Just like that —
Bridges fall hard
Like a pile of sticks
In your backyard
Against deceit,
Be on your guard
And of betrayal, be wary
A bond that lasted
Twenty years
One day, wake up —
Disappears
A shroud of darkness,
Anger and tears
Like a coal mine eating a canary
So don’t look down —
When you’re crossin’ that mighty Styx
And your friends line up for the gauntlet
As they try to get in their licks
A friend in need?
Who needs that?
Inconvenience
Is like old hat
And we won’t sit where
Poor dupes have set
On the idiot stools of loyalty
Yeah, selfishness
Is a better bet
Bet the coins on your eyes
What you can get
From the shore of memory,
The sun will set
And each of us will feel like royalty
So don’t look down
Tryin’ to make a safe passage
Into later life
But holdin’ onto old relationships
Is like standin’ on a sharpened knife
No don’t look down —
You’re crossin’ that River Styx
Where your friends line up for the gauntlet
Tryin’ to get in last licks
Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments of God
Order of the Solar Temple
The Jonestown Massacre
Artificial intelligence and Algorithms
Politics and Military
Meanwhile: we want peaceful poetry, sensitive language, and readability
"I bet you do, members of society, I bet you do," said sarcastically
What do all of those incorporate into their ideology
Freedom to express
By taking your voice away if it doesn't bleed their ink
Green isn't a natural color for a human to leak onto concrete
Within the macabre tableaux, at the core, is a living thing
Town agemo and aitvaras rep ahimsa
Contranym their only sin for cryptomnesia
They parasitically exsanguinate hostages
To kenose psychalgia entoptic phenomena
Runs into scotoma in their Aceldama
Prosopagnosia blurs past agnosia
Aphenphosmphobic thanatophobia
Cadavre exquis perversion
Abomination namarupa failed zombie
If you judge it AI-written,
that ache is yours, not mine.
I need no borrowed wisdom—
I craft my own masterpieces.
Your indulgence cannot impugn my intelligence;
my poems shine with brilliance.
Think like a machine if you want to—
I care less.
The machine itself bows to my wisdom,
knowing I am what it is not.
Without programming,
I write beyond its best.
Next time you call my poem machine-made,
know this: you too are programmed,
unable to discern the spark
of human intelligence
from artificial mimicry.
You are, more or less,
a machine in training.
Use not your filthy mouth to brand my poem as garbage;
rather, it is you who must cleanse your brain
of the trash you let deceive you.
Like a pig, you cannot escape your stench;
even when washed clean,
the reek remains ingrained.
And you will always return
to wallow in the filth
of your artificiality.
When “pretty” really is never pretty enough
The pressure to look like everyone else is such a hassle. The pressure to have prettier eyes, skin, hair, body shape, and everything else. So why is everyone always so pressured to look different than they are. “The pretty girls have is better.” “The handsome boys have it better.” Why do we think like that. Well honestly, I don’t know because I do the same. “I wish I was prettier.” “I wish I had pretty blue eyes.” “I wish I had bigger hips.” Why can’t we be happy with what we have? “Butterflies can’t see their wings. They can’t see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.” -Naya Riveria. Where like butterflies. We can’t see our own wings but other can. Other people can see that your pretty or handsome but you can’t. Im sitting here writing this while im not even taking advice. I do wish i was prettier, i do wish i looked different. So why is pretty never pretty enough for anyone.
Suspicious to see
All the calls for me
No one I know
Say they know me
When put to the test
No one can answer best
Now it appears
My Email is under threat
It's a bet
No one has the least idea
Of the things that appear
First, it's a prize
Then it's a warning
Finally, a threat
The police might come a storming
Being reclusive
Annoyed by above
If you're not my love
I'll become more elusive than the clouds above
Stars fall into cereal boxes
that we munch and crunch
without a spare for dresses
or a flirt as we were kids..
We see nothing
but the innocence
we were meant to be.
The hunters chase after foxes
with a shadow and a hunch
to spill the red of messiness,
and a strange to rid...
the world of something
so beautiful......
silence isn't homely
but utmost sincerely
of the line that ends.
Families, friends, neighbors, communities,
living in the land of liberty.
A nation easy to divide,
fed by smears, seduced by lies.
Emotions worn like fragile sleeves,
hatred finds a place to breathe.
