I am being forced to live
With horrible malformations
On my body
In my body
I am stuck with them for years
For who knows how long
The people want me dead
Simply for existing
They claim it is in the name of the children
But I am a child
Being forced to grow up
And I am not the only one
There are millions of us they want arrested
Or simply put to sleep
But that is too nice a word
For what they want
They want us dead
In their claim of righteousness
We want to live
Without the horrible mutilations
That we had forced upon us
They claim it's in the name of life
Yet children are shot in the streets
And the places meant to be safe
Are hotgrounds of violence and death
All we want is to live
As children are meant to do
They let children be parents
But they won't let us save our own lives
We are too young to know who we are
Yet old enough to tell someone else?
There is no possible way
For me to afford a roof over my head
But if I were to take my chances
On the streets
I would be thrown in jail or shot
For the crime of being there
I am being killed
In the name of life
And all this was only
From one news report
Categories:
mutilations, abortion, betrayal, discrimination, gender,
Form: Free verse
It was an ordinary house, so I had no fear when they said come in.
A suburban house with a red door, like many others in the area.
I saw no one, but I knew they were there, somewhere.
Hey! I yelled. Silence answered me. So I sat on the couch.
I was arrested a few seconds later when police came.
They asked me about the bodies. What bodies?
They asked me about the stabbings. What stabbings?
They asked me about the mutilations.
I was so stunned, I had no words.
I was put into a straightjacket and moved to a mental ward.
This was the craziest place ever. No one was sane here.
If I got out of here alive it would be wonderful.
I never did know what happened at that house
Because my personalities do not talk to each other.
It is sad that my DNA was all over the victims though.
Under their fingernails, and bits of my hair were there.
Pulled out by the roots. It is strange to live in one body
As several different people.
What was that? No. You shut up!
Categories:
mutilations, dark, halloween,
Form: Prose Poetry
She has belief
without comprehension
and in her crutchwork shack
she is
much like us . . .
tamping the bread
into edible forms,
regarding her children
at play
with something akin to relief . . .
ignoring the towers ablaze
in the distance
because they are not revelations
but things of glass,
easily shattered . . .
and if you were to ask her,
she might say—
sometimes God visits his wrath
upon an impious nation
for its leaders’ sins,
and we might agree:
seeing her mutilations.
Categories:
mutilations, violence,
Form: Free verse
Mirror melted, and I enclosed in solid space of ice
Intersperse images, direlict of other's maiming vice.
Mimicry is not a benign deceit as you would think
Incontestable illusions brought my race to this brink
Cramped with penury and self mutilations. The image
Rinsed in the shadowy world of water, watch it change
Yesterday's victim for the victimizer. I feel a strange
Intertwining of silhouettes, a sinister string, a damage
Suspiciosly hard to explain in the colonizer's world
My usefulfulness replaced by my uselessness, the shell
Upstaged, left in sand's silence for shimmering of pearl
Rude those conquistadores settling in the benign hell
Dangerous not to them who make us unreal in the real
Essence of fire, and by sly ambiguities cruelly conceal
Racial meanings, except where minstrelsy glimpse desire.
Categories:
mutilations, political,
Form: Acrostic
He would never forget the raindrops knocking on his coffin,
painfully screaming in a postpartum (from life) depression,
nor would he forget the stiffness of his entire body
banging on the wood as the carriage was hurried
along the cracked pavement on the streets
of the Holy Land to the cheapest and closest "Ash House".
He had never imagined what the future would bring to him,
now, when the latest experience in physical death
had been caused by simply the absolute lack of love.
He didn't react too much to the beatings and mutilations of the hysterical fat maniacs,
self-proclaimed highnesses in control of a whole degenerated generation.
He still remembered though the permanent hunger of the soul
and the love he had never experienced.
Adnan was not a fighter anymore.
It was time to move on and die for a while...
But then...
for Gareth's Contest: "Leave Me Hanging"
www.scripca.com
Categories:
mutilations, life, loss
Form: Narrative