to me
I just don't want them to shoot so I'll be free
I'll tell them what they want to hear
When they know violence is my fear
They use the mystery of suffering
And their long history of cuffing me
To manipulate me and get what they want
Then on the way to jail they tease and taunt
They've numbed themselves to my plight
And blinded themselves from my light
They hope they'll never see me again
After sending me to the state pen

The police get a thrill
Out of taking away our agency
The police get to ****
Despite how much we beg and plead
The cops keep making us needlessly bleed
Our supposed rights they needlessly read
A government system they needlessly feed

I feel rage and impotence
In this cage of hypocrites
The cops
Run a shop
Where hammers always look for nails
Even if they're minor fails
When employment depends on success
And ambitions rely on arrests
We better wear a vest
Because they'll terrorize the public
Then open their arms
For therein lies the musket
That does us harm

The police brutalize
While we rue their lies
But stay in disguise
Because they have the power to destroy us
People won't employ us
People won't enjoy us
Once we're trapped in a lonely cell
The police then toy with us
Making us feel like we're alone in hell

The police engender a vicious fear
Especially when they smell like beer
To cover up their tears
From what they do to their peers
They terrorize
We're paralyzed
We must teach them to be decent
When evidence of their hate is recent
The law must be followed
But the enforcers are hollow
And they bend the law
To twist our screws
We're stuck in their claws
Destined to lose
Yenson Nov 2018
Hey Mr Big Nose harassers
Thieves, Bullies and Morons
Look how many years you've had
Still can't break him or shut him up
You are thieves and criminals
No good lowlife degenerate scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me

You are thieves, cheap common criminals
can't do better in life than stealing from others
You stole and I called you out, Your are thieves
plain and simple, stinking useless criminals
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me

I will not shut up, I will not be gagged
You are thieving scums you and your paid thugs
You have tried putting the frighteners on me
You want to break me and discredit me
I am still here and I won't shut up
Do your worst
Enlist the whole world
Hound me from pillar to post
You are nothing but stinking low life scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me

White thieves and burglars
Stealing thieving Racist scums
Wanna shut me up
Wanna bully and terrorize me to gag me
Wanna break me and **** my spirit the cowards they are
Come do your worse white thieves
yes I'm in your country and there are more of you
I ain't scared and control all you like
I will still say it to your faces thieves!
Your are stinking thieves and crooks
No good scums and lowlife
I ain't scared of you, come and **** me
I will not be broken by scums, degenerates and lowlife
You are nothing but stinking criminals with connections
Underground the lowlifes call themselves
Proud of criminality, white thieves makes a profession
out of burglary and stealing, Shame on you!
You scums blatantly burgled me because I am quiet and gentle
you thought you will meet no resistance
then I stood up to you
you swear you'll take me out, destroy me
Cheap shameless criminals
With all the civilisation and advancement in your Nation
All you can achieve is going around burglarizing
Cheap scums and degenerate, now come shut me up
I ain't scared of you and your underground
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
Trevor Stuart May 2014
I put so much effort into random places,
so much effort into random faces
face it
im faceless
thoughts towards destiny
feeling empty,
wondering whats left in me...?

messages esoteric terrorize my rhetoric
pedestrians staring glaring gazin gotta get a second look


layers shed, fall from those ancient snakes
left for dead
suffocated, stranded
god ******
this sunless planet is madness


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
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
Ian Cairns Jan 2014
I have these scars on my elbows
They're from a long time ago
And I never really appreciated their protrusion until now
Pretending to prefer unblemished skin
But when I was 10 and still believed in Superman
I had a tendency to ride my bike with stuntman speed
Forgetting about the frivolous concerns that consumed me
Hoping my kryptonite never crept up from underneath sidewalk bumps
Flipping my ambition over handlebars
Leaving the pieces of my reflections painted crimson along the asphalt
Scattered like hand-picked petals of an ill-advised ascetic
I am me, I am not, I am me, I am not
So I always wore my helmet as a precautionary measure
It contained my thoughts from running straight through my skull
And becoming neighbors with the pavement
But I never wore my elbow pads
They collected dust beside the waste bin
Replacing security for sincerity
I improved my flexibility while losing some skin
And that was a trade off I was willing to make at the time
I finally felt alive
I was invincible on my bicycle
The sidewalk my only bully
The summer breeze my only friend
And at the time I never realized what it meant to be vulnerable
But those bike rides were the closest I would get
I was fixated on fitting in around my classmates
Accumulating fake friends by
Ripping insincerities out of my esophagus
And stapling them to my forehead
I stole my own identity
Morphing my puzzle piece and jamming it into the jigsaw
Claiming to be the missing link everyone was searching for
But what am I searching for?

I was lost on my own yellow brick road
I had two left feet and no right way to go
I stopped dead in my tracks
Hoping the soles of my feet would soak in the golden stones while
Singing Dorothy's hymn like spoken sin
I just want to fit in
I just want to fit in
I just want to fit in

Wondering if that was loud enough for Oz to hear me
I didn't have any magic slippers
And this situation was twisting towards witchcraft
I'm not even sure Oz can help me
You see these requests were a tall order for a tiny man
Who wore masks just like me
Oz and I were anonymous
Oz and I were synonymous
Using smoke and mirror tactics to terrorize the innocent
When in reality we were only playing tricks on ourselves
Hiding behind perfectly sculpted ****** expressions
And make-believe manuscripts
Doing basic impressions of manufactured mannequins
Out in the real world
I really needed to speak with the Scarecrow
The Tinman, the Lion, and Dorothy too
And investigate their stresses with relentless pursuit

The Scarecrow would tell me
Wisdom is wasteful for those
Without a strong appetite for improvement
But sometimes common sense can lead
The most sensible person astray
The Tinman would tell me
Compassion is constructed for
Tender hands to hold
But sometimes empathy can leave
The most charitable person betrayed
The Lion would tell me
Courage can be critical in
Times of distress
But sometimes vulnerability can make
The most sensitive person brave
And Dorothy would tell me
Home is paradise
Wrapped in picket fences
But sometimes a terrifying trip can bring
The most wary person escape
And suddenly it would occur to me
That strengths are just solid scars
We have confidence to display on our sleeves
And perfection can only permeate the souls willing to recognize
That faults shine golden too
So from here on out I'm placing my masks alongside my elbow pads
Both collecting dust beside the waste bin
Replacing security for sincerity
Finally embracing the scars on my skin
Now that is a trade off I'm willing to make
Because I want to feel alive again
Yenson Aug 2018
Commissar Dumbrov of The Red Republican Army at his desk

Grego, Grego , what is happening with the Regal in the Gulag
Is he mad yet, has he hanged himself and committed suicide

No Commissar, he is writing poetry and growing fat like a pig

Are you crazy, this is a ****** Revolution, not ******* poetry class
Did you not put him through the program.

