"vandalized" poems
A mosque vandalized,
A Muslim family killed.
Where is this "freedom?"
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
Crazy passion fast deep soul kiss warnings word breathe reckless love devastated desk art struggle pinstripe attempts drunk ghost lost wind beauty hunger soul smile elegance latte knowing containment bond ink shallow identity measure chaos stumbling darling life dance frenzy sweat hole paper haunted only dreams ****** vandalized scars Achilles proceedings bare deep still pain inside lied courts darkness wind step empty rocky soul whisper eyes alone wrapped inside Athens love smile abuse truth lies time mind bungalow knowing liar violated Pandora’s entanglement flashbacks ****** self-preservation private suit weakness baklava hide lips ******* played deserve hold earth destruction haunted coffin judgment dreams hands eternity sleep sunset lips hidden kissed desire champagne stars taint lovers fallen what **** PR glistening intense echoes seeing taste depth care finally beach rolling salt binding heat lost quietly resumed park come believe myself arms world you skin love stranger now
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
*The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will be live-*
The revelation will be streaming through your Windows
laptops and smartphones.
The revolution will be blogged
Tweeted, liked, shared, RE-blogged RE-tweeted
and Stumbled Upon in between
midnight ************ sessions
sandwiched between funny cat memes.
The resolution will be HD.
It's evolution will be high speed.
The whistles will be blown at with frequency.
The revolution will be commented on;
Scrutinized.
Vandalized.
Scandalized.
Stylized and advertized.
People will pay attention -
People will forget to mention
that some stand up, occupy, riot
and die.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution be streaming live
through the filter of your choice.
The facts will be democratized.
The democracy will be corporatized.
The corporations will personified.
People, objectified -
Spied on and villainized
The powers that be will will lie, deny, and try to justify.
The people will be disenfranchised.
Prisons will be privatized.
Death drones will be utilized.
No one will bat an eye.
Because revolution will be multiplied, over-simplified,
The violence, normalized.
Lives, sacrificed
to satiate the Golden Calf's appetite.
The revolution will not be televised
but Jerry Springer will...
Go figure.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
father offers, no, we are bodies trapped in people.
he was known to be monstrous when inside a vandalized church.
if gay, he’d ask
does anyone ask
if you
were born?
yesterday, she was identified by her dentist.
she was recalled as a hunger pain.
man is a rumor
started by god.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Stars shine on in a night sky so black
you can see the truth.
What is that light but an interruption
to progress so blinding
the sun blushes–
as if another light vandalized
our ever darkening sky.
Closing out on reality,
opening up to ideals,
it’s the rays piercing through the layers
and the yea-sayers nodding
off to sleep in a darkness so deep.
When the genius strips off the latent,
flexes its manifest intelligence,
and puts down thoughts
that flare into the darkness.
No effort from a sun fibbing eternal.
The end might come but the hand
who writes eternity can’t see
the end coming.
Who are the geniuses
expelling the light
and who are the receivers
not likely to admit their stupor
for fear of fantastic phantasms.
Fleeing from their folly,
straying into strange, insipid
serials, unending, not rerunning–
only growing obese with weight
Of chances not spent.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
All day, every day I'm terrified of you.
Again and again your fist makes contact with my skin.
Broken spirit, heart, will, pride.
Be happy because you broke me.
Can't you just smell the pride seeping off of you
as you beat me up again.
Can anybody see me? Help me?
Dead.
I'm dead.
****
Everyone looks the other way. Nothing wrong happens in their worlds.
Even the teachers.
Fear seeps into my bones when I see you in the halls.
'Fuck you!' I scream in my head, but can never get the words
out my mouth.
*** you whisper, in a way that cuts deeper than any scream.
Go away. Please.
Get bored of me.
How can someone be this awful?
Help me.
It was stupid of me to fight back, because
I can't breath after you kick me in the stomach.
Just make my life a living hell, please
be my guest.
Justice is ****
Keep an eye on me, in case I start to get
happy again. That could be a problem.
Key word: Target.
Love is foreign now.
Lonely is not.
My days are black. Are you happy now?
Maybe your life is **** so you have to make
my life the same.
Never has someone hated me so much
just for being alive.
Nice welcome to high school.
"Oh who would ever give a **** about you?"
Obviously, no one.
Please... Please...
People, why can't you see me?!
"Queen ***** I call you.
"Queen of the rats" you call me.
Running, running, running again.
Running in vain for you will only get me later.
Sometimes I can avoid you, or manage to get away with
only a shove or an insult.
Stay and beat me if you want, if it makes you feel better
because I am giving up for now.
"Tomorrow, today won't seem so long" I tell myself.
Tell me help is coming.
Underdogs always win in the end right?
Under your power is not where I thought I would be.