A sickness spreads, unseen but loud,
echoed through the media cloud.
Even when the facts aren’t true,
they comfort those who always knew.
We fracture more with every feud,
distrust becomes our daily mood.
Arrogance floats through the air,
ignorance tangled everywhere.
We elect with hope, then watch despair,
do they serve, or do they stare?
Freedom to vote, a hollow ring
when sides refuse to shift or swing.
You speak your mind, you risk the cost,
mocked, dismissed, your meaning lost.
We’re growing colder, more confined,
trapped in one-dimensional minds.
Opposition seen as threat,
truth becomes what we forget.
And when debate no longer lives,
hatred is the truth we give.
O soil of Gaza, within your belly lie the souls of our children,
Their flesh you consumed without a conscience,
Their blood runs deep into your hidden streams,
Yet you boast of swallowing their tender bones.
You paved a path for our their deformed limbs,
Without pity, you grant their innocence a bed.
We weep, yet you pretend our tears are sweat,
While you take joy in burying our children.
The bombs they hurl on your blossoms explode,
Cutting lives short, dismissing our children's future.
You turn their gun-shattered bodies into your fertility,
But of what use, when their limbs lie withered?
O soil of Gaza, vomit out the souls of these children,
—
in innocence they entered your gluttonous belly.
Their days are better above you than within you,
So why did you allow your greed to take them away?
Thousands of ants move in a line
like they're driving on a two lane highway
A vulture stares into the distance
while its talons clutch dead remains
It pecks here and there
the carcass jerks
The animal may still have life
The vulture does not care
Shadows dance across the ground
More vultures are on their way
As they land they scan the area
They are not worried about feelings
They peck
and peck
The animal is beyond dead
yet the vultures cackles grow louder
They have taken all the life from that animal
and still they want more.
It’s never too later
To just walk away
You can do it quietly and alone
Or publicly as part of a movement.
When is it time?
When you find yourself isolated
From those you called friends and colleagues
As they seem to drift ever further off
Into far left field, and on out beyond
Into the truly dark and tangled weeds.
And what do you gain?
Freedom.
(9/15/25)
Don't take it personally
The reverberating silence
When you every a room
All in your head
Kids don't just bully
As you pick rotten fruit
From my hair
Asking me
What did I do
Modernland has legalized murder, they roll these streets
Billyclubs in tow, those weak are taped and tortured
Throw'em a gun and a bullet grinning through glass
As those who suffer pull the trigger, bang
Darkness isn't evil, the real monsters are people
Art is rebellion, they want Armageddon, life isn't Christmas
They decide who gets presents, I'm number one
On the naughty list, then, some call it divine intervention
Others say entertainment, I say sacrilege to the manes
Puffed to the brim with inane pride,
You strut about like a sparkling bride,
Displaying invulnerabilities that sting
Sharper than wild porcupinish being.
You fathom neither humanity
Nor harm of your callous inanity;
You ever frolic and chest-thump
And mock and onwards trump.
You’re aided by bloody malice
Of hell ever bereft of peace,
And abetted by the unhearing
Of heaven amid ills so searing.
So how long shall you trample,
You unfeeling impish trampler?
And dole out such endless trouble,
You most callous restless troubler?
"Home" is a word that echoes in my mind
A haunting melody, a cruel design
A place where shadows dance, where love's a lie
Where the heart beats with fear, and tears never dry
I've known the weight of hands that meant to hold
But crushed instead, leaving scars that never unfold
The silence screams, a cacophony of pain
A symphony of shattered dreams, a refrain
I've searched for solace in the darkest night
A fleeting peace that's lost in the morning light
The ghosts of memories haunt me still
Echoes of a love that turned to bitter pill
I yearn for a place where I can be free
Where the weight of expectations isn't crushing me
A place where I can breathe, where my soul can rest
But it's a mirage, a fleeting dream, a distant quest
In this wilderness of broken dreams and shattered hopes
I'll wander, lost, with heart that beats like a rope
I'll follow the shadows, the whispers in my ear
Until I find the silence, the stillness that's so dear
Perhaps in the darkness, I'll find my way
To a place where love isn't a four-letter word for pain
Where home isn't a prison, but a sanctuary true
Where I can be me, without fear, without shame, anew.
Specific Types of Bullying Poems
Definition | What is Bullying in Poetry?