We did Commissar, we hounded and tormented him, we persuaded his wife to break his heart, we fully destroyed his career, we isolated him, we ruined him financially, we made the proletariat hate him,
we taunted him and provoked him everywhere, we scandalized his name and reputation, we bugged him, we oppressed him, we bullied him, we made him friendless, we invaded his privacy, we mocked him and depressed him, we tried to confuse him, we mix him up. we harassed him with noise, we've terrorize him we've done everything and more. he has not been with a woman for 20 years.

AND HE'S WRITING POETRY, what a pack of ******* fools you are, that's the trouble with you ****** Proletariat, you have no brains, must be all the ****** gruel you lot eat, your ******* brains didn't develop properly, all you ******* know is how to be ***** and violent, any wonder these Elitists see you as nothing but animals. that great Leader of the Revolution wrote, I forget his name now, he wrote that the best and only way to deal with these Elitists is to attack their minds, **** up their ****** brains, make them paranoid and fearful. drive them crazy, turn them into jabba labba locos, dribbling at the mouth locos crazy,

We tried Commissar, we did all the things to make this happen, we spent a lot of time and effort on this, we used all the grape-vines and contacts we have, we even threw the Kitchen sink at him. So far, nothing.

You threw the ******* Kitchen sink at him, what's that for, the Kitchen sink belongs to the State, its not meant to be thrown at ******* Elitist Dissidents.

Its a manner of speech, Commissar.

Now you are a Comedian, are you, a ******* Revolution is going on, we are creating a Classless Society and Equality for all and you are making stupid jokes!

No Commissar, I mean we utilized all resources so far, we have continually harassed him, we have created so much disappointments, betrayals, let-downs, frustrations for him, but he still remains calm, stoical, composed, dignified, erudite and sane.
maybe its true that these people are a different breed. Its frustrating for us and quite honestly, embarrassing!.

Shut up, are you saying he's some sort of Regal Rasputin, even that ****** one, we got in the end, now you're saying this one is bullet-proof. Have you tried Advanced Slander, spread the nastiest rumors about him. So bad to make him take his own life. Who was it that said,  “Show me the man and I'll show you the crime”

It was Comrade Beria, Commissar. Yes Commissar, we have framed him many times and made thumped up allegations against him. We have done all that Commissar, we even said he walks like John Wayne or a broken crab.

Who is this John Wayne, are you a time-traveler now?

Have you tried spreading the rumor that he goes to the Cementry at night and sleep with dead women, he digs up.

No Commissar, I don't think even the stupidest Proletariat would believe that one.

Have you tried spreading a rumour he has *** with a dog.

Commissar Natashavo hasn't been anywhere near him, Commissar

Are you being funny again, Grego

No Commissar!

So what is happening right now with our Mr Invincible Elitist Poet Romanov or whatever his name is,  the MAN that you ******* useless Republican comrades, can't drive mad or make commit suicide, a simple thing, that we have done thousands of times. Why is it that when we do these things to those Class-traitor Proletariat, they die or go raving mad loco coo coo  within six months.

The Proletariat are brainless  cowards Commissar, they can dish it out but they can't take it, Commissar, that's why its so easy for us Senior Members of the Po-lit-Bureau to manipulate and control them. As regards our MAN we are still actively harassing him, we are presently mixing him up again, mentally and doing voice to skull tactics with him. We also make sure he remains frozen in a time warp. This is useful in allowing us to demonstrate to the imbecilic Proletariat that we are powerful and can control people and events, this makes sure they realize our capabilities and might and of course, fosters espirit de corps. It keeps them all in line.

Well that's good thinking Grego, yes, that's good, as regards our Poet, why don't we just blast off his *****.

We did Commissar, but he grew bigger ones!

Are you being funny again, Grego, do you want to be sent to the Gulag in Siberia to keep the Poet company.

No, Commissar, I have a date tonight with Commissar Natashavo!
gothic mistress Nov 2010
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
copyright gothic mistress and satan 2010
vircapio gale Sep 2012
wakefulness demands a certain clearness when asleep . . .
it doesn't come as planned
"tat tvam asi"
LaBerge says to me in dream of me
"this world you are, withstanding even torments thou art never seen."
and that's enough to suffer aching, opaque psyche summit, forward
heart to rise an interspecies knell when danceless fades the bee in droves...
aimless whales who singing deep in love are cut from evolution's murky chain...
fungal blight of hibernaculum, in deafened sonar sending sudden drop of death;
to horror fragment melt, the ocean swill from ancient caps to sunken polar paw
diverse in massacre of tropic forest fertile mists, lives dispersed
and balance tipped from blindness not unlike the sterile statue's, there
                                                          i­n dusty courthouse corner, shadow-lined with infamy...
what imagined cartoon causal Captain Planet              
                            villainy to blare across oneiromantic globe? and (dreaming?) civil strife,                  
       eradication's alter triumph pose to measure blame in inner life?
of empiric meditation's top, in *******
churning out abuse in deeper,
                                                         ­   younger hidden traffics yet to terrorize the net...                                  
                                             the scraping of the sky had punctured through                                
                         ­                                      from metaphor to fact
                                       the sooty barbs
                            in radiance rebound    
and irony affected 'green'
                  folds crisis and solution into one                            we hope
                like what we say we are, becoming change                      in wartime summer fling    
say we can in world of 'me'                                      
in guilt-assuaging verve
                                  the heifer-gift to village fief
    but then to rest against organic pillow-conscience gray                                                             ­       
                                                               soundly snoring smokestacks fill from ground to sky
still for sly investment windfall   fog  billow, shake...                             
transcontinental scape of dream imbued anew:
i am the genie of my ownmost inner lamp
in dreamtime-being spacious constellational of reach distilled
in contemplation's tratak zoom mInute
   with jet black finger trace
    i net                                                              ­                                        from out the inter-earthen air                
                                             ­                                              the lump on lump of coal
                massaging from                                                             ­      as if an ivory atmospheric                  
lift                   of      weight  
                           the sculpture of our past condensed in elephantine ******
                                                 miasmic fossil shower-haze of sporogenic fear,
mneumonic nail-tusk night of carbon-spirit back into its hold -- originary dark,
Dark light from burning black                                                 once again contained                                                      in elemental subterrain                                                       ­                                                       
         ­                                        --now it underlies the ground inside for triple shielding outshine
--outer-- light to cool us breathing once again . , ,    
false convenience in abeyance in a human time!                                
i am right now of inward self my soul supernal carbon imprint copy                             
for accounting every speciesistic mind to open wide enough and quell the "all-too human plagues--                                                                           ­       cheering all penultimates, in beams reflecting ante-truth          
                                                 down halls of mirror-minds that lightly discourse
on the ingress of a centaur saving power
channeling the leylines of inception,
ecstatic dreamworld of apotheosic glee:
parting the eidetic clouds,
commune an avatar intentionality . . .
ensorcelling the foodstuffs of the world to feed a dozen million refugees,
insectile diet pride attends in homes of affluence,
the abstract mass of media, become eupeptic cud of understanding bats and even bees--
for biospheres a Goodall stewardship arrives
(her perfect chimp call too resounds across the earth!)
and dwindled frogs their former ponds (unknown, destroyed without a sound)
return to chirping vibrant green symphonic swooning life
the glacial march of tears to halt . . .
all ecosystems rife withall
the panegyric of marshlands globally reborn  
along with shining waters, algaeic sun alive at play
in double-helix breath of dolphin families' bubble art
a sudden resurrect from ****** harvest cove arise cascading joyous leap
on final absence of the metal herding knock of trapping pods
no longer hacked in waves of pink, mere preparations for a restaurant sink--
they are free to swim the depth of worldheart dreaming unknown dream entire real again
marine apsaras dip in spectra (flicker eyelid) rays, reintroduce the dawn
her fine apparel calling forth transhuman destinies
unsplicing brilliant minds from ****** task of splicing GMOs
recycled randomness accepting death before we die
mycelium in runs of spilling-- all undone --
migrational attuned our resource use
and CSAs to thrive in eco-city scapes
no solopsistic somniac pretends
--the dream imbued in final hue
a momentary lapse, creationary flux--
the bombs defused in flick of wrist
indentured and enslaved, imprisoned innocents, oppressed and even self-deprived released
through selfhood's metaviral claim
ground of each dependent intertwining
whatness will to be
a place in which to hum in tune or out of tune
to heal and in a another dream aside from this perhaps with me partake
in true oneiric panoply of conflict held
--with permeating rigpa geogaze--
colliding ideologies transmuted into trust
in panharmonium of varied vision
and what the ever present boons of real, imagined symbol-real
create awake