Vacant are my eyes, for you have driven my soul away.
Vandalized locker, I know it was you.
When will I be safe?
What did I ever do to you?
Xanax would be perfect to OD on.
You're a monster… But
you have all the power.
Zero Bullying Tolerance, that's
********
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 8:10 PM UTC
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.
Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.
Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".
To map a new demographic before our deaths.
If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.
And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.
We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.
The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
i'm living on a solitary prayer
vandalized my ego to make it rare
with teeth stained with lies i've told
and promises lost in the cold
i tussle and taser to hide my lovers
and all that i am - a mess or tastemaker
sprinkling tersely on my mercy seat
will make my season go complete?
i pull the labrys & the throttle
artefact-sprites in uranium soil
declaring my truth atop of the flagpole
i'm the custodian of haute culture
a flotilla of judgment riding skyhigh
like dido's love-lachrymose down demise
they say "better rethink your useless vendetta"
but first we'd better get out of their siberia
where the masses doubt the angry fix
"ignore the (g/h)aze above the pyramid
if we only couldn't have any more
locked in dominican ****** wards
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Living on borrowed time
Decision at drop of a hat
Down an empty vandalized street, I walk
through the horror of silence
and silence of serenity
perdurable pathway of life
The ghastly sights
and the rustling gates
scattered people with unknown tastes
emptiness in their eyes, anger in their words
void is profound
down the perdurable pathway of life
Bifurcated roads upfront
my perception, one to hell and one to heaven
the other end of roads, a mystery
I stood there comprehending, while
my mind harks back to before I came
down the perdurable pathway of life
Endurance of a toiler
Stoicism, a rare trait, out of gratitude to employer
pain and suffering he undergoes for common good
loyalty to his master, inspire of hardships
sincerity and humbleness of the bloke
will inspire me, down the perdurable pathway of life
Deprived of education
desolated on streets laboring
disparate from parental love, subject to father's fury
fractious relations but still ignores himself, for family and domicile
The kid's love and determination, will inspire me
down the perdurable pathway of life
Spurn love took her down
Her heart wrenched and pushed her beyond limits
killed herself, leaving her parents to sore reality
not a wise choice, but courageous
I ponder upon courage, rather than cowardly suicide
Death is not an option down the perdurable pathway of life
Happy faces around taunt me to do simplest
Reality speaks otherwise
Reckoning on past, the pathway is wrought
conscious and hard choices right ahead
The bifurcated roads to heaven and hell?
I've seen it all, down the perdurable pathway of life
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 4:52 AM UTC
Remember? Do you?
*The verses of the Mahabharata,
Where Draupati begged to let her go,
Where being a wife of the Pandavas made her no different from the unmarried women.*
Remember? Do you?
*When inside 1 in 10 houses,
A little girl complains to her mum,
It hurts me in there Maa.*
Remember? Do you?
*The night,
When a girl lay all naked and battered on the road,
When a friend of her's was as helpless as the lost kid at the course.*
Remember? do you?
The nights when people marched with candles in their hands,
The days when we witnessed protests.
*Days after days,
Months after months,
Years after years,
Didn't you,
All of you, tried to build us?*
The ones who were too small to understand,
The ones who were capable enough to understand,
And the ones who understood what all this actually meant.
*From the cheap comments passed
To the guidelines to dress-up,*
You filled our heads,
With the thoughts which were never meant to be there.
From all those sad old lines to the new generation trends,
You made us cautious yet scared.
While there were dreams to be accomplished,
And words that were unsaid,
*Your efforts to build us,
Made us question our own existence.*
*With every tantrum and argument we throw,
We have something for you to know, you know,*
Caging us won't do us any good,
While letting us live without the not so needed guidelines will do.
Set us free and cage the ones who needs so,
For the day you would realise,
*Is merely a hypothetical concept you would know.*
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
you vandalized my body
with consent I offered
skin as canvas
my damaged heart
your muse
will I be remembered
as your worst creation
the strokes of bold colors
hiding the statement
you needed to convey
a truth so heavy
will the critics see me
as your worst creation
without knowing
how carefully you painted
every scar
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
A POLICE MAN CAN DO ANYTHING
Why compromised are the police men?
From all over the world, policemen are sellouts,
Policemen arrested Jesus Christ and flogged him,
Others tortured Galileo Galilai for intellectual cross purpose,
Some of them vandalized Martin Luther King, and his wife,
As they also put Fidel Castro on the tilted trial,
The same are the ones that arrested Mahatma Gandhi
In the same tandem of Colonel Afrifa organizing a coup
To effect putsch against Kwameh Nkrumah, or Mandela to Robben gulag,
They tortured Rubia and Matiba in Kenya down the abyss of mental breakdown,
They kicked in the teeth Abdulla Abdalladiff at Kamiti prison
Then they ran off for a decade to effect the ****** of Robert Ouko,
Their evil tendency was never quenched until
They abducted the County parliament speaker
Of Maembe hamlet in the Nyake Kingdom of potato eaters
And held him in the spine chilling captivity for days and days
Only to release him when he sufficed to stay in dumb freedom.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
In my room with a crack in the curtain
Hands glowing blue, I ask if you're certain
When the veins of the water enter my lungs
You leave me speechless with my neck well-hung
From the bakery, you bleed into me and
The painting on the wall of the ribs I wished to draw
Floating shamelessly by us as your *******
Become my chest cavity, obsessed pleasantly with your smell
And if today is the day you say you love me
You'll disappear into the hills forever
Your metacarpals smell of rosemary and honey
Sincerely breathed the throat until Spanish September!
Your eyes are penetrating, your torso radiating
Bed creaking and complaining by the weight of our backs
And the cracks in my voice give me no choice
But to ask you to sweat out all your noise!
Sometimes I wish you still spoke Deutsch
So we could get under the shower without getting moist
What do you think of when I swallow your thighs?
What do you see when I look into your eyes?
And if today is the day you say you love me
You'll disappear into the hills forever
Your metacarpals smell of rosemary and honey
Sincerely breathed the throat until Spanish September!
You are an unpronounceable vandalized symbol on the
Walls of the empty bathroom stall that is my bone marrow
Elements out the window to remove limitations
So the space between our lips is sub-atomically narrow.
When I wake in the morning to lavender conditioned locks
There are no movements, there are no clocks
And when I open my eyes and clear my throat twice
You roll over to soak your hands up into my sides
And if today is the day you say you love me
You'll disappear into the hills forever
Your metacarpals smell of rosemary and honey
Sincerely breathed the throat until Spanish September!
You are the destination to my mind's only track
And I'll always remember you even if you never love me back.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
On a dark, dank desolated street pavement
Stands a street lamp.
Made to guide those in need of the light.
Groomed to be brave, fearless and unwavering
Manufactured specifically to be aids
In the dark times that the city faced.
Served its purpose in the many years it stood
Lighting the way for cars as best as it could.
It shone for carriages, for kings and queens
Keeping them from harm whilst vesting the unknown
It shone for great leaders in the front line of their battles
Served as a safety sign for everyone at night.
In recent times it’s started to flicker
On and off and on and off and on and off it goes
While the mist in the streets grow thicker
No longer did it hold its eminent glow
Neck seemingly bent unlike it’s natural curve
Once flawless skin covered in blotches of dirt and rust
Its wires exposed, veins pressed against the skin
No more muscle or fat hide it
Vandalized by the impurities this world had to offer
Seemed as though it’s the people it kept safe that turned on it
He deserved a better way to die.
Not buried in forgotten memories and set aside
It served a great purpose in the hopeless tears that everyone shed in the dark
Now uprooted and thrown in the junkyard
More or less to be used like scrap metal like the rest of its kind.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
“The Mass is ended,
go in peace.”
the aged cleric said.
“Thanks be to God”
said some dozen odd
parishioners
who then fled.
The Priest dismissed
his server.
and had turned himself to
go
when he noticed still
one worshiper
kneeling in the seventh row.
She was an older woman,
her head swathed in
a blue scarf.
She was obviously in devotion
before the Sacred Heart.
He thought:
“There is no need to rush”
He shuffled towards the chair.
which is where the Bishop sits
when attending service there.
The aging cleric said a prayer
for the gracious soul’s repose
whose generosity provided
his vestments and his robes.
He next prayed for his friend,
a priest, who’d grown too fond of wine.
He’s consecrating grape juice now
the non alcoholic kind.
He thought:
“it now is getting well past time
I need to lock the doors.”
His urban church had been vandalized
a scant few months before.
He rose up on his arthritic hip
and didn’t cry in pain
He accepted this, his suffering,
in Jesus’ holy name.
As he approached the woman,
Her head bowed as before
He had a vague uneasiness
He experienced fear and awe
She looked up then and he said
“Mother!”
and fell, senseless, on the floor.
His housekeeper found his body
on the floor of fitted stone.
The police found no evidence of foul play,
The priest had died alone.
The M.E. said the heart had failed
Though not from shock or rage
The Lord had called his servant home
to grace a grander stage.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
I am bones
& blood
& dust.
I am water
& skin
& teeth.
I am physical.
I am not more.
I am empty.
My bones a cage of which the birds were let out long ago.
My heart a vessel that long since has sank.
The walls of my mind vandalized by those not invited.
My skin a cardboard box torn to shreds & left out in the rain.
It is cold here.
I am empty.
I have nothing left to give.
Nothing left to pay you with.
