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i don’t know what to choose
i don’t know what to pick
either way i know i’ll lose
and wind up very sick.
who should i believe
when i am only me
what tricks are up their sleeves?
they know i cannot see.
i want to keep my head high
but i’ve been really down
there are no more blue skies
and i kind of want to drown.
everyone is mad at me
i’m trying to fix the error
but i’m mad, too, you see
cause i can’t escape my terror.
i’m trying to stand up straight
but i want to lie down on the ground
what kind of future awaits
if i give up without a sound?
American Media Sells Rape Culture EssayESSAY
American Media Sells Rape Culture
There is a warped perception of women and sex in America due to inaccurate and
fantastical portrayals of female sexuality in the media—media being one of the most influential forms of marketing and entertainment in the country. “Sex sells” is a popular saying in the media industry, and it proves to be true in film. The way women are represented in media is almost solely as sex symbols—female characters in movies are created to be undeveloped, emotionless ‘sex kittens’ who seem to beg for sex in every scene, and this effects the way both men and women perceive real women—the perception, in the end, is usually negative. This is a key example of what is called rape culture. Rape Culture is a relatively new term that umbrellas the many rape myths, misconceptions and media content in society. This includes the shaming of
Dream of a Shirtdrunk writing of a dream of a shirt
by r. spring
in my dream last night i remember the distinct feel of button up shirt cloth
on my cheek. (it was the pillow fabric of course) and it was warm with a
heart’s beat that i know of personally. it was a dance with this warmth and
safety to a little sanjuanitos song that was previously stuck in my head.
i tried to recreate this dream when i woke up but i had 10 minutes left to sleep
and it was just too hard to feel the warmth again on my pillow where, then, it
was cold and damp with sleep. there were lights on strings and dirt floors and
the sky was black and i wasn’t afraid of its darkness because i was attached
to the light, airy, warm cotton shirt—swaying, swaying to a tinkling folk song.
and i was so content all over that i didn’t feel sad. today in therapy i practiced
my first meditation. in my head i saw my pale skin, my green eyes, my black
hair, voluntarily succumbing to its real and valid beauty (for once) and
Two Little Headstones on a Hill With Hummingbirdsby r. spring
There are two little headstones on a hill,
Two pale marbles sitting sweetly still,
Among low, swinging, perfumed plum trees,
Among the gentle humming of the bees.
Beneath tall, yellow chrysanthemums
That beg the stones to come dance with them;
Encased with lilies and droplets of dew,
And are huddled close together, too.
Above the grass so green and soft;
The butterflies shy about aloft—
The sky, cyan, unfolds behind them,
And each have bits of thread to bind them.
This morning came the hummingbirds
To echo back their emerald words—
To tie blue ribbons around each grave;
To beckon the breeze’s petaled waves.
And then at night when the birds sleep—
And the flowers close themselves to keep—
The maggots, moths and worms appear,
But these are only friends, my dear.
For love doesn’t end above the stone—
Death is no death, for we aren’t alone.
I Know YouNot so serious
Not so fast
A little bit
I knew a certain smile when I saw it
I saw it standing in the doorway
I figured you would come
I say words in nylon darkness
But it's more than words, I know
I'm not so serious
Of you catch me unafraid
I'm not so fast, just curious
I awaken in this shade
No more vacancy
The only way I know how
Of course, of course it should be known
I love you and this means yes.
Give Up A Hope"give up a hope"
give up a hope
just one today
you wanted your family with you
you wanted to be at peace and pray
you wanted to show off your heritage
but destruction paved the way
family is the hope i’ll give up today.
give up a hope
just think of another one
you wanted to make ends meet
you wanted more time in the sun
a little more time of day
but nothing will ever get done
time is the hope i’ll give up today.
give up a hope
how about a few more?
you wanted success
you wanted praise galore
but your family left you
and your heart is sore
success is the hope i’ll give up today.
give up a hope
there are more, you know
you wanted a childhood
you wanted to grow
you wanted to tell someone
now reap what you sow
innocence is the hope i’ll give up today.
give up a hope
breathe the last one
you wanted a future
but there’s no where to run
only slow-motion darkness
and it’s only begun
only petrified night-times
and hectic, fruitless mornings
i can never be bjork
i am a Heian princess
i am invisible me
i am loved
hidden and despised
crazed and conceited
alone in his arms
singing without sound
i can never be bjork
i am a water droplet on a paintbrush
no more water colors
too many tears
the legacy of Crylie
i love him i love him
there’s no more after that
i can never be bjork
i am a Heian princess
Note to JarrettI hope I care for you
Like you care for me
I feel not all there
And if I’m not how can I help you?
You deserve to lean on me in your darker hours
I’ll provide my ghost for you
If you ever need me
Know that I think of you
Dream of you
An Old Woman Dying Young"An Old Woman Dying Young"
to burn out like a star
who has plunged into excess
smoked away talent
taken on the wrinkles of loneliness and death
to wash out, like cheap ink from cloth
a gaudy, grotesque, joke of a color from birth
a disfigured image of a young girl
a numb feeling where laughter was
to plummet from the bridge between anger and fear
forever forgotten after burial
ever until then hateful and sick
ever until then cold in every situation
ever until then dead before death
she who forgot girlhood so young
she who never has known a father’s caress
she who never has achieved a place in Heaven
she who never has escaped the comfort of Satan
she who worried about the loss of love
so she never felt it was deserved
she is crumbling like a scrap of velvet in everyone’s hands
they must watch her die
CryCry if you need to
Do it for yourself
Cry if you want to
Over someone else
Cry like you mean it
Make it all okay
Cry like you have to
Get it out the way
Cry in the darkness
So no one can see
Cry in the sunlight
So you can be free
Cry like it kills you
Feel every tear
Cry like it’s healing
Nothing else to fear
Cry for the moment
The last goodbye
Cry for the memories
Cry, baby, cry
Cry, cry to Heaven
For the angel that fell
And if that doesn't work
Then cry, baby
Cry like Hell...
SuperheroAs the night time fell,
grew a city into hell.
In this city of misbehaving,
the city folk need saving.
From the roof of a tall apartment complex,
stood a boy of blonde with white wear.
A young teen of only fifteen,
who must rid this town of its misdeeds.
He gazed at his struggling city
and felt no pity,
as he knew what must be done.
To free the innocent of fear,
the guilty he must make disappear.
After all it was all too fun,
but not so much for all
who wanted to see him fall.
He lifted his head to the cities cries,
to prevent a demise a hero must rise.
not the leastspent the night
thankfully unable to
catch up with sorrow
tripped over regret
so quick to conspire
fanned the flame
fed the beast
not the least
of my problems
DemolitionThe dirt of dusty decades
Lies upon the lath
Beneath a piece of plaster
I found a photograph
They smiled from the centuries;
Those mysterious three
Sent the musty memories
A message meant for me
Sara’s grave is gone, I guess
So long since laid low,
Yet, despite her ancient death
She smiles and waves ‘hello’
I cannot tell Annie’s age,
The words do not say
The owner wrote only names
Her face has frayed away
The baby in the buggy
Lifts a lively hand
She sits between her sisters
Beside the shining sand
This will be the only piece
From the dust so brown
That preserves their memory
Once this house is torn down
May you always Smile.I found no life -nor sign there of- when I entered my home this day.
Lost in an endless heat, brought by merciless May.
The place I was -that I found- was empty and I chanced to say: I have a time.
Callas I discarded -forsaken and unguarded- the tools of wrath and war.
Abandoned and unwanted -alone but not undaunted- left to rust on murky floor.
Smell of battle follows as I head for iron door: to wash this wounded body of crime.
Water comes to dull my pain and, in its ice -like rooftop rain- comes a feeling ill.