Miguel Sep 2018
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
Himani Vashishta Jan 2013
Yes, I am an Atheist.
A single word explains it.
I don’t have the popular, visor faith in God.
A little word retorts,
I don’t bend on my knees to pray.
Yes, I question God’s presence, doubt his omnipotence
I choose to think freely, so I am an Atheist!!
A single word may stimulate believers,
They say, I am condemned to hell and deserve damnation.
Egotistical, Arrogant and ‘Witch’ I am called in condemnation.
Still I assert, ‘I am proud to be an Atheist!!’

A Single word explains, I have torn all ties,
No more in mood of listening age-old rhetoric cries.
I have broken all barriers, which divide my own people,
To live my life by the Golden Rule of Humanity & affable.
I dream boundary’s falling, all mankind as one,
Humanity prevailing before any sham religion.
People of different caste and creed dancing-singing together in the bright light of sun.
Not idols rather humanity my religion, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Atheist for me doesn’t mean,
The faith believers preach I totally deny.
But so long as logic is there,
Anything else would be a lie.
I agree no religion asks its followers to become bigot and spread violence and hatred.
I am ready to follow any religion if believers assure no more blood would be shattered.
As far as I feel, they gave me no assurance, so still I am forced to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Brahmin for me explains my caste and religious status,
Even after born in a very religious family events converted me to atheist status.
I opened my eyes in India in year 1984,
The winter season was burning by religious riots, killing Sikhs daily more & more.
The mighty prime minister was assassinated of the county of crore,
Year 1985-86 also witnessed Ahmedabad roar.
Small incidents continued but year 1990 witnessed communal riots more and more.
Burning issue of Ram Janam Bhoomi temple touched this time every door.
Bliss of Childhood with me, I hide in my mother lap and just ignore.
My days filled with play, naps, snacks, beautiful dresses I wore.
Mommy and Daddy smiled at all the adorable things I did; my innocence something I was loved for.
My elder brother was my idol; my best friend remained with me like my shadow every hour.
In my childhood I was the most religious so respected for.
Communal frenzy converted that religious girl to the extent of proud Atheist!!

A little word lovable was apt for me
I started my schooling; mingle with kids of all caste.
My high born parents any how made me understand not to eat and meet with low caste.
That’s when I realized the equation of caste,
I was growing and learning about world very fast.
I found brotherhood my books preached and the scenario existed in society complete contrast.
Minor and some times major violence always outbreak on the name of creed and caste,
In the country which was such a vast.
I noticed my community condemning government policy of reserving for low caste.
This widespread hatred hurt my innocent heart turned me in a proud Atheist!!

A single word love got my all attention as I grow adult,
Yes, I was in love, the most beautiful feeling of this world.
Alas! My first love my true love never fulfilled,
In the midst of caste and creed.
Caste obligations made my life ruined,
God snatched my love and I stopped loving god so I am here a proud Atheist!!

A little word communalism shook the giant country in 2002 again,
The whole Gujarat drenched in blood rain.
All streets burning up to Sabarmati train,
Women *****, Innocent kids crying man dying, made my faith drain.
I wonder when humanity was slain where God remain,
Why faith can’t be questioned again.
Why can’t we see through communal-political equation?
Yes, I use reason and logic, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word Atheist changed my whole life,
Traditional man refused to make me wife.
My Family Life continuously on strife,
They say Bigots will put me dead by knife.
Believers speak ill for me in disguise,
Hoping quietly for my demise.
Still I dare to follow path of truth, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word fear I see in all eyes,
Take a deep look, communal worm hollow our society you realize.
Misinformation, falsification bloodshed that Bigots materialize,
God died in my heart since when religion start terrorize.
To save mankind quit all religious difference would be wise,
Otherwise all growth & development would paralyze.
Its High time, only human religion be initialize.
Till Human Religion finalize, I take proud in being an Atheist!!
So Here I am, A Proud Atheist!!