Please, go.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
The stars do not just whisper,
they cry and yell and beg.
"Someone,
someone,
we are ill,
from this horror show we cannot unsee."
The land was filled with gas,
the stars,
too high to cleanse.
The stars are begging,
"Someone,
someone,
put this horror to an end."
Though on the other side.
The one that plugs their ears,
clipped noses,
zipped mouths,
and the society alive,
we say nothing to the stars,
instead we simply watch them cry.
I know we let you drop the shine,
and dazzles of tears
to our revolt and vandalized land.
I'm sorry we cannot let go,
and give you all demand,
but society has this image,
and it may not go away.
I'm sorry crying, yelling stars,
but no.
Not today.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
I briefly reminisce
of that moment of bliss
when she touched my lips
and we were tied at the hip
then torn apart
my poor heart
was vandalized
like despised art
May 14, 2022
May 14, 2022 at 1:48 AM UTC
i could write about
a lot of things
like my day
or how the pavement
looks when it
rains slightly.
or how the parking lot
feels when it's full
of cars and void of people
or how i feel when i'm
surrounded and
afraid.
how i'm angry and
insecure and
i don't owe anyone
anything
not my friends
not enemies
or elders
not an apology
or a single
**** explanation.
but i think i'll just
forget about the
whole thing and
write about death
or something
nice like that
after all it would
weight less on me
then the words
on my fingertips.
i had assumed
that i was done
struggling with
all that identity crap
but now i've concluded
that everything we ever
fight is a battle for
our own lives.
and it's odd
to think that i can
have such a strong
sense of myself and yet
my personality can
be so unlike that self.
there are more layers
to a parking lot than
what you might
first expect.
i suppose at one point
there were grass
and trees and pure
unadulterated dirt
and then somebody
leveled it
maybe added a coating
of gravel and
paved over it and
put some vehicles on top.
but that doesn't mean the
layers aren't still there
under the asphalt
i mean.
and that's what i'm saying
is that i've got something
under the pavement
i just can't get the cars
to move out for long enough
to tear up the layers.
i feel other people's wheel marks
burned into my skin
and the signs and lines
that proclaim no parking
have been vandalized and
ignored for too long.
how do you tell a parking lot to stop
without looking crazy?
and there lies the
exact problem
i care
too much
what people think
i look like
and i don't mind if they
think i'm insane
but i mind if they don't
like me
there's a big
difference you know.
and there goes
another piece
falling into place
and the
puzzle not
yet completed.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
And busting forth,
I found a new Joy.
I was called out of this darkness
into this glorious Light.
A firefly. A firework. A kaleidoscope. A galaxy of flames.
I will not be cut down and be scattered
among the legions of sand.
My roots will grow
deeper.
My palms will flourish;
my heart strengthen.
The writing on my soul
will never be vandalized or destroyed.
For where your treasure is,
there your heart will be also.
There your heart will be also.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
...it is a letter in a cemetery...to hell with distinguished solemnities or perhaps heaven with dubious incompetence of well meaning form....down here....down here.... in the cemetery....where there are no poignant laments...for us...the emaciated corpses...grotesques that reside perhaps beyond your horizon of plausible vision...but sit here among the dead eyes hiding in the leaves...where our coordinants evaporate in vandalized ink...help wanted among the emaciated corpses..........
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Lean not on to me
O' dear one
I am weary and old
All day in the sun
Standing, bearing
The heat and rain
Abused and vandalized
Pinned with pain
My branches shade
To one and all
Now too old to stand
I am ready to fall
No leaves, no greenery
Only dead branches stand
Birds just pass by
As I am stuck on this land
An woodcutter showed
No mercy today
Chopped off all branches
And took all my pieces away
Now I am just rooted
Like an ugly dying pole
Wishing for a great storm
To release my tortured soul...
©sim
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
nobody
in the whole god **** world
has the power over you
that you do
**** that guy who broke into
your holy body,
vandalized your insides
used his hand
to crack stained glass windows
he smashed what you were born with
but know
he did not break you
there is beauty
in rebuilding
gentrify what he left condemned
you are still standing
you are still here
the power is in you
and boy,
does resilience
glisten
when you wear it
boldly
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
Heavens were furious this time
In a glimpse it happened
His bridges were burnt down
Void inclination towards life
Desolated on vandalized street he stood
With a malady of his spirit
Immense misery in his heart
The facade of spurn was prejudiced
Confined within the darkness
Lost in the echo of agitation
With a deep gasp and step forward
He feels the quiver in his bones
Divergent roads ahead
To take revenge or to let go
The emptiness inside would never culminate
The Satan inside prevails
Sanity is exfoliated
World seems to consolidate
Paradox of emotions Outburst !
~D. Akshay Kumar
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC