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Lou Apr 2018
Vampiric lambs feast on their Sheppard's herd.
Breaking bread of thy neighbor
How loves call of fertility
Now the bane Bull of consumption's horn.

The Sheppard ****** to death by panic.
Unable to guide or save, is now on the menu
Prayers silenced over the band of gargling stomachs
His papyrus stand of power dissolved in crimson soup
Milk and honey crossed out of the starving mans Gospel

Warp the plains in sabbath machinery
Capital becoming its own atoned staff
The meek claims of natures *******.
While drawing a line to the factory

The staff now a fork on the dinner table' crossroads.
One seat at the table for Perdition
Groaking civilized parallel.


No hope lies on silver dished entree
Cornucopia is the decapitated Sheppard' head
Apple fastened in mouth

Olive pits replacing holy eyes for edible sight
Pickled tongue to speak holy when the belly is full
Ears dehydrated for the holy word.

As said with Christ, we dine to forgive our sins.

Lambs forgiven
Vampires forgiven
Cannibals forgiven
Meek forgiven
Hungry forgiven
All is forgiven

We are organized and all is forgiven.
God forgives in his name.

For tomorrow, we cut out our new Sheppard from papyrus,
Tomorrow, we ***** his word.
Tomorrow, we take the skewers of the Kebab
And give the Sheppard his staff.

Tomorrow, we chastise the hungry.
For his spilled blood.
For his eaten flesh.
All classes in social hierarchy erects some sort false omnipotence in some people. What happens when the leader fails his flock? He gets eaten as a sacrifice. I guess the higher you are, the more disposable you become.
Lou Apr 2018
Strength
                                                   is
                                                            gett­ing out of bed
                  knowing a part
                                                of you

                                                               ­  won't.
Get up 80%
Lou Mar 2018
A community that caters to itself and parades;
ego
promotion
Or validation.

For purpose of
self importance,
inferiority complexities,
Knowledge and denial.

And has
No conviction
No components to give back,
And no means for "welcome"

All should be exposed
and recognized
as selfish public masturbators.

The boring stereotype.
The trench coat kind of indecent exposure.

Sad little man on the bus.
Sad little man in the streets.

Sad little man stroking at a park
Sad little man stroking in the bars.

Newton's cradle freely swinging between his thighs.

Yahoo freedom!
As she gives to all

But,
God ****** the double-edge blade

It's awkward,
arrogant
and sticks to my hand when touched.

I'd of rather have a flesh wound.
But I unfortunately must watch him finish.
be nice to the few people who like the same thing as you. That's a community. This one is sticky.
Lou Mar 2018
What do you see in me?
Every time you like a picture of me?

Is it just another pretty face you wanna put to your waist when you PM or do you seek eternity?

I'm told that everyday,
It's always just about my pretty face.

I get it three sixty-five,
I swear I can read minds
I hear it all the time
You think this is news to me?

You're speaking a lot of spirituality
Talking a lot, like you figured everything out about me.
Why don't you finish this conversation real late then without me?

I don't owe no one an apology.
If responding is an obligation consider this revelation
another blank page in your outdated patriarchy.

Do you actually believe in me?
I need more than a compliment,
I starve empathy

Are you a real human being ready for my beat
Or fiend ready to devour me?

I'm not afraid of men who can eat.
I'm afraid of a man I attract with no means.
I'm scared of someone who leaves when the table is set and doesn't eat anything.

I need somebody that isn't afraid of me.
A real head holder,
I don't want anymore fake supporters by likes and boasters.

I need completion and that's my biggest complexity.

Will you always pay attention to me?
Even when I say repeatedly, "I think I'm ugly?"

I have all these anxieties that build walls to society
I need love one second but the next second I can hate everybody

Do you still like me?
Are you willing to take a step with this girl in the darkness under electricity?

I need more than love I need all of your energy.

No more smiles with no teeth.
No one liners that are bold and weak.

If you want me,
fight for me
but this war could be over before the blitzkrieg.

This is just me.
My heart has a lock connected to a short chain
and opens to one key
I don't make copies!

There's one way in
and one way out.

Tell me what you see now...
So I have been trying to dabble with the thoughts of a woman diluted with messages in her pm on social media. Probably a bad representation but it was a good learning experience. Gotta stop listening to rap when I write lol
Lou Mar 2018
My anger is a gift.
My anger is a gift

And for, that you will not acquit me.

So judge me.

I get it,
You wanna stick up for the little man
But what are the terms and conditions
you got written on your hand?

Is that freedom?
Determined to rid the vermin
Hatreds poisonous venom
Annihilation of oppression
By concreting a standard that fits your balance?

Fascism
Disguised by liberal ways.
Cause the left won the culture war
And we must fulfill the agenda to save the day.

