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mannley collins Jul 2014
Is such a big and impossible to miss step for a scribbler
of poetry free poems to trip over.
A step that cannot be ignored, except consciously and conscientiously.
Such a person as a scribbler of poetry less poems would be a person who cannot tell the difference between truth and truthfulness.
A person whose sole raison d,etre in pretending to be a poet is their lifelong angst in being unable to escape from being under the control of  their mind and its operating system --the Conditioned Identity.
The Conditioned Identity,which is the facetious and morally dishonest "I am a poet" mask that is the consciously adopted Conditioned Identity--the operating system for the Mind.
In the great scheme of things becoming just another member of the human GroupMind--one who doesn't count--not even on the fingers of one hand-.
One,who,in the grand scheme of things,never has counted and never will count-call them countless.
Shadows that flicker and dim on the walls of the Prison of political, racial,national,familial and religious conformity
And these worthless scribblers of poetry less poems do have an all consuming conditioned habit  of consciously ignoring truthfulness and integrity and substituting pathetic sub-teen lower middle class emo whinging "truth"--about their "art" and "insight"and "vision"and their "truth"--always their worthless "truth".
Sitting and mourning the fulfilling love that always evades them and always will evade them--unless they let go of the conditioned identity and the Mind--consigning them to the dustbin of history--where they rightfully belong.
Angst ridden whingers all--in love with their image in the mirror of Minds oh so believable deception.
Scribbling about a conditional possessive love that would have been a valueless truth but never can be the essence of truthfulness.
A conditional possessive love that never was and never will be unconditional and non-possessive.
Whinging about nothing more than conditional love and a truthfulness that never can be for them--- as we see openly here and there and everywhere there are scribblers of poetry less "poetry" who use sites such as this to scribble their pretentious infantile nonsense.
Poverty of values and integrity,orphaned from the Isness of the Universe, children of worthless technological consumerism and followers of false oligarchic hopes.
With their greedy gobs open for any crumbs falling from the rich peoples tables,like baby chicks in the nest--feed me feed me they screech.
Colluding with like minded betrayers of truthfulness,groupminds of
limp wristed bombastic poseurs.
Deluding themselves by babbling media made inane celebrities
empty insights and twisted conclusions--purveyors of puerile pettiness.
Oligarchic media celebrities noted only for the illusions between their ears,and the beguiling way they collude with each other to delude themselves.
Oh how they love to play mind games
Lives spent colluding with these babbling worthless celebrities who know the price of everything and the value of nothing,
Pompous posturing pretentious pissants of aesthetic poverty.
Bound together into a worldwide consumers Groupmind,
persuaded by perverts of PR into believing in the Illusion of Wealth and Demockery that the Oligarchy sells.
To step over the truthfulness threshold is,indeed, to  leave behind their
security blankets of "truth and beauty and revealed knowledge"
and the concomitment meaningless verbiage about "veracity" and "existence".
Shallow and unrequited attempts to own another that the weak and unwanted call "love".
Stomping through the quagmire of conditional love
up to their necks in the **** of consumer garbage.
The Conditional love of possessing another and grasping at thin air
as they submerge slowly in the seas of righteous stupidity .
poets cling to their misconceptions religiously,
poets cling to their ignorance avidly,
poets cling to their proto-fascist politics squeamishly,
with each word and stanza that they write.
Pouring out such pleasant and elegant and flowery and "deep"
words and verses(rhyming or not) that,at their core,
have only one meaning and aim.
Which is!.
To divert and confuse their readers with the"shallow beauty"
of endless strings of meaningless associated but fine sounding words .
To create a groupmind for their poetry business products.
Admire me--buy my product--join my groupmind--eulogise me,
let me rip off your energy--I need your praise,I need your lifes energy
gimme your money honey!.
The Publishing Oligarchy will bestow rewards and honours,
medals and diplomas--critiques fit only to wipe your **** on.
Book sales and the summer Poetry festival circuit--reciting and signing scribbles of narcissism--casting lecherous eyes over dripping **** or stiff wobbling **** in the adoring crowd of sycophants.
The  Media will fawn and adulate and cast its sly net
to entangle your desires in ---infamy awaits.
Come admire me and my use of other poets stolen words,
my criminality in even daring to think the word "poet" has any value.
These are my words about my inexperience and unknowingness they scream possessively in jaundiced teeny remembrance.
Remembrance of mediocre middle class homes and attitudes
of ingrained ignorance and wilful imagined self victimisation.
Eating societies poisoned dishes--.
Serve me up a burger of roasted babies on toast
from Vietnam--live on Channel Whatever.
Or chargrilled peasants from Afghanistan
with breathless commentary from
our "reporter on the spot".
Or homeless mental wrecks from the streets
of any Amerikan or World city big or small,
trailing acerbic criticism from the immoral majority.
Or dead celebrity  consumer junkies in 5 star hotels
complete with PR handouts and **** licking "friends"
positioning themselves for increased sales.
Or the children of the Oligarchs with their "I" newspapers
and inbuilt fascist attitudes.
Who spend their shallow lives hoping for the kind
of meaningless and worthless Honours and Validation
from those that do not have honour or validity..
Or the not just lame but crippled duck presidents with their finely crafted speeches that say nothing but I am a beard wearing  failure,
looking forward to penning lies and calling it a frank memoir
while holding out my hands  for the Oligarchies pennies.
Can anyone tell me where to get a bucket of truthfulness?.
A glass of honesty?.
A tumbler full of veracity?.
A beaker of back breaking honest labour?.
Can anyone tell me where I can find
a peaceful man or woman,of any of the 5 colours.
Not those merely observing a Cease-Fire
while they rearm their weapons of the lies of beauty and truth.
Oligarchy allowed social commentary.
Is there just one decent truthful man or woman out there?.
Judging by the world Id say not.
No Id say not.
There Ive said it.
Justin G Dec 2014
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
colzzmacdonald Apr 2017
Fend off our victimisation
Our celestial visualisation
Help to keep the harmful at bay
Tell us how love will find a way
In times of ruinous meandering
When our cognitive strengths are weak
As baneful people take to slandering
I will be there just seek
I'm where you alone will find me
When my troubled times will grind me
I will seek my comfort in you
There is nothing we cannot do
The jealous, vicious, ugly hate
That others land at our door
The pain in their lives must be great
To think they can destroy our core
Life takes over it beats you down
But your accomplishments renown
The person you are in my eyes
As through the ashes you will rise
We stand, as always, together
As one potent heart forever
The Widow Sep 2016
Clumsy dismount
  down from the scrutiny of
  cross cut shredder victimisation
A shamefaced, self-actualising whingebag
  My name is Daughter
  My name is Employee
  My name is Passenger. Payee.
Belonging at an irreduceable remove from
  A heart, childishly pasted
  in a carapace of postage stamps.
  Once kept in albums of purposeful art.
  The role is guilt ridden recipient
  more often than sender.
Reassembly will be
  an inexpert labour of love
  But not that kind, amigo
  But not that kind
  I'm to be my own pet.
I can see that once I was off
  I was always off.
  All of us who have lived
  this close to the end of England
  are forever leaving the sea
I am leaving the sea
  and everything i've ever dumped in it
  Cold chips. Warm eyes, busted loves
  It's all now bound behind me.
  For the continent For the sea.
Weeping now
  and fielding concerned looks
  not for me but for the balance
  I'm so relieved
I'm so free I could bite something hard
  and break my teeth.
Akemi Jul 2018
I will not stand by while abuse happens
six months of cyclical hell
the push and pull of your desire

this issue has never been singular
confined to some imaginary private space
in the public view of us all
using your circumstances to justify
the victimisation of another
to the point of collapse

the coloniser builds a fort
because they're afraid
of their own violent mirror-image
projected into the landscape

do you recognise
i'd always thought playing the victim was a term the right used to discredit survivors of ****, but it actually arose out of victim narratives of abusive relationships, where the abuser would posit themselves as the real victim, even as they persecuted the other with emotional blackmail, gaslighting and violence.

this all makes me ******* sick.
lee Apr 2014
its been almost five years and i can still tell you every word those kids spat on me with
i can recite every method of victimisation they deployed and i can name each one off by heart

its been almost five years and i still get nightmares, five years and i still can’t rationalise what i did to deserve that besides being myself, five years and i still blame myself for being a target even though i know better

its been almost five years and i still can’t see past those flaws that they made me so aware of at such a young age

its been almost five years and i still can’t stand up proud and look at myself and tell you I’ve embraced those qualities that i was down trodden on because of

its been almost five years and i still can’t see past them
five years
1 825 days
43 800 hours (approximately)
and i still see that girl

not that girl, that man, the she woman with no ***** and wide shoulders and ugly man arms that was too stupid to realise they were teasing her when they called her names by code so they launched a full throttle attack every break

i still see her, smiling and laughing with them while they mocked her shrinking smaller and smaller at every word (only metaphorically of course) because all she felt were the ever-spreading canyons of her body with her flaws that dipped and rose and spread across a landscape that would never be good enough

its been almost five years and i don’t hold them accountable for any of it
they didn’t build or live in that body (it was only i)
they didn’t chose to let it get to me (it was only i)
they didn’t decide to not tell anyone and let it fester so deep until the smell of ***** was the only thing that could mask the wreak of the insecurities left behind

i don’t know if i’d be different if none of that had occurred because who can blame events that happened five years ago for who i am today

all i know is i still wait, i still stay up long after everything is dark and still and quiet and the events still replay the words still hang over

amplified (by only i)

its been almost five years and all i can say is i hope those wretched people are better off now

(i hate that im so weak)

//ale a
SG Holter Nov 2014
When it comes to fairness,
feelings are useless

the curse of subjectivity, and
volunerability of ego,  
smell of

victimisation. we will never
be free with this attitude. your
pain is always stronger than

mine, I will always be more
fatigued. I will never understand.
you will never understand.

one has always been through
a hotter Hell than the other.
deeper scars. bigger

disappointments. yes, we are both
bruised by Life.
so let us comfort each other,

rather than compete. there is no
room for it in our love.
we're both too old,

and have been through too much
to act like stubborn children.
there is no "i" in "denial".
Autumn Shayse Dec 2014
You misunderstood my darling,
come closer, I'll whisper it to you;
closer now,
draw  in once more,
I crave nothing more than your twisted temptation -
close enough?


You did hear me correctly darling,
there was no stutter,
you are deserving of nothing less,
that's just it you see,
you deserve less than nothing
for you care for no-one
for destruction forms your entertainment

You got it yet?
Don't you dare think that I feel anything
I am neither angry nor sad,
I do not hate you,
I am indifferent
sorry for the victimisation.
Ijla May 2018
I question myself
Are the memories that haunt me real
Or just fabrications
Made by my mind
For the purpose of victimisation
Is my suffering
My own creation
Is this all real
Or am I just faking it.
Am I even real?
Bianca Jul 2017
you told me that what goes around comes around
but if it comes around so rarely
just like my own happiness
it means that you can live in sin today
and i don't have the one of victimisation
George Anthony Oct 2019
you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much

everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew

you are ruining your life

you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion who’re trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.

one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.

the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time

you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal

— The End —