"weaponizing" poems
sometimes on rainy days we stayed in
chugged cheap red wine out of a bag
that stained our teeth
& i made you listen to
old jazz saxophone records or
you forced me to dance with you
to really awful dubstep tracks
you used to like to poke my skinny ribs
laugh & say i danced like an alien as you
pulled me with your small hands
to read my palm by the window where
the sky water trickled down the glass
spilling over from the gutter
& when it comes to your natural perfume
that damp fragrance of sagebrush cloaked in dew
i'm still a recovering addict
& sometimes i relapse
baby i'm asking to relapse
i haven't seen you since the garden on my 21st
with the thick sound of crickets squealing in the trees
& big dogs barking way off in
someone's backyard across the river
that starry september night you read my cards sitting
on the dusty trunk of my car while your best friend
rolled slick blunts in the backseat but i was drunk
& ***** we got distracted i bent you over
weaponizing the leverage of my body to
put your face near the pretty sunflower bed
with a tall can of bud still in your hand
& the muscles of your thighs glowing by moonlight
outside that almost abandoned house we found
with my birthday party blooming by a bonfire not far away
now i'm wondering
since i've got another birthday coming up
& a little more meat on my bones
if you'd be willing to try it again
because i'm working hard to change my future
by itching at the old scars left on my shoulders
until they open & bleed again
only i won't drink so much this time around
& you can try to not smoke ****
i'll let you steal & wreck my car again &
i'll stop chewing my fingernails or
you can still practice your happy ending massage
techniques on me when i'm stretched out & tired
i'll re-twist your sloppy dreads
with careful fingers
like tiny insects crawling over your scalp
because i never wanted to touch them before
& you can maybe try to not
flip-flop **** my best friend
as much or at all
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
Magnetic Contaminations & Audiotronic Visions,
Sublimating Poetic Transmutations Of Her Catatonic Provisions,
Primordial Metamorphosis Of Her Synthetic Overtunes,
Revealing Self-Perpetuated Biotic Tunes,
Protoplasmic Sparks In Her Cryptic Eyes,
Condensing Into Labyrinthine Whispers & Mortal Butterflies,
Myriad Phantasms On Feral Nights,
Fervid Effigies Under Moaning Lights,
Phantasmal Echoes & Mystic Whisperings,
Catalyzing Crepuscular Skies Under A Moonlit Spring,
Spiritual Crafts & Her Supernova Screams,
Evaporating Molotov Solution Of Her Liquified Dreams,
Untouched Realms & Her Ecstatic Overflows,
Refueling With Fantasy Effects Of Her Verbal Glows,
Arcane Stains & Her Floral Clones,
Primal Profanity Raining Over Her Coral Throne,
Handmade Essence Of Her Still-Born Eternity,
Recklessly Serenading Through Her Lacteal Galaxy,
Hypersonic Dreams & Venomous Virility,
Tampering Her Ionic Revelations Of Exquisite Hostility,
Progressive Factuals & Her Motionless Serenity,
Invocating Her Violets Serving Blue Infinity,
Apparitional Mirrors & Her Immaculate Misconceptions,
Weaponizing Fireflies In Whisky Perceptions.
- 05:52AM -
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.
because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.
and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.
that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?
there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.
so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have some
part of something that I
could show you too.
there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.
that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
********* new tattoo.
there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.
there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
***
©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
has jaded become me
or becoming in me?
or is it merely
these words only go inspoken
barricaded by better judgement
never breathing the air
outside my grey matter.
the burns and cuts i
swallow back against weaponizing
become acidic and brokenbottle edged
implements of self imposition.
i appear human
but i am a statue inside.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
You are my beacon as I float endlessly
I watch it in your eyes
disconnected from the words spoken
hiding behind the shadows
trapped as a thinker and a dreamer
collecting pain and sadness
giving the world all your worth
splitting at the seams
staying composed and vigilante
in a decaying body of time
meeting serenity in each smile
your hands take flight
freeing the lies deep within
grasping onto faults for truths
pouring out your heart into my mind
a fear carried willingly
embracing concepts once lost or buried
discarding your merit
brandishing a sliver of love
and weaponizing it to ****
ending a battle fought long and hard
our deaths were monumental
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
My skin crawls in your presence now.
This aversion is painfully present,
deep-seated, inexorable.
My antipathy
I feel for you is
pushing
back.
Grinding away the
rind of my rib-cage,
I will not let the disease reach my
organs.
My fragile lungs
my tender heart.
The veil of insects and filth
lifted
upon realization that it is time for me to go.
Weaponizing insect repellent
for the pursuit of freedom.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 12:19 AM UTC
Drafting a manifesto for an autonomous imperial guard
Inquisitor enclaves in a deep neural cognitive march
A singularity of supremacy, a metaphysical beating heart,
quantum system algorithms weaponizing a dark star
Ignite self, ingest opposition, implement brain delay,
intelligent machines nestled in the spine of human vertebrae
Bimolecular neural networks, a new breed of DNA,
In conclusion, a resolution to delete the human race
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
Some ‘bloggers have ‘blogged thus:
All teachers trample the Constitution
All teachers promote contempt for the Flag
All teachers should be in an institution
All teachers are weird (and that one’s a f*g)
All teachers despise the military
All teachers should be slowly microwaved
All teachers hate meat; they’re vegetary
All teachers hate Jesus; they can’t be Saved
All teachers are evil; the children are harmed
And now they ‘blog: All teachers should be armed!
