Egesta

(Warning: language content)

I scoop poop
That's what I do
Day in, day out
Baggies with poo

Ridding the earth
Properly
Excrement
From four-legged
Beasts

To all the two-legged
Creatures
Who use others as
Commodities

I curse the air
You breathe

With velvet-cloaked dagger
You slice
Faux righteousness as
Your cause
Deed exacted, harm complete
You feign all is well
Moving on to your next
Endeavor
You whitewash
Dipping your brush in
Turpentine
You cleanse and sanitize

Curse every one of you
Whores and bastards

If a hell exists
May you be consumed
By a slow burn

Until then
May all your days
Be bathed by masturbation

I prefer the
Excrement
Bestowed by four-legged
Beasts

*******************
egest - to discharge, as from the body; void (opposed to ingest)
egesta - matter egested from the body, as excrement or other waste
*******************

Context?

Just a bit peeved at liars and thieves and manipulators.

I despise cover up, despise it with a passion.
It happens all the time, every day...in little things and large. All over this planet.

I hope to not grow cynical and to find gratitude for the good and to keep a tender heart in spite of the continual drippings of deceit that surround.

What prompted my anger was when I heard of yet another story of corporate downsizing (in a sleazy manner). It was the straw on the camel's back after the past year of an initially misdiagnosed ongoing drug-induced injury with no accountability on the pharmaceutical end; after mental health therapist abuse with no accountability and then the therapist publicly lying about it and me (and others) and then apparently running from the state and then what appears to be trying to erase the harms; after my car and bike get stolen from a garage and the waiting game not knowing if the garage will take any accountability; not to mention the residual leftover debris of previous years and decades.

One drip at a time to try to crust the heart.

It's the no accountability, the hush factor, that pisses me off. Gawd it can make my blood boil.

Now onto laughter and good stuff...I hope.
_________________

vapor pressure

My stomach gnarls as i read
smooth words drip
one letter at a time
from finger tips
tapping 'cross your key board

You write of wounds
your own and others
yet what of those
you've inflicted
amidst your so-called
justified tone

A hypocrite of hypocrites
one who offers healing
while exacting harms
without remorse
dismissing the inflictions
as inconsequential

Such can cause my blood to boil
perhaps burning away the chaff
of my own self-hatred
to which you at one time
offered solace

Your genius calls
and you are heeding
i'm sure some will profit
i pray it be not at the expense
of another wounded soul


judithpiper
12/16/10

***

When I read certain essays or articles or sharings from people who offer help and healing among those who are in process of recovery and rediscovery after cultic involvement... When I read certain pieces penned by authors with whom I've had personal and intimate experience of their own hypocrisy exacted toward myself and/or others that I know... When I read such, I sometimes find myself feeling rage, leaning toward a feeling of hatred, of their words, and even of them. Their words to me lack authenticity, even though the words may sound compassionate, smoothly laced with honey.

No doubt, the authors have helped some people...maybe many...and perhaps even me. But then The Way helped me too. Other organizations, by whom people have been harmed, have helped other people...and initially maybe helped even those who ended up harmed.

As I've stated elsewhere: In any so-called service/support organization, if people are expendable, therein the org is fraudulent.

We all harm others at some point. It is the denial, the dismissing of those harms, that makes the hypocrite.

At times, I imagine most all humans find themselves as the hypocrite. Hopefully we own up and thus become more Hippocratic than hypocritic.

The catharsis of the keyboard. It doth help me when anger tries to squeeze its grip upon my heart toward vengeance.

Emotional Rape

(Language Warning)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did I hurt you?"
You innocently inquire
You fucking moron
You self-centered son of a bitch
Your arrogance inflates your ego
Your ego inflates your dick

You opened your soul
I opened mine
Then, you turned

Gazing at your back
I awaited
With tender expectation

Unbeknownsted to me
You prepared
Your mockery

About faced
Madness in your eyes
Delight in manipulation

I stood
Confused, perplexed
Mixed signals

You stood erect
Jerking off
With heinous laughter

Jism spewed, milky clear
My personal exhibitionist
I watched in disgust

Your words cut deep
"I'm here for you, sucker...
Lick it up, you trusting soul"

Did you hurt me?
I won't grant you that power
I hurt because I chose to trust
A pompous ass like you

May all your days
Be bathed by masturbation

january 26, 2008
judithpiper

~*~*~

Well, need I say I was angry?  Oh my!

In December, 2007, someone had befriended me via an online forum. After about a month of communication and me being honest and open, the other party seemed to be giving the cold shoulder.  It confused me at the time.  I didn't react like in the poem to the individual, and I later learned the other party was just going through a hard time; all ended up well.

Still, I like the prose....as far as giving expression to anger.  The prose is graphic; and so is ab-use.

I stated elsewhere, "....I don't talk like this...and seldom think like this. There was a time I would never have let anyone see this side of me. It's kind of freeing to have an outlet for it...."