Long Normalized Poems
Long Normalized Poems. Below are the most popular long Normalized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Normalized poems by poem length and keyword.
Wake.
Commute.
Work.
Repeat.
They call this living?
I call it the hamster wheel—
spinning faster each year
while the cage only shrinks.
Three jobs to afford one roof.
Two hours of daylight between shifts.
One life slipping through fingers
calloused from climbing ladders
that only lead to more ladders.
We've normalized exhaustion,
wear our burnout like medals of honor.
"Busy" is our battle cry.
Our worth measured in productivity units,
our time sold at wholesale prices.
We scroll through highlight reels
of lives we're too tired to pursue,
while notifications remind us
there's always more to want,
always more to owe.
They say "Rise and grind"
But never ask
what's being ground down.
It's us.
Our dreams. Our wonder.
Our capacity to stare at stars
without calculating their worth.
When did we accept that breathing
was enough to call it living?
When did we decide that survival
was something we should be grateful for?
I want more than to exist in the margins
of my own life—
stealing moments between obligations,
budgeting minutes like loose change.
Living is not this endless math
of hours versus dollars.
Living is not this constant fear
that one misstep, one illness,
one market crash
could erase everything.
To merely survive
is to be haunted by the ghost
of the life you might have lived
if you weren't always running out of time,
running out of energy,
running out of hope.
We were meant for more than this—
More than automated responses.
More than weekend recoveries.
More than counting down days
until we're free, at last,
too old to use that freedom.
So tell me,
when do we stop surviving
and start living?
When do we reclaim our heartbeats
from the timeclocks?
When do we refuse to measure our worth
by our economic output?
Because I am not a machine
designed for consumption and production.
I am flesh and blood and wonder.
And I want my life back.
I want all of our lives back.
This existence of barely making it—
it's not life.
It's a sentence.
And I'm demanding a pardon.
Right now.
Today.
Before the next alarm.
Before the next bill.
Before the next "I'll live later."
Because later keeps getting later,
until later becomes never.
And I refuse to call my one wild existence
a mere survival story.
III.
Making it worse, the doctors had told her
that great damage had been done by the birth,
she could never carry children again,
was bound to be childless on this earth,
for months she was just a big ball of hurt.
And when she thought of the junkie boy’s fate
she felt growing inside a ball of hate.
It made no sense, why God would do this to her,
but reward someone who had done such wrong.
She’d always lived her life the best she could,
and tried to operate by morals strong,
even when it meant she wouldn’t belong.
But the degenerate got to have kids
despite all the awful things that she did?
She felt like she was being punished for
something, but what it was she didn’t know.
And what kind of God would reward evil
yet lay upon a good soul such a blow?
Then break her womb, and leave her without hope.
Maureen slowly stopped going to the church,
would worship no one who left her in the lurch.
Her mind would just fume, it went on for years,
thinking of that damn crack-baby out there,
living out the life her son was denied,
no doubt trapped in a world of great despair,
and she knew just how that child would fare.
Trapped in the system, born of ruined stock,
to be in trouble until cell doors locked.
That’s what had been preferred to her own babe,
to such a wasted life God was endeared,
a worthless cast-off nobody wanted,
Who would grow to cause many people fear,
that was what the Almighty wanted here.
For years she just limped on, angry and bereft,
so much so that Mark eventually left.
About ten years on she normalized a bit,
enough that she started to work again,
swallowed the pain, save for her son’s birthday,
when she walked to the hospital and then
the pain would return, fill her ever sense.
That was all that Maureen cold bear to allow,
she stuck to this as if she’d taken a vow.
But way back in her head the hate remained,
for the junkie and the boy she gave life,
and no matter that mask that she put on
she knew the world was evil, and not right,
she just no longer had then strength to fight.
This pattern continued many years more,
until one brisk day when she was fifty-four.
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
The sounds of a new-born baby crying for the first time,
Can bring joy to a brand-new mother,
Can bring a smile to her sweaty, tired face,
Knowing that she has delivered a blessing from God.
She is reminded of the moment she first looked down
At the little device sitting on her bathroom counter
With the two red lines shining through
Letting her know the excitable future.
But what if I told you
Instead of feeling joy and happiness
At the sight of the positive test
She felt dread, sorrow, sadness, and despair.
The soon to be mother would make a decision,
One that would determine her future,
The future of the baby growing inside her,
And the man who had helped that child come to be.
Without a good family to give her the advice she needed,
The woman had lost all hope she was desperate.
Her despair led to the relinquishing of another innocent soul,
Being lifted to the heavens, for God to hold.
For all the innocent, little lives
lost to a monster that ravages hopeless women
making them believe it is okay to end
the unborn life of a human being.
For all the would-be mothers
Who had felt like there was no other way
That they could not raise a child
In this wretched world, by themselves.
For all the would-have-been fathers
Who never got to see the baby
They would have helped raise
Never getting to see their sweet face.
I wish with all my heart
That this world could see what has happened,
I wish that we could see the death and suffering
That is being normalized all around us in our modern society.
The outright murder,
The ending of the unborn human life,
Should have never been normalized
Should have never been given consideration.
For all the angel babies
That now sits with God in his vast lap
With enough room to hold them all,
I am so sorry.
4/7/2021
Mrs. Donna Moody
Chimera
I often ponder about the perpetuous anathema in my household, because growing up, that abominable behavior was quite normalized.
I’ve always heard derogatory, disrespectful remarks or comments, God, they’re so standardized; my conception was that being unique deserved aberration.
Though, younger me questioned why I only heard these discriminating words and bigoted lies in my own house; it seemed as if these rigid beliefs were intertwined with my family alone.
I never realized how different our cultures were; I’d been enfolded in our similarities rather than our backgrounds and our internalized morals.
As expected, their perceptions were quite different from mine.
They grew up in India; where commenting about others appearance is normal, where mental health is degraded and rendered invalid.
Learning about all the kids committing suicide over a bad grade while having no psychological care horrified me; though I finally could see my parent’s perspective.
Now, I’m not justifying my parent’s words or actions- I’m simply acknowledging their internalized standpoints.
Though I can’t help but wonder if their diminishing remarks reflect on their own treatment.
…
How can you change someone when it’s too late?
My parents.
They were frequently pulverized whether or not they acted wrongly.
In pieces, bruises, and long red strokes.
Yet it was condoned; due to being “generational.”
My ankles were cut, I was force fed snake ashes, I was forced to drink water out of ant hills— because it was “generational.”
Thousands of years of longevity led to force and prejudice. It led to nothing but the death of our just traditions and impartiality within our family.
Though, these feelings are quite interiorized, and it’s too difficult to take it out; I hope to break this cycle, though for now, my shrieks are muffled.
#Hashtag Me Too
#I like you
#me too
#me too woke
#me too just awaken from my sleep
#me too everything not normal it stinks
#me too It started in grade school, when I pulled your hair
#me too back then it was a dare
#me too nobody cared
#me too girls in pain, boys thought it was cute
latter on it was junior high
I spit in your face may have slapped you on your chin
high school comes and I want to come in
touch your buttock, your thigh
trying to be sly(shy??)
while all along
my no training on how to really treat you
your always a lady
now adult hood
Not a piece of meat or wood
Not material thing you can just cut up or muddle
misdeeds covered up
this you see maybe D. Trump
it was simple that Clinton lawyer-ed up in speech he said
I didn't have sexually relationship with that woman
Lewd remarks to full blown assaults
Familiarity to normally
ignore them now it's reverent
social net work all communication even Twitter
Tagging that makes it possible for others
Find my messages with a specific theme or content
Men all our perfectly gentle
NOW
Group topics of discussion together
Negative treatment normalized men behavior
Myriad incidents, was that an assault
You touched me we knew it wrong
Only my God, husband or doctor can touch me there
Men who weren't ejected passing sex scandals ensnaring
Ungodly and uncaring
Women now new move in packs
To keep from being over drinks
People did people done
Some in the name of religion
Self indulge forgiveness
#me too
#me too have you been violated
#me too
#me too money and power means I own you
#me too
#me too De-stigmatize those bad men powerful good guys
Too strong, too righteous to be convicted ha
#me too God be with you
12/01/17
A gardener, I became by chance
a purposeful man with detailed plans
With a thought for each exigency
and a strategy for each contingency
I organized and theorized
I categorized, I normalized
I estimated and resized
and finally, I stabilized
I did this from a calm perspective
all done with the express objective
to prepare a comprehensive list
for mitigating potential risks
I worked, I worried,
I watched in horror
as my garden finally failed to bloom
Where did I fall? Which step was missed?
What miscalculation wrought this doom?
I sat in thought
(and deep in shame)
that what I'd wrought
had somehow failed
What was the task I had not caught?
(Or, was there something else to blame?)
Gantt chart, always at the ready
I began again, to make a plan
Pen in hand, as ever steady
a logical, beast; a thinking man
No change; no matter what I tried
the garden was again in ruins
at wit's end then, I simply sighed
and whistled doleful, mournful tunes
But then, a sunbeam warmly shone
upon my face, right through the pane
as I looked, I saw the rain had gone
that was the point, that I grew sane
I ministered lovingly to my plot
with patience and humility
gratefully accepting what I got
and forgetting old futility
No more planning, no more flailing
I saw the sun and rain as friends
Loving both despite their failings
and thankful for what each one lends
I watched in peace my garden grow
my focus reduced to just a glance,
indebted for what I'd come to know
that all things truly come by chance
Form:
Faces of death stare against my raptured skin.
Silently, they watch me in frigid judgment.
I used to run from them in unholy matrimony,
Peeling the sins from my teardrops
Wishing they would
Just go away.
The brown-skinned disease normalized her penetrating,
Gaslit disgust against the smiles,
Against the faith
“YOU HAD IT COMING!”, she resounded in front of my Son…rise.
“All your fault”, the faces of death impolitely declared.
I begged for her abuse to end.
I pleaded for those faces to cease their stares against my coalescing wounds.
I prayed that the stars would let our friendship count to infinity.
But the brown-skinned disease could only count to 5150.
Terms & conditions no longer applied.
How would I ever escape?
How would I ever taste tears of joy again?
How would I supplant the bruises now invested in each heartbeat?
When would I stop apologizing for the harm she caused...?
I stared back at the faces of death.
“Not today!” “Not tomorrow!”
In this decrepit whirlwind of deceit
They smiled back at me, turning the other cheek.
“Stronger than yesterday”, they whispered.
I awoke from my descent into paralysis,
Listening to the gentle clacking of laptops,
The wistful choruses enunciated from the turntable…
…”No easy way out. I won’t back down. I’ll stand my ground.”
For my walls built
By the faces of death
Are meant to climb,
Not to confine
©Tacito
New World Order; Psychological Warfare
Split minds, souls at unrest; UFOs or USOs?
Wealth, lost in the wash, fear-mongering media,
indoctrinated control. Listen here, listen there.
Do what you are told. Lost, chock full of filth.
Spiking truth with lies, despised, crying,
"why, oh why?" Crypting minds dime by dime.
Dollars sought, tanked to banks, cashless society,
rank the ranks. Medicated troubles and crooked
ways chronicled day by day - cognitive dissonance.
Demonic subliminals, camera ubiquitous,
oblivious. Rhythm rocker, tossed into sleep
while cryptids creep. War crimes, cries of faith
as the world is hypnotized.
New World Order; Psychological Warfare
Corrupted governments gave a virus and masked
our faces; visions and viles, crimes of the time,
facial recognition. Our world grows darker, ripping
out hearts, and drinking adrenochrome.
Caught and sold in catalogs; Wayfair, beware.
Dead doctors and speakers of truth. Devils lead
the way into caves. Graves are full, ghosts are real.
Androgenous has sex appeal. Agendas creating
slaves digging mountains for golds. Bullets and
bombs thrown by protectors. Secrets burned by
religions, cults normalized like pigeons, spectacles
of the steeple filled with sheeple.
Unseen skies covered with chem trails.
Forced messages leaked through your ears by
HAARP and DARPA. We Trust in those who wind us up.
All we have left is blind.
New World Order; Psychological Warfare
It comes to you in the post
the first day you’re born
certified and normalized your invoice of sale
in Christmas cards sent you
while you’re at school
authorized, depersonalized
let’s all hope you do not fail
It falls on your doormat
with this months bill
all categorized stipulated usage default
and handed to you in a paycheck
for your signed over hours
the pursuit of your debt
for anonymous profit
It sashay’s up behind the cashier at the bank
charges you interest on the money you once had
counting up your digital invisible social rank
it puts food on the table for children, husbands and wives
but cuts off the power and starves hungry mouths
and scorns you as homeless
with all the overdrawn credit of your lives
It comes by email and television to
by government tax on the cash that you earn
with all the payments you make to keep you in line
running in circles just to survive
hate mail slaps you at every corner you turn
it sneaks up behind you to bleed you dry
and leaves you in a coffin and wondering why
It arrives in the post
the moment you’re born
when your mother is charged for the doctors concern
dehumanized and centralized
the digital conundrum of fake lives
you’ve been drafted into an army of monetary lies
no choice
your permission was never asked for
just the recipient of hate mail
that’s shoved through your door
They like their news delivered intravenously
Nonstop drip of
horrific images pumped straight to the cortex
Ophthalmologically dosed every hour
Raw footage unedited,
fatal tragic scenes
unfiltered
on the television screen
Traumatized survivors giving ghastly, weeping accounts
Macabre absorption byway of visual osmosis
sends them into an euphoric stupor
Bad news junkie getting their daily fix,
strung out wi-fi broadcast junkie
needing another viral hit
Crashes of any kind —
automobile, train or plane
Flesh and metal wreckage
emitting twisted howls of pain and suffering
Shootings flares of societal fireworks:
gang bang related ... code blue police incidents;
chance encounters ill-fated ... sleeper cells blazing discontent
Breaking news carnage is a bonus viewing perk
Bad news is like an addiction,
some gotta have their daily fix
Bad news junkies
need another calm-the-nerves hit
So plunge the telecast syringe
into the veins of the eyeball
Orange Clockwork over time will desensitize
Blood and guts , bullets and tears
splattered and spilled on the sidewalk
Death and violence is so very news normalized
Bad news junkie
love getting their morning mayhem wake up stim
And when getting cranked seeing the evening disasters,
they nod to their self: it’s better you than them