Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely persuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
— Zumwalt (2011) (used by permission from zumpoems.com)
I take the blade
like a sculptor takes his chisel—
not for art,
but for erasure.
Skin is too quiet.
It wears my face like a mask I never chose.
So I slice,
deep enough to silence it,
to watch it speak in red.
Each cut a sentence.
Each bruise a thought I couldn't hold.
I dig through muscle and memory
trying to find what part of me
deserves forgiveness—
but all I find is rot.
Nails tear at the surface
when the blade dulls.
Teeth, fists, anything
to feel my hatred echo
through blood.
This is not performance.
This is penance.
This is punishment for waking up
in a body I never asked for.
They say:
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
As if it’s hurt.
As if it’s not relief
to open myself
and let the poison breathe.
I mutilate
because I can’t kill
what’s inside.
So I tear down the walls
again
and again
and again.
Not to die—
but to make the pain visible.
To show the world
what it did to me.
To make it real.
To make me real.
If only for a moment
before the blood dries
and the shame returns
wearing my name like a crown.
Your words have power
They’re not just sounds they’re spells
You can cast them with malice
Or cast them wishing well
The consequences of hate
evident in one’s words
Is to mentally mutilate
To belittle to disturb
The ill will starts in the mind
Or perhaps a heart dark and blind
It affects perception, well being or health
When you are hateful to someone else
The tongue has no muscles
but can break hearts
It’s like a shuffle
between a fire starters spark
Black ideas or words of
Cruelty begin within
The aftermath can disturb
Cause fighting and other sins
Sometimes hate leads the way
To murder and mayhem days
A hostile environment where growth is stunted
Hate speech from some souls like water running
The consequences of hate
is fear and lawlessness
A sense of deep despair
in the hated from hatefulness
The cruelty of hate is toxic
Words and views are clues
Don’t act upon it let’s stop it
No one should be cruel
The country spoke in numbers strong
rejecting notions, we knew were wrong.
Porous borders against our laws,
defund police, those thoughts are flawed.
In regards to the letters,
DEI and CRT
return to the alphabet
where you should be.
Retail theft, okay with them
no consequence, they steal again.
Gender care or mutilate,
once its done, it's too late!
Men compete in women's sports,
dashing hopes and wins they thwart.
To all of those who've broken in
the time has come, deports begin.
So common sense
once more shall reign,
as America returns
to great again!
I bring signs that it will arrive
Flying over this gray veil
Polluted by smoke, covered by thick air
You know I won't say anything about it?
Silence is the key, dead bodies don't talk
Unfortunately, I don't have good news
I'm just a messenger for you
Little, bitter sinner
The fruit of your lies
Accompanied by their burdens
Inaccessible ones that mutilate your soul
What will be your last words?
What excuses would you make?
Who would you blame? Since you are the one to blame
Are you really yourself?
Continuously lying
See yourself in the mirror
That is now broken
Fragments, each one is a part
Looking at yourself...
I'm you, but I'm not you?
I am only: “The Messenger”
Submitted by a lady who wears black
Everyone fears it, because it will not escape
The one who is looking at you through the reflection of your soul
The dead don't speak, neither do the crow
Your message has been received
We're out of time...
Eternal silence awaits you.
Amiss a world of violence with hate and greed strong
I withdraw within my earthen mound refusing to belong
Evil's ugly face embedded into men's souls
the wickedness they gleefully in pale they hungrily show
Mutilate children and wars for profits greed
those who speak against it are blamed for the deeds
A new world order for the richest one percent
paid by starving masses they taunt and forget
The earth bleeding with technology as a god
love evaporating in the sunlight with the fog
Mass media reports nothing but only spreads hate
only one view announce never allow debate
Stop the growth of food let them eat themselves
do not use real energy go green for it is pelf
No justice or morals or laws of any kind
mocking the victims celebrating the crime
Harvest the organs of the unborn and very poor
the rich class lives forever they must endure
A new world religion feels very very old
Lucifer rules the world his bloody crown of gold
Enough I shelter into the earth's womb
underground peace I found buried in my tomb.
At dusk shall hatch the seed
They creep from cracks to sever, mutilate and shred
And they breed
Then feed - insane
Their banquet lies within my head
Warm brain
Mind - ill
But not yet dead
Kill
At dusk shall hatch the seed
Their banquet lies within my head
Kill
An existential waiting for Godot,
when aggravated, drinking much Bordeaux,
could even bring Thoreau dismay and woe,
to mutilate one’s ear like poor van Gogh.
When we despair, impatience flaring, though,
in spite of claims of piety, we show
our unbelief about the debt we owe,
a faith that’s shallow, feeble, even faux.
Oh Lord, come to me now and do not go!
—————
for the Monomixorhyme Poetry Contest
63 words, 90 syllables, checked by HowManySyllables.com
sponsored by Hilo Poet
written on 11/4/22
Waiting for Godot, (pronounced “Guh-DOH”, although some prefer “GOD-oh”) a play written by Samuel Beckett in 1948, is often view through a Christian existential lens.
Henry David Thoreau, author of Walden was a transcendentalist, philosopher, and naturalist.
Vincent van Gogh was a post-impressionist artist who suffered from mental illness and heavy drinking, famously severing his own ear with a razor during an argument with his friend, Paul Gauguin.
