Who Are You?
You want to be heard,
But not by yourself.
Then again,
Your loudness becomes silence to my ears,
The words left meaningless.
And I wonder,
Do you think of what you say? Perhaps not,
For your voice speaks of its own intent.
Your voice is not your own,
Your mouth at the mercy of harmful words that no longer belong to you.
Neither, are your thoughts truly your own.
And they are left in mind,
Warping everything they come into contact with.
It seems you have surrendered,
Your body not at your control,
Your spirit connected only by fraying threads.
Even your emotions have gotten rid of their old master.
You are not you,
The you that has been before
Or the you that is now:
The madman of unbalance,
Of uncontrollable rage,
Of confusion.
We see them drop the bombs, hear them boast of victory,
It's time to raise our voices, do not forget your history!
We see cities wreathed in flame, children choking in the haze,
We hear the bullets fall like rain, lives destroyed beneath cruel gaze.
"We are God's chosen!" I hear them cry, but can't forget the empty eyes,
The soulless laughter of evil deeds, when will humanity finally rise?
Soldiers laugh and mock the dying, while parents grieve a child lost,
If you have never suffered, how can you know the cost?
How can we bear to watch, but we cannot look away, For the cruelties of next year, began in steps today.
Cry for the sorrows of our brothers, for the blood that stains our hands,
Cry out for Justice here and now, across every nation's lands!
Do not protect the wealthy, make them stand before our courts!
They defy our laws and mock us, so let Justice run it's course!
It is time to take accounting, for what each of them has done!
Hold them all responsible, let them now face the gun!
Until every human is free, we are all of us enslaved!
I wake in the dream of my shame,
exalted by the breadth and scope of it.
This blood on my hands, whose is it? Mine
or yours? I cannot remember…
I am more loss than I am creation.
I am rubble, standing firm. I am a fallen
castle. I deserve this guilt, but must
relinquish it.
Grief: I carry the way a girl carries a doll,
tight and snug to her chest. I undress it at night to
show it my lacerations.
Sometimes we suffer too much reality.
I yearn to know you again, I yearn to know
myself. The rain always has its lessons:
A tree grows through
a rock and chooses to be
beautiful.
I am what I am.
I am what I am.
A painted smile,
A hollow laugh that rings too true,
Bright, blinding eyes,
That weave a gorgeous lie for you.
A borrowed hug,
That feigns a warmth it cannot hold,
And sugar words,
To trap you in a web of gold.
Sweet, fleeting hours,
That hide the rage they try to drown,
A heavy truth,
That wears a lovely, lying crown.
winter melts away
streams rage to brim with water
spring is on its way
in 1950 the rage was to be a housewife
cleaning and cooking were deemed the best life
you would have to wear a sundress and keep your hair pretty
you did not have to be intelligent or the least witty
in 1950 women were expected to dress up for a man
they did not have jobs usually, and they knew how to can
They had gardens, and hung laundry daily on a clothesline
This was expected, and we girls pretended it was more than fine
I am choked by an anchorless, predatory rage.
I desperately crave a single throat to wring -
a solitary architect of this misery to tear apart while screaming 'Why?' into the dirt.
But there is no culprit to summon.
So, the violence turns inward.
I smash things, I bleed, I shatter my own reflection,
only to watch the dust settle and realize the most sickening truth of all:
I have become the flawless mirror image of the very cruel,
wrathful,
angry monsters who broke me.
Sometimes you need to let the rage in
Harnessing it and turning it into energy
A tool one can name controlled aggression
It can provide purpose where is NONE..
Today I need to relish on some inner rage
The world can bend at my feet for once
Go ahead spill some blood I have plenty more
I tell myself, go ahead world what’s one MORE..
Rage..rage rage.!!! Damn her' damn.. I just
Saw an old clip of the chattering classes
bimbo..Nimbo whatever i rage rage rage
In my mind and soul.' At her
atrosciousness, at the bloody mess she
Leaves in her wake.' Savage
is my chest.'
Is
the dish she did offer 'anti-dose'
give stuffed
With opportunity, to engender gen-o-cide
The dirty truth is seen, they will appear..
At this harridns death-bed the thousands
Of victims locked away to die alone.' The children
She terrorized.Before God a parody of
real empathy..With matricidal tones. Is it
Ten or thirty or fifty thousand you victimized
Reid.? Grrrr grrr oh my mind is bubbling
my spirit is eager to see her dis-harmony
And disconnection from balanced society
And stayt a right charlie he is also guilty.)
I thought the silence sat heavy,
but only I was carrying the load,
and so only I felt the crushing weight,
of my silence.
I've found that I'm incredible at
running from my problems,
while inciting them to chase me.
But you did a real good job,
of causing them.
Just as you weigh my value,
to another of my blood,
I raise questions of your own,
against so many others,
who ought to be in my life,
in your place. Oh,
how could I ever make you understand?
When my tongue dries up,
moment your hands tighten on the steering wheel.
I'm not one to make my mind known,
and the cloth and wire I wrapped round my neck,
knows that twice as well.
my grief is not aesthetic,
my sleep is not coming,
my fever dream is your absence,
my hope is your damnation,
my pleasure is your absence.
your grief is my imprudence,
your sleep is your nature,
your fever dream is my humiliation,
your hope is my successes,
your pleasure is your mind becoming my own.
Barbed wire,
strapped round my organs,
tighten,
when I look in your eyes.
The blood pours inside of me,
so you can't see it.
I pray for holy water,
convince them to take me to it,
for you can't come,
or set foot,
in my haven,
if you think the place itself,
is vile.
So take me home! Take me home!
The place that I was promised, before
you all turned on me,
I truly thought,
you thought higher of me.
Feel my rage,
as I burn your home,
to the ground,
for intruding on mine.
What is the use,
in negotiating with a broken record?
I thought you knew me better,
I thought you all cherished me more,
than to leave my broken body at the bottom of the chasm,
after you pushed me.
S=Storm of Roses Rage Red,
T=Teary eyes swell up.
O=Oh my love,
R=Reaching to kiss you,
M=Many miles away.
O=Over the many miles,
F=Friendship turned into true love.
R=Racing hearts reaching-reaching,
O=Out for each other.
S=Sleepless nights come with,
E=Early morning sunlight,
S=Shining through the lace curtains.
R=Red roses as pretty as they could be,
A=As I long for you to be here.
G=Going to soon be,
E=Engaged.
It’s not the inconvenience
the drab of the monthly drape
nor the showtime red but
the play within the play
the horror flick
the creature feature
The Swamp Bit**
The damaged frontal cortex
with the inflammation hits
Starring: The Amygdala!
“hormones laced with fists”
It’s been a psychological thriller
and it’s at its peak of suspense
I am embracing the climax
celebrating
The End
Storm clouds black with fire,
rain falls like unshed hot tears,
drowning out the roar.
Hannah bashed her dolls’s faces on concrete, ripping off Barbie dolls’ heads and cutting their hair so they looked ugly
She also killed little lizards on their yard. But nobody ever saw her doing those things and she always looked very calm and relaxed
Destructive emotions running in her head she was furious, very angry and mad
But having a perfect pretty face and blonde hair nobody could’ve ever imagined that she could do something so bad
Hanna had become very good at wearing her poker face to hide what was going on inside her head, turmoil and terror
She had practiced to smile for a long time in front of the mirror
Hanna had felt real rage starting to boil inside her when her abuser had found a girlfriend
How dare he replace her like that
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