- Himani Vashishta
Jason Chae Nov 2015
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?
once again slaves of social media who call themselves "supporting"
Shaw Hovsk Dec 2016
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.
Katlyn Orthman Oct 2012
Death was not unfamilar to me. I'd killed my share of things classified as monsters. I wasn't complaining really, my job kept the humans safe. I just felt guilty, I was practically a monster myself. They call us Warriors of the night, we're not Vampires, we are born with extra strenght and a long life span. I was born a long time ago, I was raised to **** monsters that terrorize the human race. Since I was six, I'd been trained to ****. I was a killing machine, best of my kind. Yet somehow, even though what I do is considered an honor, I don't feel proud. I've been doing my job much to long, and lately I'd began getting sloppy with my work. God knows Rowan would be one ****** of boss if he heard about me letting the group of baby Werewolves. I wasn't a complete heartless ******* to **** a bunch of babies.
    I might've been two years ago, before the whole incident happened. I layed my head in my hands, I couldn't go there, not now. I needed a clear head. My small apartment in Master Singu's house was getting messy. I hadn't had time to clean lately with all of the monster attacks that had been popping up lately. Ghouls, Goblins, Oni, Ogre, you name it and it's been attacking. Wasn't much we could do with the Banshee, they were more of a signifier then a monster. A signifier of death, and usually they gave me a heads up if the person who's house it's been surrounding, is gonna die. Banshee were cruel looking creatures, never gotten to close to one, they make **** sure of that. Not sure I ever want to. They were ruled by the one and only, Death. And i will gladly stay as far from death as possible. Haven't heard too many good things about him. Death is one of the Four horsemen. Scariest ******* in the underworld, and I would gladly never meet any of deaths brothers or sisters, what ever the gender their welcome to stay away. There was a soft knock on my door, io glanced at the clock on the wall, it was already three. Warriors worked night shift basically, since thats the time most monsters like to come out.
    The victorian styled door was a black cherry carved wood, with a ancient symbols carved in so no evil spirit couls cross into my apartment, so I wasnt worried any monster was at my door. But I was suprised to see Cameron when I opened the door. Cameron and I used to work the nights together until he'd gone off and gotten married to Sylvia, who was a vampire. Vampires were only considered monsters when they didnt follow the rules. No feeding off of unwilling people, only donors, and they couldnt go around killing people. Their biggest rule though was not to tell any human what they were, Warriors like me had a lot of people to execute.
   "Cameron, never thought I'd see you around here anymore," just as I was talking to him I realized, Cameron looked scared and desperate. Unlike someone who spent his life killing evil monsters that were twice the size of him. " What's wrong Cameron?" He shook his head and walked past me, through the door and into the living room. "It's Sylvia, Theon please help me," Camerons voice was going all thick and his eye's all watery. This was deffinetly something bad. " Tell me, what has happened with Sylvia?" I needed Cameron in his most focused form to help me out, but as I looked at the shaking man I knew he was beyond that. " You remember the king vampire we took down to save Sylvia?" Cameron said quitely, but I knew instantly what vampire he was talking about. That vampire had killed Abelia. I quickly swept that from my mind and focused back on Cameron. " Yes I remember, "  I had no idea where Cameron was going with this. " You remember his brother than, the one that got away, he said that we would both pay. He, ah, made you pay that day. I never thought that he would carry out with his threat. He kidnapped Sylvia, and Sylvia is pregnant, " Cameron almost lost it right there.
    I never thought that, pip squeak of a vampire had it in him, but he was smart and possesed powers we hadn't known about until we had come across them. Their king that we had slayed, had been capturing girls of all species and abusing them in such barbaric ways.
We had to put an end to his affairs, and we did but his brother wasn't too happy about it. He'd done one of his tricks and manifested behind Abelia and snapped her neck. Everything for me had stopped, all I could hear was the blood in my veins. I didn't breath, I could still remember the deafining roar I had unleashed as my monster had gripped me, took the reins and killed all of the mans servants.
Blood had bathed the walls that night, not even the crickets dared to sing. The sun rose late that morning, and I sat inside this very apartment, on that very couch, and cried. For the very first time, I had cried until my eye's swelled shut, until my throat could bare no more. Until I passed out.
    "We'll get them back Cameron, don't worry. For now get some rest, we'll start investigating later tonight, I have meeting to attend," I was going to **** that ******* when I found him. He had taken my only love from me, and he would pay this time, I would make that absoultely certain. Cameron nodded and headed for the door. It was a long way back to his house, and he crossed quite a few bridges. I didn't want him making any bad decisions, " Cameron you can crash here, I have a guest room your welcome here man," I say casually so he doesn't get all prideful. He stops and looks at me for a moment then nods " Yeah, thanks man, and also thank you for agreeing to help me on this I know it's a bit of a touchy subject for you, just know i appreciate it." He made his way down the hall, I listened for the soft click of the door shuting before i went to leave.
    I grabbed my coat, and the keys to my Ducatti and ducked out the door. The hallway was long and at the end of it was two flights of srairs, I lived on the third floor. My motorcycle was parked right were I left it, it was a beauty. Black and red sleek metal and nice leather seats. I loved the bike so much I had named her Racer. I loved to drive fast, and so did she. I tore off out of the parking lot and listened to the purr of her engine on the way to Rowan's , my boss, office. It wasnt to far, but I wasn't in a rush either so i took the long road just to stall. I knew Rowan planned on giving me a partner. Probably some ****** that didnt know his way around a swiss army blade, let alone a sword. Warriors didnt use guns unless absoultely necessary. I loved the feel of my sword slicing through the air. I didn't, however, enjoy the noisy bang of a gun. A sword was like another limb, you have to trust it to take you were you need to go.
    Rowan's office light was on, and I could make out the form of three bodies. Great, I knew it, Rowan was going to assign me a partner.
I hated partners, the only one I'd ever slightly enjoyed had been Cameron. I got off my bike, patted the seat for good luck, and made my way into Rowans office. When I pulled open the door I was ready to yell at Rowan for even thinking of giving me a partner, instead i dropped my hand off the doorknob. " *******," was all I coluld say. I was stunned to silence.
To be continued! Hope I left you wanting to know more!
The Jolteon Mar 2015
Secret armies
Secret prisons
Secret wars
Secret orders
Secret evidence
Secret motives
Secret plans
Secret killings

Tell the truth

Bombs over Baghdad
Bombs over families
Bombs over kids
Bombs over places you don't know

Tell the truth

Terrorize a nation
Terrorize a hemisphere
Terrorize the "other"
Terrorize the culture

Tell the truth

Weddings turned into massacres
New-born celebrations a war target
Citizens chosen for assassination
"The world is a battlefield"
"Joint Special Operations Command"

Inspired by book "***** Wars"
Raphael Uzor Mar 2014
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
Michael Jackson's Thriller remains one of my favorite music videos of all time.
zebra Aug 2018
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
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
impossible times
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.
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.
Yenson Jan 2019
You're clowns, as laughable as hell
Go read the passage on Cyber  troll perps
unemployed ******* paid to sit online
writing ******* to flood and demoralize
the ninocoops brain deed perverts
think others are weak inconsequentials dweeps
like the spineless nervous  victims you usually  terrorize

Go re-appraise your anodyne tactics
30 years, I am still standing still laughing
Am at my best when alone ready for turds
I don't hide, I haven't fled anywhere
Or go all shaky and trembly
You don't frighten or terrorize me one bit
My mind is razor sharp, my nerves steely as ever

Coward wiggas are contemptibles
Can't stand and trade face to face
Only brave when they gang up against one man
behind screens inventing false identities
You are laughable, odious little perp rats.
Deluded slaves controlled fools.....

Hahaha....hahaha....Hahaha....western rubish
trailer trashes, you can't even spell your lingo



Curtis Gainey Feb 2010
There’s a lot of sick men walking on this earth
But this man is beyond twisted, he’s perserve
All he wants to do is terrorize and leave people hurt
What ****** up his mind, no one knows
Think about this man and anger flows
Everybody remembers the heinous crime he committed
What he did has left a lot of people in this world sickend
Disgusted faces everywhere
A room full of disturbed stares
No one can imagine the intense horror this man has cause
Too heinous for words, what this man has done was wrong
No! it’s beyond wrong! it’s **** right disgusting
It makes other crimes committed look like nothing

Only the son of the devil would have a mind this sick
Makes you wanna find him and beat him with every inch
He’s a sick menace to today’s youth
Think of this man, you just wanna puke
The night he broke in and destroyed a family
Kidnapped two children and tortured them badly
It gets even better, he also went in, tortured, and killed the parents
Bashed their heads with a hammer, no wonder they couldn’t bare it
Kidnap the kids and put them in his stolen jeep
He drove into another state in a forest so deep
Intense fear appears upon these children’s eyes
He dosen’t care, he just wants to make them cry
It’s like food, his mouth waters when he got them
His mission now is to assault and distraught them

He is the hunter and now the children are his prey
Starts to slip off his pants, you can assume he’s gay
One by one, he commits the most heinous act ever
Forced himself inside them, didn’t make things better
Laid on top of each of them so they couldn’t move
Forced them to lay on a surface that isn’t even smoothe
The children scream in pain while he screams in pleasure
It’s getting miserable for the poor kids but for him it’s better
Children screaming in agony is like music to his ears
He gets the sense of dominace coming off their fears
Didn’t give them mercy, he just went further into their bodies
They’re gonna spew out his liquid next time they go to the *****
This ain’t no joke, that’s the worst thing you can do to a kid
If they live, these kids will be traumatized from what he did
Can’t even cry for help because they’re in the middle of a forest
He wants to destroy these kids inside out, that’s just plain horrid
You’d think this kind of horror dosen’t exist, but it does
He forced himself into those kids until they squirt out blood

But what he does?! he just kept on going
Pain of these kids keeps his energy flowing
Tears streaming down their faces as he continues
Doing that to small children, he has some mad issues
No wonder why everybody in the world hates him right now
No wonder why people wanna beat him down to the ground
Children are helpless so he decided to use them as targets
Forcing innocence out of a child, that’s just plain *******
They’re crying in pain, crying for help, but he thrieves off that
Crying like babies everytime he did but he just goes and laugh
Twenty-four seven, all day, all night, he was on top of these poor kids
He’s a ******* sick monster who’s most powerful weapon was his ****
Seven straight weeks they had to endure this action
A lot of people in the world wishes this didn’t happened

Not even the end of this story, he burned their bodies and choked them unconsius
Seen long weeks he kept these helpless, defendless children under his hostage
And for what? to get sick pleasure by graphically torturing them
He was ramming himself in their bodies in and out until they bleed
Mixed with that and his ******, he could of gave those kids aids
One of them didn’t even get to live as he sent him to an early grave
The kid begged and screamed for his young life
Instead he went and shot him in his sister’s sight
Eventually he got caught and now he sits in a jail cell
Sentenced to life for putting these children through hell
Sitting in a cell constantly blaming society for having an evil heart
Stop blaming other people, and take responsibility for your part
Forget a life sentence, torture this man to death
For kidnapping children and using them for ***
No sympathy will be given for this deranged man
He’s a *** offender and should be wiped off earth
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;

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.
Clem C Jul 2013
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
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.  

I respectfully understand if she won't.
A pardon?
Pardon them for pardoning her, thinking...
A decoy friend, baited, lured it's unwitting
The latest victim to prepare for an ambush
Lurking in the shadows, but hiding in plain sight,
Observing from below to organize for apprehension
Anxious to terrorize its prey, with their boon companions
Using my notions of long ago, of unspoken content
Reveals it's  deceiving affirmation, pursuing instruments
Distributed to others to use against me
A sham of being pristine, weeping tears that aren't real
A deceiver of her spoken words,
That her followers always believe
A professional charlatan, a trickster  
Pursuing its prey, while pretending to be a victim
Always having to have total dominance
Living well on administration prosperity
With her trio of  illegitimate offspring of dissimilar fathers

Copyright 2019
all rights reserved.
Harsh Dec 2014
October 18th, 1995. I was born a little more than a month early; Ma always says it’s because I’d thought of a good joke and couldn’t wait to share it with everyone. Dad says it was because I was too hungry.

Yes, my name is Harsh but I promise I’m a nice enough person. Harsh means happiness in Sanskrit and I’ve always worn that name tag proudly. I use the username "harshhappens" as an alternative to the unfortunate saying "**** happens." Happiness happens, too.

I’ve got my father’s temperament and my mother’s smile, but I love my mother’s temperament and my father’s smile wouldn’t fit my face. I look at the two of them and see a patched, two-tone mirror of myself. I’m scared of what I am taking from them and what I’m not.

My childhood was Pokemon and Legos, chocolate chip pancakes and milk, hugs from my grandparents and bedtime stories with mom. Oh, how I loved to read. If books were grape juice, I was an alcoholic.

I’ve got my share of adolescent acne, the bags under my eyes hold the weights of my sins and I’ve already got smile crinkles about my plain, dark eyes. My hair is usually combed to a side and turns into a beard as you trace down my sideburns. I dress like a trendy 80-year-old psychology professor sometimes, other times I dress like a wannabe-tumblr-model. Oh well.

My favorite colors are maroon and grey. I’m also colorblind. Go figure.

I’m going to school to help people and hopefully save them from themselves. Problems of the mind are at the root of our existence, and will continue to terrorize victims no matter how much money they earn, no matter how much *** they have, no matter how lovely their spouses are, no matter how big their houses are. When people go to sleep at night, they deserve to have peace of mind. I’d like to help with that. I know too many people who can't take it. I knew too many people who couldn't take it. No one deserves to go through that alone.

I’m a five-foot-ten-inch sculpture made without wax. If I’m nothing to you I’ll at least be genuine. I’m pockmarked and scarred in my own ways.

Music runs through my veins, along with endorphins and an appalling lack of iron. What I listen to can be like honey and sometimes it’s a hurricane. I’ve shed tears to music, it’s been a part of me for ages.

I don’t sleep very well.

I am an introvert in the most proper sense of the term. Sometimes I get oversensitive, and being with too many people or around certain people can get very overwhelming and intense, I tend to shut down in these instances. Just make eye contact with me and I’ll open up to you, I promise. I don’t like parties. I’d much rather sip a mug of coffee in my basement with a canvas in front of me and paint all down my jeans, or sit by my window and write my heart away. I’d rather take a long drive with the love of my life or take her to dinner. I don’t take pride in this solitude, I hate it most of the time. I wish I enjoyed myself at parties.

I’m scared of heights and of knives in the wrong hands. I’m also terrified of the dark.