At the foot of the mountain, vast and majestic,
wolves of history prowl, scouting
for human flesh.
Lava of history, we took it for granted
that history has lessons to teach,
not knowing it also has false entries
to where truth resides.
Where, how? Questions are endless
and, as usual, time is of essence.
At the foot of mountain, there's no
tourist guide, you're on your own,
lucky to be alive, when the stakes are so high
and the defiant history takes refuge behind
the tall sheet of rock that leads to the peak;
It is beautiful to hike there, scholars, explorers,
prophets, foot soldiers of ideology, heroes,
who proudly strike and mutilate in the name of
a grand cause. At your peak they will know how
to find someone to live for; the grandeur of peace.
Who dares to throw you to the valley of lepers.
Firm in your intoxicating art of survival, justice
and liberty thrive, bloom for life.
And when the stars of hope fade indignantly amid so many disasters,
there would be lightning and you're able to explode.
When I Wear Your Favourite Dress
Oh, I'm so paranoid
I start to shake and take double glances over my shoulder like some psycho's gonna stab me in the back
But when I think of you...
you help me relax
Oh, I carve your name into everything
Until my fingernails break into every willow and gravestone
Then I toss my victims corpse into the lake
Oh, I mutilate myself
Not that I think it's fun
I got your name in a heart on my chest
I apologize for the blood that seeps through when I wear your favorite dress
Oh, I'm so drunk driving with a date I stole from the prom
She embodied you so I tied her up and taped her mouth shut
Oh, baby it's been too long
So I kissed her
I bit her
I think I raped her
When she screamed I knew it was you
Oh, I crave every woman I see
Because every woman i see looks like you
Her lips so red that they bled
Her looks were a dream
Her hair, the hair, the horror
Oh, I always wake-up in your dress
Smelling wretched of sex
Turns out I'll even you in death
I apologize for the blood that seeps through when i wear your favorite dress
Then I toss my love's corpse into the lake
When she screamed I knew it was you
yet
The lying sewer rats have revealed themselves once again
a tale has surfaced without credit but begs to be king
this plague and disease has taken away innocent life
We all can see the scorpion in words published in a sting
the odour leaves an invisible stench deeply within souls rooted
Our nation has what it deserves corrupted evil swine
wallowing in self pity crying over spilt milk bad eggs
poor in spirit drunken by their lack of knowledge
wisdom is condemned as false doctrine to address logic
Where creeps the shadows over the truth sandwiched
hiding behind a mask the joker laughs at democracies fools
This world is falling into the pits of hell with rotten apples at the helm
they form a circle dividing people to core beliefs
brainwashed individuals follow their leaders backwards principles
God be with anyone who can think for themselves
because the trendy have lost all faith and love
they judge everyone by their own standards
afraid of the cross they bear malice against goodwill
Sin we all can see how you mutilate everything Holy
take one look into the heart of this problem unfolding
hide your face in shame as the day will come when you kneel
The lying sewer rats have revealed themselves once again
a tale has surfaced without credit but begs to be king
this plague and disease has taken away innocent life
We all can see the scorpion in words published in a sting
the odour leaves an invisible stench deeply within souls rooted
Our nation has what it deserves corrupted evil swine
wallowing in self pity crying over spilt milk bad eggs
poor in spirit drunken by their lack of knowledge
wisdom is condemned as false doctrine to address logic
Where creeps the shadows over the truth sandwiched
hiding behind a mask the joker laughs at democracies fools
This world is falling into the pits of hell with rotten apples
at the helm they form a circle dividing people to core beliefs
brainwashed individuals follow their leaders backwards principles
God be with anyone who can think for themselves
because the trendy have lost all faith and love
they judge everyone by their own standards
afraid of the cross they bear malice against goodwill
Sin we all can see how you mutilate everything Holy
take one look into the heart of this problem unfolding
hide your face in shame as the day will come when you kneel
Your teeth mutilate my flesh
My sinews, my muscles rotting
As you cry, “I am your master!”
As I reply, “I am your life!”
You eat me daily when you are weak
And leave me waiting when you are strong
I neither belong to you,
Nor am I separate from you
You carry me along your journeys
Like a heavy dream on your mind
And I wait for the night to come
To remind you,
Your nightmares are me
And you—fresh and scorching
From the moment you bit into me
I became all your malnourishment
And this I will always remind you:
That I am still woefully here
That I am painfully alive
And in and out of this path you tread,
Till the day you die,
You will always be mine
Windowless with only a door
I sit still, listening
Can they hear me?
Can they take the pain?
Chains, they mutilate!
Rubbing my battered flesh.
Open your ears, listen with your heart
To defenseless voices screaming in the dark
Hear the hollow sounds of battered children
Crying helplessly in their fright
A continuous nightmare of bruised anatomies
Scarred memories
Lasting for the rest of their lives
And broken spirits innocent children must bear
Listen closely if you care
To countless voices crying in agony
Infliction of pain
In various increments and range
Neglected lives thrown away
Deviated acts of molestation
Torture running rampant throughout every vein
Committed by sick minds of the insane
Listen to the lonely voices
Defenseless children crying from narrow closets
Where darkness mutilate guiltiness souls
Open a window in your heart and listen
As a society we must shoulder the blame
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