100 Poems on Identity 16-20

No. 16-20 of 100 poems on what it is to be who and what one is.

No. 16

 

Where once there was not a thing to behold at all

Someone loved me surrounding me with care

They placed their faces in my mind to recall

And I learned reality came from someone somewhere,

They etched weird little bunnies in my mind

They taught me colors like red, yellow and blue

To be good and not cry and even to be kind

And that lies were false and that the truth was true,

And I learned that without zero one could not be

That nothing was just as real as anything

That it was real though something you could not see

And like the bunnies I waited to see what else they’d bring

Sometimes they brought their smiles, sometimes just frowns

Sometimes blacks, grays, whites, but never wedding gowns…?

No. 17

 

I am the only one I call by me

But since you do not know me as I am

Everyone calls me you indefinitely

Yet I really do not care or give a damn

Only I know myself better than you do,

Unless you can see things I have never seen

There is nothing here to identify you

Here in this place you and I have always been

Imperfectly said to be that we are not,

Simply some past identity we were;

There is no need to hang onto what we’ve got

It is only imaginary or what we infer

Momentarily glimpsed you remind me of it

Especially since we know you are not our memory of it.

No. 18

 

Only dust was I high up in the wind

Nearly lost in the swirling twirling gust

Clearly tossed in the whirling churls chagrined

Excusably unusually animate dust

Usable crafts for walking on alien shores

Pushing pens to their limits until they burst

Openly ignorant our thoughts were chores

Noticeably alien words and works at first

Altogether I gather the gathering in the end

Terrified stands in awe not judging anyone

In terms of what they did that might transcend

Meaninglessness or a worsening when done

Excessive abuse of the crafts we used while here

Shall cost us more than anything else held dear.

No. 19

 

I refuse to bemoan the loss of a friend which I love

For more than my need to be defined by her

With all of its blessings that, O God, you know of

I could never love her and be just a friend for sure

She couldn’t understand how I felt at all

Her lovers online tearing my heart away

Everything here real everything there small

Suggesting it was if at all blossoming gay

When my love was real where hers never was

Ever fair but a lie I told my heart

Reaching for joys not belonging to us because

Every bi has her homosexual part . . .

I know it was wrong to love her like she was real

Turned weird by weirdos online I couldn’t help but feel.

No. 20

 

In the dirty dregs of our derelict abode

There are those whose decent choice is to change or die

But cowards all we’re weighted with their dreadful load

Social pollution is social pollution that’s why

Stinking slimy slithering murderers they prey

Upon the imaginations of vulnerable friends

Turning decent women to diseases best left stay

Where productive interaction finds its ends

I am not one of them and I hate them all

Like I hate cancer and genocide besides

If I didn’t I would not know how to call

The love I have for better people, which hides

Where sick perverted individuals succumb

To being entombed in a single word, the word bum!

Author's Note

This is not intended to offend their victims but to note the evil cultivators of a sick society they are themselves chiefs of. I have nothing against gender queers or whatever other sick term they choose to unnerve those like me, I hold only malice for those who convinced them such things even exist. God's judgment should their be a God would be most just in their case even without mercy.