I’m a hopeful romantic, it’ll take a lot for you to take hope away from me. I’ve been blessed with a girlfriend that is genuinely the best thing to ever happen to me. She’s the kind of girl that you work hard for but you know she’s **** worth it. She’s the kind of girl that teaches you things both about the world outside your bedroom and about the person inside your heart. She’s the kind of girl that makes you write poetry. I am plenty ******* up in my own way, but no one else can ever love the way I do; let that be a vice or virtue.

You could probably buy my soul off me for some chocolate. Or some nice lobster. Or mashed potatoes. I'm just a very hungry person.

It’s too late for my parent’s praise to mean anything to me, I needed it earlier. I live with a constant doubt that you can call self-consciousness or self-doubt. You can quote Freud all you want. I need constant reassurance that I’m worth anything to anyone and everyone and I look for it desperately. Sometimes when I get really bad I just want to hear a reason why I’m worth listening to. I am constantly trying to convince myself that I’m good enough. It’s frustrating for both me and my loved ones. I’m 150 pounds of waiting for someone to tell me that I try hard enough and that I’m all they need.

The best compliment anyone has ever given me was from my girlfriend. She said “I love your mind.”

I write because of my girlfriend. She woke up this primordial part of me that really just likes to put a pen to paper.

So, hi there. I’m Harsh. Nice to meet you.
My rendition of a Valentina Thompson piece
Lily Karter Feb 2013
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.
At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first ****

just below
the gun-metal blue window
and immediately there is an echo

off in the distance,
then one from the backyard fence,
then one, with horrible insistence,

grates like a wet match
from the broccoli patch,
flares,and all over town begins to catch.

Cries galore
come from the water-closet door,
from the dropping-plastered henhouse floor,

where in the blue blur
their rusting wives admire,
the roosters brace their cruel feet and glare

with stupid eyes
while from their beaks there rise
the uncontrolled, traditional cries.

Deep from protruding chests
in green-gold medals dressed,
planned to command and terrorize the rest,

the many wives
who lead hens' lives
of being courted and despised;

deep from raw throats
a senseless order floats
all over town.  A rooster gloats

over our beds
from rusty irons sheds
and fences made from old bedsteads,

over our churches
where the tin rooster perches,
over our little wooden northern houses,

making sallies
from all the muddy alleys,
marking out maps like Rand McNally's:

glass-headed pins,
oil-golds and copper greens,
anthracite blues, alizarins,

each one an active
displacement in perspective;
each screaming, "This is where I live!"

Each screaming
"Get up!  Stop dreaming!"
Roosters, what are you projecting?

You, whom the Greeks elected
to shoot at on a post, who struggled
when sacrificed, you whom they labeled

"Very combative..."
what right have you to give
commands and tell us how to live,

cry "Here!" and "Here!"
and wake us here where are
unwanted love, conceit and war?

The crown of red
set on your little head
is charged with all your fighting blood

Yes, that excrescence
makes a most virile presence,
plus all that ****** beauty of iridescence

Now in mid-air
by two they fight each other.
Down comes a first flame-feather,

and one is flying,
with raging heroism defying
even the sensation of dying.

And one has fallen
but still above the town
his torn-out, bloodied feathers drift down;

and what he sung
no matter.  He is flung
on the gray ash-heap, lies in dung

with his dead wives
with open, ****** eyes,
while those metallic feathers oxidize.

St. Peter's sin
was worse than that of Magdalen
whose sin was of the flesh alone;

of spirit, Peter's,
falling, beneath the flares,
among the "servants and officers."

Old holy sculpture
could set it all together
in one small scene, past and future:

Christ stands amazed,
Peter, ******* raised
to surprised lips, both as if dazed.

But in between
a little **** is seen
carved on a dim column in the travertine,

explained by gallus canit;
flet Petrus underneath it,
There is inescapable hope, the pivot;

yes, and there Peter's tears
run down our chanticleer's
sides and gem his spurs.

Tear-encrusted thick
as a medieval relic
he waits.  Poor Peter, heart-sick,

still cannot guess
those ****-a-doodles yet might bless,
his dreadful rooster come to mean forgiveness,

a new weathervane
on basilica and barn,
and that outside the Lateran

there would always be
a bronze **** on a porphyry
pillar so the people and the Pope might see

that event the Prince
of the Apostles long since
had been forgiven, and to convince

all the assembly
that "Deny deny deny"
is not all the roosters cry.

In the morning
a low light is floating
in the backyard, and gilding

from underneath
the broccoli, leaf by leaf;
how could the night have come to grief?

gilding the tiny
floating swallow's belly
and lines of pink cloud in the sky,

the day's preamble
like wandering lines in marble,
The ***** are now almost inaudible.

The sun climbs in,
following "to see the end,"
faithful as enemy, or friend.
Lucanna Nov 2012
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
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
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
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
Johnny Cash it out
Dahlia Nov 2012
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?
Nik Krutilla May 2013
There is this space that exists inside.
In between my ribs and just under my heart.
It's not in a place to constantly remind me of its presence there.
But it does get nudged from time to time.
It holds onto things I've tried to rise above, to let go of...
But never fully doing so.

Things like negativity and doubt and stubbornness...
Like self esteem bruising childhood judgements.
Like bitter regret of missing out on "I love you" before someone dies.
Like ignorant teenage decisions there was no reason to be making.
Like that secret you told and the one you promised to keep.
Like dutifully cleaning up after destruction since it was easier than starting over new.
Like the coltish grace of learning to be a woman without one.
Like leading a child with having no direction of your own.
Like taking that last piece.
Like hoping karma takes over.
Like waiting for a sign before walking away from toxic people.
Like throwing your heart out there with only faith and hope to be its wings.
Like innate fear of being alright with who you truly are.
Like disappointment for taking all these years to figure yourself out.

Those are some things that rattle around on a quiet and calm night.
On a night that finally arrives after strenuous days bleeding together...
They ghost in and remind you they're still there.
It used to terrorize the still moments when that happened.
No control over the flood of images and empathy associated with each and every reminder.  
I thought it was in times like that, when drowning with the sorrows of yesterday was just as easy as an exhale.

But I was wrong...
I was mislead in my own thoughts.
Because when I was tapped on the shoulder by history.
It wasn't trying to hold me back.
It wasn't intending to maim my conscious.
I believe in fact, it just simply wanted to show progress.
To show the "then", compared to the "now"
How every piece of who I am today was shaped and structured in part, to everything I haven't let go of yet.
How do you know when your soul is weaker than strong but mighty enough to fight?

In being made to contemplate all the wonderful and fulfilling things and parts of who we are,
We also have to give credit to the dark pieces
The events and people that have burdened and burnt but never destroyed.
Like any balance in life we acknowledge both light and shadow.
Appreciation of the good in our lives is more fluid when we have proof of the struggles we've overcome.

Be it years ago or hours,
Seeing how far you've come from that which had held you under or has trampled your spirit.
It helps enlighten bit by bit.
And a step at a time is how we all move forward into who we're meant to be.