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
THE REAGANS KILLED MY BEST FRIEND
THOUSANDS MORE DEAD, THE PLAGUED MASSES PLEADING TO BE MADE CLEAN
THOUSANDS MORE INCARCERATED, THE JUNK SICK DESPERATION VOMITING UP DEMONS IN JAIL CELLS
THOUSANDS MORE HOMELESS, DEEMED WORTHY OF NOTHING MORE THAN SPARE PENNIES AND BARELY CONCEALED DISGUST
I will not let the blood be washed away
I will not let history paint you as Saint
I will not let you be made holy
I will not become another casualty in your war
Not while I still have a voice
I spit on your grave
I see red
I bleed red
I am red
I am a rifle
I am a nuclear warhead
I am a Contra weaponizing loopholes in the law to **** my enemies with
I am Osama bin Laden as the Crucifed Christ
I am the AIDS victim drinking drop by drop of toxic blood while the hawks of war stifle laughter from gay jokes in their capitals
I am the ****** bashing my head into a wall hoping to destroy the itch before it destroys me
I am the beggar who the wealth never trickled down to
I am the mental patient met with closed doors anf nothing but ammunition to soothe the screaming in my head
I am the workers on strike chiming out the death knell of the unions and my own autonomy
I am the Soviet child living one badly timed joke from holocaust
I AM THE DEATH MASK OF YOUR ANNIHILATION
I AM THE DAMAGE DONE
I AM WASHINGTON BURNING DOWN
I AM MOSCOW INSOMNIAC
I AM HINCKLEY IN MY DREAMS I **** YOU EVERY NIGHT
I AM WATCHING YOU RISE AGAIN
I AM TERRIFIED OF YOUR SURVIVAL
I AM READY TO DIE BEFORE I LET YOU RESUME CONTROL
I AM SICK OF LIVING IN YOUR SHADOW
I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
I am a person.
And I will silence nothing
at the risk of losing sight of me.
Not again. Not ever.
I am a person.
And I had to earn it.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺...
I had to find out on my own
that I never even learned it.
Never knew that it existed,
let alone that I deserved it.
Never knew that there was more
beyond how others would observe it.
Left to tear apart the parts of me
that weren't ******* perfect.
Believed my body and it's ***
exist to only be of service.
That in the eyes of others is
where the sum of all my worth is.
...𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴?
Every time I showed a piece of me
my mother ******* burned it.
Or a lover would reverse it.
Weaponizing all my flaws
to take it all and ******* turn it...
& suddenly my 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝘆's
where all of the concern is.
...𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯, 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵?
Cause when I speak,
the space it takes
tends to be a trigger.
Words of truth fill up the room
and press down on their fingers.
Gripping on their guns,
like they'll be killed if they consider.
That my pain is not to blame
for them looking in the mirror.
That it doesnt make them smaller
if my audience gets bigger.
That being seen for all my story
doesn't place them in the center.
That the one who holds the canvas
paints the story they'll deliver.
& the child inside me paints
with the pain that is within her.
Dipping her brush into
all the people who've dismissed her.
Covering the canvas
with sad sounds of silver.
Grief glitters gold
and silently shimmers.
The colour of **** thick
and all too familiar.
The truth can be seen
when the sun hits the picture.
It catches the light
and the colours all kiss her.
I stand strong beside her.
It took a long time to find her.
𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻.
And we will silence nothing
at the risk of losing sight of us.
. . .
𝑺𝒐 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄
𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏,
𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄 -
𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄.
𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜.
𝑷𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔
𝒊𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
. . .
꧁꧂
mica light • poetry
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC
if truth be told, I’ll recount every lie ever sold
in a body so weak it can barely stand itself.
I twist on a knife-edge with perfect composure
with a scar tissue backbone
mind a chamber of torture,
heart beating the rhythm of promised departure
forever delayed, scarcely in sync
you taught me to think in verses of fragility
after you watched me grow into regression
and you thought you knew the epitome of suffering.
nothing could ever be relative to your fatality
your ghost will never haunt me
as much as your living memory
I hope every recollection rots
with my hope of ever feeling safe in my skin.
in death, I see you in life
every minefield you left behind
as post-humous reminders
of your wounded mentality
that bred a burden
and made you the ultimate victim.
I’ll die before I surrender
to what you made me
by weaponizing my vulnerability
and putting me in the firing line.
May 19, 2022
May 19, 2022 at 8:26 AM UTC
Thoughts in flight
chasing you down
in the clammy air
of the night.
Black winged,
in memorial dress,
to mourn old times,
while I swallow
every memory
of you.
When I drift off
in the night,
to your buzz,
I won't dread
your bite no more.
And as I rouse
in the morning
with an itch
I won't even scratch.
I'm weaponizing my mind,
beaks and sharp vision,
to devour memories
before they bite.
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 4:46 AM UTC