Or is it about the money?
With a buck in my right hand
And my left fist full of pills grasping in half prayer for rehab

They say I need help.
My mental status is high on bad health
I'm caged in my brain,
All 9 circles of hell
With no guiding light,
I'm always told to tread light
My heart beats questions,
my words start fights.

I am the snow storm of Capricorn
Loose chains around my neck

Pentacles
Cups
Wands
Swords

Astro-Tarot cross burns with no exhaust
At the bottom of the gate,
You can see my bones in Lucifer's mouth.

So why do I feel angelic?
My anger is prolific
Biblical scriptures leave me destined for heathen obsessions.

I am the division
No balance without permission
My air fuels fires and creates unison.

I am destruction
But  rebirth in the same phase.
Cycling the celestial waives
Swearing in God's name.

I can't be the only one
Who feels that condescending thumb
We must create a stage to fit the population
who wants to express their pain to his son.

But its crowded,
About to cave.
The weight of the world will be best defined in mass graves.

And here comes my gift.
My anger is my bliss.
I can't come to grips on why the world is the way it is.
I respect this age for hands raised in rage.
But I will be quick to slap down others who think they are center stage.
I'll break anyone's four walls and follow Shakespeare in a Socratic annoyance.

This is a moment of clairvoyance

Repeat these words with me and find a voice;

Solve
Coagula

Solve
Coagula

Dissolve the paradigm
To form a new life

Solve
Coagula

Solve
Coagula

My gift to the world
Is written on my arms.
kind of a mind dump, haven't written much lately so i decided to just try instead of festering. This is about frustration of knowing who I am and dealing with social Olympics of others and the political landscape. The "in the moment philosophy", most seem to indulge on when arguing to be right, but really the point has been agreed on, just like to hear themselves talk.
Anger is a gift that triumphs over subordination of current status. If you're unhappy and oppressed, dismissed, this maybe for you.
Lou Mar 2018
I over heard a man say,
In all tone tailored misogyny.

"Women only write to gain sympathy;
trauma is the only word that they know to write in their tear stained diary's.
And the only "gentle-man"
kind enough to wash their emotions down,
chasing fire with gasoline.
Secretly wished he drank his filtered water silently..."

In all the heights of talks at the bar.
Shots being set off
like battles to march.
Blitzkreig novelty in subtle exchanged gazes.
Awkward waives of air strikes,
cued me to infiltrate with a statement.

If we could rewind back a bit:
Manson.
Corso.
Frost.
Shelley.

We as men,

we got paper in that social economy.

We've cornered the market with deep pockets,
and I'm personally buying up property.
if you have any trauma on this street
all the way to the corner of Fuckitall and defeat,
your words pay indulgences
to my agony.

We as men sank the dollar down with women walking away thinking we are just crazy.

We convinced ourselves we are rich and strong...
we are rich and strong...
...rich with strong anxiety.

Too bad an ego doesn't have a mirror to flex in proudly.

When things start looking good,
We question everything-
until we ruin the quality.
We wish we could start
handing out apologies
that could clean ourselves off
of guilt and second guessing
while we simultaneously
call out to every hot body we see.

That isn't boys being boys, that's mania.
We beg for a monetary insanity.
We pay for Electro lobotomies
And we take it like a man!

Like a homeless man...
shaking his can empty,
the only reflection
that's relevant of me.

I am the Can filled empty,
emotionally starving for change.

You can invest into our **** measuring moments ,
and track how many times quarterly we lose inches to self-pity,
we trade reason and go all in for compensation!

If we had a board of executives,
they would think for...
Ehh maybe a second; (meh)
Who needs to be invested?
when hair gel and resentment are certified and cost effective?

Blame, shame,
**** displayed disco games.

These are the tools we need as men,

Oppression, projection, beard cream, soggy dreams

We stuff our pants big
With a little tragedy.

All to have this conversation.
When the dollars weak
print out sexist paper statements
to inflate insecurities.

We men, we no speak.
Cause our fathers didn't put money into a *****.
We buck up or pay up.
the only men we can hear talking
Washington, Franklin,
and Lincoln penny's.
We ***** ourselves
And waited 30 days for warranty.
And took one for the team!
One more for someone else's American dopamine !

Kronos out of this time.
the statue we built of Atlas, crumbling.
Can man no longer lift the globe and say he needs nothing?
Has Gaia come home demanding her sons to reap what is printed on a receipt?!

Men who don't talk about trauma are traumatic.
If diaries are more soaked in women tears than ink,
why do we rub their faces into their single word dictionaries?

Is it so they cannot breathe the possibilities
that their tears and ink have formed other words
WORDS that could create sentences
SENTENCES on those stained pages
and all over those PAGES
She would explain it all;

In TEARS
and INK
and STAINS

"WE ALL FEEL PAIN."

Trauma bets against us all and leaves no *** or races.

Write trauma.
Right trauma,
By writing trauma away.

Women/Men.
sexism in poetry
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