So i think, that space that exists very close to my heart but just far enough away...
I think I'm okay with it being there.
It may hold scars in the eyes of others
But I know scars are just golden reminders;
Of that which make us stronger.
For if one has no scars, what has one conquered?

Don Bouchard Apr 2017
There'd only plundering be;
If all of us were wolves,
No sheep could flee....

Oh, the pirate's life for thee.
And the pirate's life for me,
And the world were all in flames,
And the world were all in flames.

If everyone were pirates,
Why, villains all we'd be,
And every deck-born swab
Would glower at you and me

With our laces and our kerchiefs,
And our killer pirate wigs
As we stormed across the continents and seas;
As we stormed across the continents and seas.

And good men, none, would live their lives,
With the gentling help of their good wives;
And children, all, would yell and terrorize,
Chasing down the nursemaid with the kitchen knives.

If everyone were pirates,
No farmers, and no fishers on the beach,
No bakers, and no soldiers continental,
No doctors, and no teachers left to teach,
No preachers and no sermons for to preach,
But only pirates coming up the streets...
But only pirates coming up the streets.
Response to a poem "From the Sunken Chest"  read here at 3:45 AM. Yikes!
Marri May 2020
Let me tell y’all something:
The white man don’t care about our suffering.
The privilege is too bright to see us.

The white man don’t care about us.
The white man wants to see us get shot,
The white man wants to see us wither and perish.

But who built America on their backs,
Bare handed, and
Whipped into submission?

We did.

We will take back America.
We will take back our streets,
Paved with the blood and tears of our people.
This is our America.

Not whitewashed and stained red with racism.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Stop! Don’t shoot!”
You shoot anyways.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “I can’t breathe.“
You continue to suffocate us.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Help.”
You continue to let us suffer.

This is your America.
Where the president calls us thugs,
And threatens to shoot us and our freedom.

This is not my America.

This is your America.
Where you shoot us for having cell phones.
Where you terrorize our sons and daughters.
Where you **** us for being black.

Who gonna protect us?
Not cops drunk on their own power and superiority.
Not the president blinded by racism.
Not our white “allies” who stand by and watch us burn.

But if we burn,
You burn with us.

If you **** us,
You die with us.

We tried peace,
We tried awareness,
But we always end up with violence.

We’re scared,
But who can blame us?

You’re killing us with your American Dream,
You’re murdering us with your American Dream,
You’re suffocating us with your American Dream.

This is your America—
Not mine.

We will take back America.
We will take back our freedom
Or we will die trying.
And that is the American Dream.
refresh mesh May 2015
my story starts in North Carolina morning at 5:32
where I was excavated from my mother's womb
2 weeks past due
and immediately taken to an emergency room
because of a minor disfigurement called
ulnar polydactyly
where they laid me down and cut flesh & bone away

value your days and spin on a tire
at the bottom of a tree, twist the rope.
cut away any fray and pickle your desire
it's not a noose, it's not your hope.

i was born differently than peaks explained
i was told medical bills were a blessing obtained
so that my fingers would not continue to grow
so that fortunately, none of us will ever know
where those bitty bits would want to go
where would I go?
if I hadn't been bound
by what I hadn't contained?

how do parents agree to cosmetic surgery on their newborns?

don't they feel sick?

when my mother explained why i had these scars
She didn't ask how they felt on my hands.
and when my father kissed the bumps crunched on cars
He insisted that I had intact, normal, nerve strands.
But I could feel phantom fingers
and devil horns

don't they feel sick?

now I spend every day
chewing all the rest away
Now I count months and men
Men, who will cut their brood out of their only mate
to slice off any disfigurements and hold its jaw in place
then ball those hands in fists so her fingers can rest in peace

Listen when I ask for help
don't Give up on my body, just
cut the hearts of those playing God, for
anything Or anyone can happen to a newborn child, or
else, not again, it's
off, not again, not
today, not again.

I'm 6 years old, alone and terribly
glad to be awake
free of the villain that I’d been
free to make
Chunky animated evil clouds and monsters
with human names
mistrusting my family from the
earliest days
imagining my parents were zipped up
in skin resembling mine
their starchy air force uniforms
finding me everytime
Then my baby brother was on time, cooked just right,
born perfectly
When I found out about his circumcision I stopped
feeling sisterly

Why were my sweet, placid parents so surprised by us?
Keeping their secrets and distance from us.
Give us the answers, show us history!
why take me to Sunday School if you
won't sit through all of it with me?

there is nothing more disturbing than weekly church hopping.
there is so much to fear if we do not plan on ever stopping.
when I look for friends
i do so excitedly
looking for their ailments
and finger ******.
wondering who else
is in horror
of their size,
of their capacity.

"Look at these baby spiders in our garden,
Look, momma. They're so tiny.
The pumpkin nearly squished-
There's a centipede!" I'd be whining.
But, oh,
It's gross. I hear "eww" and "oh my god" and
"throw it away, bugs belong outside!"
I can do that. We all belong outside. I can do that.

From Santa Monica to Rapid City
I turned 8 and avoided depression
I plagued every single bookstore with
my ridiculous obsession:
Tornadoes, forests, food chains and chemistry
already fascinated me

I loved that;
the atmosphere of creation.
Shapes alive
with Movement and
centrifugal Force,
stopping motion, Pressure,
inertia and Speed.

I studied
legs. I watched the
long propelling jumpers, the
tool-like structures, of
insect tarsal claws, and
the spurs like knives.

Then aquatic mammals came to me
Where I first learned about ***:
the whale's hip bone, a mystery.
To the history of earth, it was
Big males, powerful females.
and evolution seemed to be the cause.

Then arboreal anthropods,
Where I first asked about distribution,
toes and fingers,
and counted
on hand
the numbers
and suddenly
deplored extinction.

It was a hot knife in my belly that never went away
I want to ask their god all the questions that besot me
why did they agree (twice!) to cut away that which is not rotting?
If DNA is best selected among genetic diversity, why must we all look and feel the same?
Blanching at any difference, hating on new names.

is it such a disaster
to expect variation from your master?
why are 2 extra phalanges
such ******* calamities?
Why do we observe differences
as an excuse to mutilate newborn babies?
Americans slice ******* off intact baby boys
Americans slice ******* off intact baby boys

A doctor deemed my extensions useless
but left me my brain and heart
which began to terrorize me
from the very simple start

I dreamed of all of us:
scary islands with giant magical
who was poisonous
to the population of anyone and
who was dangerous
printing off the battle plan which was
Yes, I dreamed of all of us
Where is my gold star and my participation trophy
Marshal Gebbie May 2011
God curse developers
Who bury waste contaminants,
God curse investors
Who prey upon the weak.
God curse the Nazis
Who terrorize minorities
God curse the leaders
Who lie each time they speak.

God curse the despots
Who subjugate their people,
God curse Big Oil
Who swamp the world with greed.
God curse the Jihadists
Who slaughter indiscriminately,
God curse the poor
Who bleat about their need.

God curse the haters
Who bleed the world of latitude
God curse the moaners
Who take away the hope
God curse religion
Which robs us of tomorrow
And God curse the rest of you
Who limit me, my scope!

17 May 2011
Yenson Mar 2019
I once asked a classmate at college
after a Sociological lecture on Deviances
why most women get traumatised and upset
about those perverts heavy-breather deviants
because where I come from, you'd laugh at their sickness
call them stupid and waste their money by not hanging up

And if you're crazy enough to be those perverts exhibitionists
who frighten women and young girls by exposing their privates
rather then scream and run, the woman would actually go to the
fool and yank his ****** trousers down and aim a hefty blow
to the offending sight, God help crazy silliness behaviours
where I was raised..

These perverts get their jollies from terrorising and the shock
reactions from their victims, that's their money shot
same with trolls and bullies, they relish knowing they cause upset
or fear or some emotional responses from their victims
Hell, I come from a place where cowardice is recognised for what it is
The rationale is so simple, you've got beef with me, say it to my face
that's what confident real worthy people do, stand by your words
anything else shows you lack courage and you are immediately called out and exposed as a weakling and a coward.
They will tell you, have the ***** and talk to my face'
A cowardly man is the lowest of the low, as simple as that.

But a worthless idiot who hides and then start hissing and cursing
immediately shows cowardice and becomes a joke and a useless example of a man,
So how can the ******* spewed by a pained faceless nonentities impact me, how can a hidden coward without the nerve to face another man, be considered an equal or respected, much less cause me emotional pain or make me doubt myself.
These fools that are given the run around by clever Asians and Africans. Tell me more jokes please!
I actually enjoy toying with fools and when bored take the ****
out of them and bait them to laugh at their ridiculous comebacks.

Do me a favour, how can a semi-illiterate yobs, who turn ghost white and physically trembles at the
the slightest pressure wants to get into my head and disrupt it

These shameless buffoons, who are being academically humiliated
by indian classmates, whose parents come from dirt poor villages and can barely speak english.
Such proven fools and cowards, then decides they can come and terrorize me, like we say where I was raise
" for where"   that means ',   how is that possible

Even an oxford educated person who can't face me earns my fine
contempt, you call yourself Oxbridge, what's respectable with being a coward who can't talk man to man but sneaks around playing a childish game, utter contempt!
Even with their artificially created chaos and difficulties i still
fare better then them
and these pathetic sickos think they are relevant in some way

But I know, they get off the contacts with me, its like I bless them
with recognition
after all there are perverts who pay women to kick them in the *****

I feed the trolls, as my mentioned above, our woman would yank down the pants of a ***** pervert exhibitionist rather than scream and run away, you don't go crying, saying I am emotionally damaged by a mentally ******* fool and pervert dropping his pants, you know immediately this is an idiot not worth two bits, you treat simpletons as simpletons,
what's to be terrorized about by some scallywag dimwitted
cowards with problems and inferiority complexes.
Pray do tell me.....................

If I Was anything the compound fools are alleging would I be here laughing at them or perhaps I am stupid like them, and can't recognize demonstrable spineless cowards and what they do.
He's broken, we've planted seeds, he's anxious, he's crying, some mentalist even says, the coolest stylish man is goofy.

These are the brain dead bullies who pick on the prettiest girls and start calling the ugly, the classic bullies trade make, flip everything because you are all brain dead, smelly ignorant, dumb nobodies
Trash like this want to alter my personalities, want to do my head in

UK-domiciled BME students: applications to Oxford, offers made and students admitted, 2013–2017
BME Students White Students
Applications Offers Admitted Applications Offers Admitted BME proportion of total
UK students admitted11
2017 2,899 519 446 8,908 2,311 2,044 17.9%
2016 2,547 492 411 8,901 2,425 2,178 15.9%
2015 2,332 407 367 8,668 2,391 2,169 14.5%
2014 2,131 395 345 8,634 2,412 2,201 13.6%
2013 2,101 396 360 8,783 2,392 2,234 13.9%
11. Excluding students whose ethnicity status is not declared.
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
blaise May 2017

angels who miss their wings at 3 am when they feel more out of place in this body then before, angels who need pain to bring themselves out of their dreams, who ink themselves with words only prophets would understand; angels who have the most ordinary jobs like bus drivers and paper boys, people see them and think about them for moments too long.

angels who turn to drinking and smoking, trying to forget the feeling of their wings pushing air behind them as they flew. angels who can't avoid the call of the sky and become pilots who are always drinking coffee because the caffeine reminds them of the golden ichor that was once flowing through their veins.

vengeful angels who become pilots as well, who terrorize the winged folk to feel powerful again, to feel control again. angels who message each other, fingers trembling as they type out their dreams, trying to grab those memories that are just out of reach, gauzy and filled with blood and silver-tinted skin and golden eyes and so many feathers. angels who live in church basements and see pictures of themselves in the stained glass windows and go unclothed, trying to reach that feeling of purity, freedom.

fallen angels who burn churches, filling their lungs with smoke as they climb to the steeple, not just from reprisal but from the feeling of mutiny. angels who ride out into the country alone with a handful of stolen cash who steal from nearly empty gas stations and throw rocks at the windows of abandoned barns after they've climbed to the roof and back to earth. angels who streak their backs with ashes because they don't have the scars that they should from having their wings torn away and the golden ichor doesnt bleed away and stain the ground like it used to.

angels who hang out in bookstores and coffee shops because they're looking for an oracle or someone, anyone, who will listen to their impossible dreams of flight and blood spattering the ground, of fighting and dying and they can't explain it.

angels with shaky hands who try to find love because there's something missing and everyone tells them that love will help them, and maybe it does, but there are always angels out there who have loved and loved and there is still something BROKEN, something LOST, and it's been pounded into their minds that they'll never know what it is. angels who run with demons and devils because there's nothing quite like the rush of running in the dark, standing at the edge of the city and feeling the wind nearly blow you off as you curl your toes on the edge of the roof, so close to the sky it takes their breath away.

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
This is a very personal poem, about the human rights violations occurring in my parents' homeland (Iraq).
© Leelan Farhan 2013
Lemuel Davy Jul 2015
No one to hold, no one to have, alone i trod this forsaken land
No where to go, nowhere to stop, I'm tired of crying with all I've got:

But what have i done to anyone? born forsaken,Raised as refuse
rob or be robbed is the order of the day,
Looked upon as garbage, eating the same, vicious as wild dogs who terrorize the brave ;

Life has dealt me a narrow dark hand,  a lifestyle so steep; my soul feels lost;
I would have died of that i am sure had it not been for the man on the cross;

From out of the gutter i rise, no more to cry for comfort
for now i am new and love i now see;

The hated now loved, the Lost now found, the One on the cross has set me free.

-Lemuel Davy
Hope,   Faith,  Love

— The End —