I'm sick of making bloody history.
quote by Patrick Rafter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Come Day Go Day
Another birthday comes
& pushes me even further
over the hill
iil
unwell
(sick of being sick)
pushing this bloody boulder
like Sysiphus up the bloody hill
yet the touch
of your hand
makes me young
& willing
make me so glad
to be
a man
with you
my woman.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Hit With Shame
hit with shame like losing my game
swollen lips are singing my name
tears are hot and drumming like rain
i’ve had it enough
had it enough
hit with shame like writhing with pain
every word’s proclaiming my blame
every effort turns out lame
i’m sick of that stuff
sick of that stuff
ask for nothing else you say
it’s your fault
you have to pay
for every day
for every day
for every bloody single day
hit with shame and hit with disdain
every move’s increasing the strain
every flower adds to the chain
i cannot go on
cannot go on
hit with shame like hit on my brain
feel as if I’m watching a play
think I’m gonna give it away
i’m sick of it all
sick of it all
this is what you get you say
it’s your guilt
and don’t complain
you must pay
you must pay
for every bloody single day
poem by Max Kuvaev
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So sick of it
I’m so sick of it
Making me feel like I’m sick
So sick of this
So sick of it all
When I finally got sick of it all
I just let it all out, I changed more and more
Explaining it and speaking my mind
Writing it all down on sheets of paper
Explaining why I’m so sick.
I’m so sick of it all
This world, Reality, all this bigotry
Can’t get enough of this
I can’t take it anymore I have to stand up
And fight against this sickness
Battling which is that repeating cycle
Battling Homophobia
I’ve done it so many times
It makes me wonder why I’m so sick
I’m so sick of it
Going threw the same f*cking thing.
Wanting more and more
Realizing it couldn’t ever be real it sadden me
I thought it over and over and then
That’s when I got sick of it.
Got me thinking me of it then reminding myself of reality.
It happened over and over that’s when I got sick.
Making me feel sicker.
Regretting all of the stupid thing I ignored
Remembering I gone threw the same thing before
Anticipating myself 0.99 seconds before the actual thought
I’m so sick of it, all the things that make me sick
All the things I fight against.
Im so sick of it…
poem by Marcellus Watts
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So Sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Ricky Baker
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Im sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Malorie Genoff
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
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OH! I can't SAY that....(a revision)
I'm sick of f\%king Facebook,
sick of emails,
sick of people talking,
sick of my work radio beeping,
I'm sick of words.
I am being cluttered to death by words....
I am sick of listening to crazies on the bus,
sick of television spewing out banality.
Sick of voices, sick of billboards, sick of typing.
I am word sick.
I am sick of people
The more they let me know them the less I care.
I don't care what your baby did.
don't give a f$ck about what you ate for dinner.
I don't even f*ckin care if your grandpa died.
Sick, sick, sick, I am making myself sick
just writing this sh#t down.
Nothing anyone has to say is of any importance at all
that includes me.
I am drowning in words, and voices, and mundane ideas.
I am sick of people trying to 'set the world on fire'
But I do wish them luck....
because some men just want to see the world burn.
I'm sick of f&cking texts and even more sick of phone calls.
I am sick of adverts on the telly.
I am fed up with peoples life stories.
I don't care what you have been through,
as long as you will let me sleep with you.
And I will only sleep with you
if you promise to wear a ball gag.
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Irritating Sky
The sky is always changing –
Can't it settle down?
Shades of blue, then reddy hue,
Puffs of grey and white;
And then it's bloody night!
At least I see a smattering
Of twinkly little things,
A silver globe occasionally
Which admittedly it brings
A sort of pleasant feeling,
Warming to the soul,
But overall it's so annoying –
Irritatingly droll!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Sky sky bloody sky, bloody sky sky
Sky sky bloody sky, sky bloody sky
Sky bloody sky bloody sky sky sky
Sky bloody sky bloody sky sky sky
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mixed Feelings
The tears I've shed
run down my face,
the fire in my eyes
the betrayal in my heart
and endless footage running in my head.
I cant believe what happened
Who are you?
I dont want to know this person you've become
my heart aches
my eyes are sore,
and I am sick
I'm sick of the same feeling
I'm sick of my heart suffering
I'm sick of people like you
And I'm sick of being the one hurt.
How old are we?
It's about time to grow up
I'm not going to stay quiet anymore
I'm going to show you the real me
and the real me is angry
Angry at the past
Angry at the present
Angry at the future
Most of all angry at you
for making me feel this way
for making me shed my tears
for having my heart betrayed
And for making me regret things in my life
the decisions I've made
the feelings I've felt
and making me hate you today.
poem by Chantel Braatz
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Bloody Luxury
(coverdale)
Now when I first met you
I was rolling along,
Just a bar room crooner
Singing heartbreak songs,
An I supposed I could never get next to you
But, you seemed quite happy with my company
You kept my body heat steady at 103,
With your mouth full of gimme
An your body full of much obliged
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
Bloody luxury
What you do to me
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
cos no matter what you do to me
Its bloody luxury
Bloody luxury...
Youre a five star woman,
An you know what to give
To fill a part time loser
Full of reasons to live,
But, theres no doubt about it
Im taking a chance on you
Becos you get my heart beating heavy,
Make my knees go weak
You get me so damn nervous
I can hardly speak,
But, nothings gonna stop me
Hanging on my good luck charm
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
Bloody luxury
What you do to me
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
cos no matter what you do to me
Its bloody luxury
Bloody luxury...
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
Bloody luxury
Honey what you do to me
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
cos no matter what you do to me
Its bloody luxury
Bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
Bloody luxury
Honey what you do to me
Its bloody luxury
What you mean to me,
cos no matter what you do to me,
No matter what you do to me,
No matter what you do to me,
Its bloody luxury
Bloody luxury
Bloody luxury...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sick and Tired
Sick of you.
Sick of me.
Sick of this eternity.
Sick of asking what is wrong.
Sick of trying to get along.
Tired of smiling.
Tired of love.
Tired of pretending your from above.
Tired of chasing you around.
Tired of never making a sound.
I'm sick and tired,
and all worn out.
Please just hear me scream and shout;
'I'm done with you! '
This is the end
At least that's what I'm going to pretend.
poem by Brittany Graviet
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I Am Sick....
I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.
poem by Winifred Harkness
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Going Against The Grain
I'm sick of all the lies,
that hypocrites use upon themselves.
I'm sick of those who create a guise,
hindering emotions in delve.
I'm sick of the world status,
and not making any alterations
I'm sick of being locked away in stratus,
where thoughts stir in libration.
poem by Paul Hankewicz
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chaotic Crossroads
History is in the making
But the larger question is
Should one History be erected
Upon the tombstone of another?
Should a limb of Democracy
Be amputated severely
To graft a piece of skin
On another one so hastily?
History is in the making
But at the crossroads, now utter chaos!
The road blockage is lengthening
The streets are now pitifully full of
Woes and loss and egos!
2011
The History Teacher
Woman!
Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?
Am I History?
Or a part of it?
And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?
Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?
Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.
Are you making me
An emperor?
Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?
And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Sicckk
sick of it..
im so sick of it
im sick of waking up in the morning.
im sick of you saying im nothing,
im sick of you calling me down.
im sick of you drinking all the time. |
im sick of you blaming everything on meh.
im sick of you
im sick of this
im sick of everything..
but must of all your the one im sick of..
i relise your the reson for my pain...
sorry mom..
its time for me to goo..
poem by Cheylayna Bear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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