‘Does a reflection smile?’ Its master is grieved and slightly wild, but this is not his
Emerald skin feels emerald skin to confirm, yon smile is not mine.
“Hark” I said “What trick is this? Doth water fail? Doth it see my frown amiss?”
Lo, no words -as expected- and in this query I rejected: tis merely something to dismiss.
But woe, smile came once more and, unsettled and unsure, I left the water’s shine.
An empty Lair filled with
Speak.The Blue Jay whistles to the Dove.
The Dove Whistles to the Crow.
But the chances the Blue Jay's word gets to the Crow,
is a chance that can never be known.
Rainbow in the CloudsWhen things seem down,
when hope fails you,
when you feel weakened...
Look to the sky
for a smile from above.
A rainbow set in cloud
a sight to be seen.
With colors of red,
of blue and of green.
We are smiling at you,
we are here to bring you
You have not been forgotten
nor have you forgotten us.
We are here for you
even though we may
not be there with you
in physical form.
Our souls will travel
through time and through space
to where you are
We eagerly await
the day we can once more
to weather the storms.
We will continue
to call you home
so that you do not
lose your way.
What a grand day
it will be
to see you
where you belong
more than anywhere else
Not creatures of light [Art Trade]A pair of two, laugh into the night
Boy and girl, not creatures of light
Cackles of laughter escape their lips
For tonight it was a night filled with tricks!
One named Lily, with hair so white
One named Lucy, who enjoyed every fright
For there was only one who could see
But for tonight, he was no where to be.
Whispers in ears and blinking car lights
Screams of terror under the dim starlight
A push that was from no one, a loud laugh
A slip on ice, a chair split in half!
There was endless fun, for this endless night
Who could ask more, but the humans' plight?
But the one who could see soon arrived
Staring at those had barely survived
And off they went! Into the night
Fleeing from him, before he could fight
It was fun while it lasted, look around!
But now to escape, before they were found
The Great Don TollanStuck walking on a road meant for horses and trucks
Stinking of sweat that burns in the corner of my eyes
And struggling not to limp with the holes in the size-
Too big shoes given by a patron who didn’t give two fucks –
This is my routine, my life after cutting all ties.
I came in off a truck from down south,
Running to the fields when word of mouth
Told of jobs and food for those willing to
Work – a steady living that was fulfilling too.
In the desert of San Joaquin I learned the truth –
There was no work, nor plant life to speak of,
Nor jobs – not weeding and not serving a booth
In the diner down the street where the customers reek of
Illegal drugs – their own anxieties to thereby soothe.
In clothes eight months overdue for a wash
I walked into the home of Don Alejandro Tollan –
A picture of a former empire’s class – considerably posh
For his original livelihood, he was now wan
And haggard from a certain wasting disease
That he h
Graves of Indians and Mexicans"When in the Cemetery of Indians and Mexicans"
by R. J. Spring
I sat beside Maria Rosa
But it was only her rock.
And above her head was a crown of flowers
And below her a linen frock.
Her skin, I expect, is like a bone
Her yellow broken teeth, a grin.
Her eyes wide open, cheek bones high,
And her soul far from within.
Her long, black wild hair is braided up,
Her toes are curled in her woven feet.
Her hands folded in a grim caress,
Rotting Tehuana, attends the Holy Meet.
The wind blows corn meal scent and sand
Across me as I sit and feel--
Behind me lies an Indian man
Who's body is a leather'd peel.
Whose brow is beaded with cyan,
Whose mouth is tight and wise,
Wrapped in a blanket of his clan--
As dusty as the red sunrise.
Whose eyes are puddles in his head,
Whose feathers point above him,
I wondered at this Native man--
And if Maria loved him.
Perhaps they danced for the rain,
Perhaps they gardened the rose-red,
Perhaps their kin did not accept,
Perhaps that's how they wound up dead.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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