"themsleves" poems
Lost lives, lost in living hells
reminders everyday of the scars that tell
more than words could speak
just tips of icebergs, oh.. if only they could talk...
i, - salute the wounded healers-
only taughts to heals, because they began
by helaing themsleves.
and moving on - being bitter, wordless spits of grain in lips
and being an aching hearts so wide one would think they would die at any moment
and yet - there -
there is solace
in the slowly ebbing pain....day by day the cracks begin to tear...
and brightness burst forth - and hey , that may, take years moments , heartbeats stretching on
for the fallen undone,
and the breathless in San Diago
and the countless in New Delhi ,
and the scores and cores in the Congo
i salute all those still in the fight -
no matter how.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am no toymaker, I know this,
yet one day I found a small toy car
left on my doorstep with a simple note:
"Try and fix me."
I'm no toymaker, but I tried anyway.
I saw there was a wheel broken,
a door off its hinges, and an engine
that needed replacing. I am no toymaker,
but I tried my best to find these parts,
but I stopped before I switched them out
because I realized I was changing it.
I am no toymaker, but I know you shouldn't
change people; that only they can change themsleves,
and that's what I feared.
How am I to fix something, if it won't change?
I am no toymaker, so maybe I'm missing something,
but if I can not change out this broken wheel,
place new hinges on that door, or a new
engine to make it pur, how can I fix it?
I am no toymaker, I know this,
but I still battled rivers and mountains alone,
talked with Atlas to give up the Earth,
but Atlas wouldn't listen and I told myself
it was because I was trying to change him
like a little toy car I once tried to fix.
I am no toymaker, but don't say I didn't try.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
The sky contorted and almost
burnt, within a certain chaos
so inexplicable
it was as if
the clouds
caught themsleves amongst
the crevises of the sun,
and crumbled
into
rain.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
For all your intellegence
You are ignorant
Speaking from a position that
Finds its footing in false Gods
And the reversion of faith
How you gladly slaughter religions
Whom don't speak towards your grand morality
Because like a child you hate
What bred you
Murdering God with your righteous fury
Scorned injustly by a few
Who claim to uphold something beyond themsleves
Speaking like a sage the words of a wisdom you do not understand
Or could possibly embody
Your hate, fury and dogmatic refusal to see anything
Good that doesn't fit your dated
Greek mentality
Of which you in your ignorance
Have no leg to stand upon
Do not with your pious
Bigotted bile rail against something in which you do not know
Do not claim knowledge
When you a child
No not what you speak
A fool
You become
A
****** fool
More ignorant by your expression of opinon
Because you know not what all goes into
The reasoning
The why
The how come
You become what you so decidedly hate
That overly righteous
This is the way of the world
I AM GOD
Mentality consumes you
Becomes you
The mask of radical minded beauty
Comes off
What a sick creature you are
To see the Good
And know its name
But not what it is
Your ignorance blinds you
But your pride makes you a fool.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
if my rights are wrongs, doom me, for I am comforting minds within themselves
surroundings and experience influence, I will go through pain to make you feel secure, be what you desire
if the world disapproves your sexuality and says its wrong
accept yourself for what you are, and be right within you
Because your impact is greater than what you think it is
Not being afraid can influence people to get rid of freight of expressing what they've always wanted to be or do
if you ever feel doubt in your guidance on the road
know that youve impacted the silent
and if you give up, their hope will be gone
be someone's help or hope, someones life progression, create gateways
Smile to the malignant, you'll see reflections soon enough
Feel at home in your mind, feel welcomed
The rooms that make your home are the interests that make you, love what you do with passion because you've impacted me to write this, to reach many others like you that can do the same
The love for a hobby can trigger someones passion, to do the same, to do the right, to progress as a whole
to help people, to help communities, to help the the world, to break barriers
purpose is to serve
Purpose is to make a purpose
for the ones who need guidance in their purpose
anything can create, innovation in humanity is within you
with your will anything is possible
be gracious, for you have potential to change lives, to change perspectives
your happiness can make happiness all around your surroundings
your actions are impactful chants, scream
dont be afraid to show your emotions in expressive ways, thats what makes the world
its defined by you, do good
its the little things
that can make a little road create highways and routes in lives; options
You are glorious even if you're corrupt
sadness and happiness are glorious and im happy to be passionate about people, like you, all of you
Dont be afraid to break barriers with your passion
Dont be afraid to break barriers with your love
You are possible of doing anything
You are someones road to take
To be saved
To accept themsleves
Inspire and motivate
You are the art of progression
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
To Be A Slave.
To Be Owned By Another Person As A Car, House, Or Table Is Owned.
To Live As A Piece Of Property That Could Be Sold -A Child From Its Mother, A Husbad From His Wife-
They Wished They Could Take Thier Own Life.
To Be A Slave.
To Be Considered Not Human, But A Beast.
To Know, Despite The Deprivation And Suffering That You WERE Human.
To Know Joy, Laughter, Sorrow And Tears And Yet Be Considered Only The Equal Of A Table.
To Be A Slave Was To Be A Human Under Conditions That Were Inhumane.
Was The Masters Going Crazy Or Insane?
They Were NOT Slaves, They Were People, Deprived Of Thier Humanity.
Thier Conditions Were Slavery, They Lived In Unsanity.
They Were People.
They Looked Upon Themselves And The Servitude In Which They Found Themsleves With The Eyes And Minds Of Human Beings, Concious Of Everything That Happened To Them, Concious Of All That Went On Arounnd Them.
But Yet, Slaves Are Often Pictured As Little More Than Dumb, Brute Animals Whose Sole Attributes Were Found In Working, Singing, And Dancing.
To Be A Slave.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
You see it was never about the dance.
That went on all around me no matter if I slept or was wide awake. Their busy life, their needs and expectations whilst yours simply ebbs away, forgotten.
Some days it was like swimming through a sea of souls all touching yours trying not to sink themsleves. Each one screaming for a different reason.
Then as the day ended I had reached the shore, now alone. Yet drowned in their needs, their fears. I was lost.
Some pick up others emotions without knowing. Their problems like sap from a tree. Sticky and eventually trapping like amber the very soul that was there to help, taking their life slowly.
So we build walls out of fear and protection to preserve what is left.
We arm ourselves with the fully automatic "NO!" and "I Can't". Emotionally lethal from almost any angle. But not love proof. Shooting down any careing or passion of any kind. But for those tricky situations where the wall is breached or they find a window and see the you inside, you hid and camouflaged with confidence and bravado, there is the bomb.
The it's not you it's me bomb. Once deployed you implode and the outer shell sends a blast wave purging the emotional landscape. Anyone who dared to approach now simply a shadow to you.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
no one is reading my **** anymore
it's not generic enough
not sad enough
not happy enough
not ******* insane enough
not sadistic enough
not self-deprecating enough
this is why the best writers always ******* **** themsleves
or drink themselves to death (because somehow it isn't considered suicide if it's done over a few decades instead of in an instant)
i'm not mad that people aren't reading
i'm just confused
what am i doing
they told me anyone could be a writer
and i've seen enough published ******** to believe that that is true
i'll write about cats
about cats ******* cats
is that crude enough for you
i'm screaming now, and you can't hear me
you're to busy with the spectacle-boy with a vape pen and brand new perfectly shredded shoes
this is why everyone hates themselves
and why everyone who doesn't always seem so unaware
is this how the world divides
the blissfully dumb
and the dying intellects
not intellects
pessimists
that's what we are
if i could live in your world i would
but i'm stuck with incessant thoughts
and loud, depressing music to make them sound less appealing
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC