"unhygienic" poems
Blood is thicker than water.
I'm nine years old and my mother had sighed us both up for a dieting course.
At eighteen I still see how interchangeable fatness and ugliness are to her.
I still have to stop myself from thinking of skipping meals after I ate "too much".
Clinging to the fear of the slippery slope that serves as my only guard.
I see it in my friends too,
comforted by their opposition for what my mother had embraced like gospal for the helpless fools.
Blood is thicker than water.
I like the hairs on my body.
The short and soft strands that cover my legs, blonde and black and all too
natural.
Removing them leaves my legs red and prick-prick- pickling for days but-
My sister laughs through a wrinkled nose,
My cousin tells stories, horrified, of women like me,
Mother says it's unhygienic and would not let me leave the house like this.
I haven't worn shorts in years.
But my friends' confident 'fuck you' to everyone who isn't them,
who dares control their bodies and shame them into pain or hiding,
makes me feel like one day I might wear them again.
Blood is thicker than water,
I find it hard to talk to people.
The thought of discussing anything more than trivial matters makes my lunges heavy in my chest.
Talking to my parents- a heavy led filling what seem less and less like lungs with every passing second.
Talking to my friends- the heaviness doesn't always go away, but the weight doesn't get harder to bear.
I heard my mother tell a friend how her kids talk to her about everything.
A bitter laugh never tasted so much as the sea.
Blood is thicker than water,
Since I can remember myself, I never wanted kids.
Took me years so unveil why.
The dismissal cut deep when Mother assumed she knew me better than I do, a cruel arrogance for what she must only consider her property.
'You'll change your mind and give me grandchildren'
A payment for my life-
"Interest" she calls it.
Blood is thicker than water,
When I came out to you, dear parents, you once again ignored me
as if I hadn't tortured myself enough,
as if it hadn't taken me years trying to accept myself before you turned your back on me with cruel dismissal.
As if I don't still struggle.
All I have left is to fall back on my friends' support again,
being caught in their loving embrace without ever asking to.
They say you can't choose your family but-
the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 2:29 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
Familiar with the way to my village
I start my bike from my home
Sometime beg to go there
And many time escape without asking mum
Every turn, temple and tree
make me fly fear free.
Every plant, poster and pole
touches my senses, sprite, my soul.
As I approach my village
I feel pure, please and privilege.
But, the blur scenario of people's situation
is because of superstition and lack of education.
Every action of the people
denotes "what they think "
Every eye of the man
speaks they are addicted to drink.
Three things bring the battle
our history has the sign.
Same flows the blood here
Wealth, Women and Wine
These ***** unhygienic atmosphere
never suits to my prime.
Dad never lets me commit mistakes
As a mistake is a mistake once, next time its crime
I sense the air of my place
I sense the people of my kind.
kids playing on roads, ladies cooking on the courtyard,
I sense the mud, I am bind.
I love visiting my village
To feel me, my origin, my exist.
Something connects me to there
Maybe the blood in me, that persist.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
You call me cute as if it’s a good thing,
but I see it as saying I need to be taken care of.
I don’t need your help and if you try
to get too close, away you will be shoved.
My friends say you’d like me to be girly,
and that would be accomplished if I shower.
They tell me to let you in and let you help,
But why now? I’ve done so much by my own power.
I’m trying to let you take care of me,
and I can tell I’m getting attached,
but I’m struggling to let my guard down,
because if I do, my heart will be snatched.
I’m trying to focus on my schoolwork
instead of texting you all day,
but Patient Management and Anatomy
don’t capture my attention the same way.
I hear from you periodically,
and each time I put on a stupid smile.
I’m then reminded I’m acting silly
and resume my unhygienic style.
When I let go of my concerns
and feel like giving you my all,
I have some reservations because, if I do,
this won’t be an easy fall.
I’m not saying that you’ll cause me great devastation,
yes, some hurt and pain I will feel,
but if you think I’ll crumble like other girls,
All I can say is, “come on, get real!”
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 5:27 AM UTC
Dark ghosts under
Deep wild eyes
Make me wonder what you do at night
Instead of sleep
Crazy smiles tug on the lips I once loved too thoroughly
The jaw I once memorized shadowed with unhygienic ways
Where have you been?
You say you're no good anymore
The world ****** you up
And this is what crawled out of the abyss
Searching for light to live in
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
It started
in the corner of the dining room.
His favorite leather shoes set aside
to repair on a more convenient day.
He would get to it –
eventually.
In the meantime, both umbrellas
that bang and bump
in the floorboard of his litterbox car
made their way
there
next to the shoes.
Higgin’s yard sale had treasures.
A 16 lb. gold-glitter bowling ball,
a new set of silverware
(new to him)
and a VHS of Rocky III
which he always wanted to see
but would never see
hidden deeply in a
hoard of lethargy.
He goes to the Dollar Store
for soap and brandless chocolate,
returning with discount storage
boxes to organize the
growing meant-to’s in the corner.
But for now
he put them…
"uhhhh, there next to the other stuff".
Spring is almost here anyway.
Here.
Was.
Gone
just before the Summer, Fall, Winter
and the next Spring…
and 15 Springs after that.
One day he woke
on the body-worn sofa
entombed
by stacks of the Hays Daily News.
His cold, unhygienic feet
reminded him of the shoes
he could no longer see
buried ‘neath
piles of misshapen intentions
and a dead cat
staining scattered old calendars
all crossed off with
“How did I get here?”
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
*oh yeah... and i just spotted a crow pecking a pigeon's ***** with a pecker the size of an elephant's trunk... give it a 100,000 years and you'll see a new species... like that saying: when pigs grow wings.*
because the current theory of darwinism teaches
us we interbred with lesser species
and justifies ********** -
the dualism is horrid, i prefer parallelism -
parallelism and our own individual lives,
rather than mediating two extremes...
and indeed i prefer to think we were uniquely
classified from the start... but i guess there's
a fetish going around the joke about the welsh,
sheep and cliffs... i want to ask you:
when did **** insapiens emerge, or rather,
when did he actually manage to integrate
into our species with such subtleness
that we actually proclaimed some men mad
when they weren't, and assured ourselves
that some mad men were actually sane?
how to decipher this conundrum?
he did so... bringing us *** and other presents...
and indeed his identity will never be known;
indeed, who is this unhygienic brat?
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
I never bite my nails,
the taste is just not for me.
I see others chew on pinkies
and much to my disgust
they chop on them between
their teeth.
Do you know where they
have been,
do you know you didn't
wash your hands
Now your biting the tips.
I noticed that those who chew,
have stubby fingers
looking grossly.
Use a pair of scissors manicure
appropriately.
Please don't bite your nails,
then spit them out near me.
Its not the wild west there isn't
spit buckets to collect rejected
nail clippings.
Paint them,
trim them,
manicure them properly.
but please don't chew them,
its unhygienic and is so unsanitary.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
***** with brownness that I can't wash away.
Born into a filth that made me unhygienic before my feet could touch the ground
Before my hands could grasp objects other than my mothers hand or chest or face
Guilty before the gavel was struck
Before the cell was locked
Before the siren rang off
Guilty of brownness that is not innocent until proven guilty
Rather brown until proven worthy
Brown until the grave
assigned to us before we have a chance to see the world and become who we're suppose to be
Graves are becoming just as crowded as those ships they brought us here in
Stuffed and cramped like the cells they keep us in
Piling bodies on bodies while blood cells fill the avenues we march in
Graves over crowded
Hearts over hurt
Innocent with a guilt I can't wash away.
Our mothers can't hold us now.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
My ultimate ambition in life
is to be recycled. When I die
I shall not be put
with the newspapers, plastic bottles,
glass, cans, batteries
and aluminium foil
into the box to be collected
on alternate Tuesdays.
That is not dignified
for a human,
and besides, it is unhygienic.
But recycled I will be
into soil and air,
beetle, centipede and blackbird,
and the blossom
that every year comes
and fades.
Yes,
I'll be back.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
one. my brother is in love with a girl.
two. my mom saw me reading peculiar books she asked me what was the story about. i just laughed and told her, ‘you know just the usual.’ she doesn’t know.
three. it was when i lied to my mother about school.
four. i cried myself to sleep.
five. i forgot to brush my teeth. it’s not that i’m unhygienic but when your body is too tired to live, it’s just too difficult to move.
six. i decided not to throw a birthday party when i was
6 years old. it’s not that we can’t afford it, but
i know that no one would show up except for that
boy with the weird hair and imperfect teeth.
seven. it’s my third day in bed.
eight. i tried cutting myself. i tried but i’m too tired
to move.
nine. i’m so angry. i’m so ******* angry. i’m so *******
angry.
ten. it was when the funniest kid started to cry.
he didn’t said why. he remained like that for god
knows how long. that was when i knew that sadness
lives in every single one of us.
eleven. a few of my friends cut themselves to calmness. i
just watch them get eaten by the lines they drew.
twelve. i regret saying that.
thirteen. but i said it anyway.
fourteen. i’m too in love with the idea that someone better
will come, turns out that each person is the right
person. we just live in a timeline where they never
are.
fifteen i looked through a keyhole and saw my parents’
corpse.
sixteeni need someone. not the suicide hotline. i need
someone real. i need someone. i need someone. i
need someone. i ******* need someone.
seventeen. i’m falling in love with someone whose heart beats
fast for everybody except for me.
eighteen. i'm in a birthday party. everybody's laughing because someone made a joke about god. i left.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
You always attract the aspect from the opposite person what your own soul is either starving or deficient of.
Men are the pearls of that wisdom that sparkles rarely and when it does it shed off the unhygienic stuff for once and ever!
She is just a stigma of verbality on wisdom, no one knows she herself doesnt know from where these all words come from!
The instant u absorb positive energey from people around, u are turned into a monster!!
Speaking of gloominess, there is a heaven between the differences of its action and the state. Both are step sisters to each other
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC