Religious discrimination sells, it's all the rage!
If a Muslim wants office, we automatically get
Suspicious, some pandering to the public's fear,
Deny our own constitutional laws and values,
And never elect a Muslim whether far or near.

I used to write for a reason
Now I just write to strew useless words
Information no one will probably ever
Read, my voice never again ever heard.

She hangs upon the ladder, looking out on all of her glorious creations,
This sun that beats down upon her, she cringes at the pain of it,
Stinging sweat slides all along the sides of her face of newborn nation
Grand things she has promised, although she would build a monument
To honour the dead who fought valiantly to protect their land,
Their new found supposed right to enslave.
And also don't forget their brave new world of uneducated
******, all-in-the family goodness, "un-needed" liberation of
Innocent blacks. Those unlawful ne'er do wells! She would fight
To keep them all to herself and her bidding, even to the grave!

*While in truth they have not committed any absolute crimes,
Like their ancestors-nor any reason why they are doing hard time.

Bite the hand*

You will be behind me, or
Even in front if you like
I wont call you anything,
Or if that is you want me to,
I will call you everything.
Whatever you say,
I will lie here in a pool
of rampant madness, decay,
You shall be my "soul's" leader,
You will tell me when I'm "good,"
Or if I am insane, I won't complain,
I will be your tool, your stool,
I will not shun you if that's ever
Even been possible, you will be free
To ram your religious and political
Ideals down into my mind whether I
Believe or not, or they will "save
You," and take me away in locks.

There was a poet that people would find old
Boring and Stupid...then along came some up
And running smooth poet with all the sharp skills,
Namely-anyone but me. The finest poem by quill.

There was once a poem that people used to love,
But then it got old so they dreamed of a better poem,
One that everyone could find popular and entertaining,
Because the past-due poet was just old news, it was known.

But none could escape the perfection of the brand new poet,
Their poems were so great and it took only a few lines,
He'd have blown your mind and you wouldn't even know it,
The old fashioned poet, this hamlet, this macbeth, just wines.

I at one time had this "unimportant"
Thing called "friends,"
We used to play and run about,
Nowadays it's jut a waste of time,
Don't even have a clue where to find "my crowd,"
I'm just another face in the crowd, oh joy.
I'd probably get left behind anyway,
It's how people are these days,
Don't know if you'll come out to play,
But then again who cares, it's 'cause I'm "gay!"
No matter what it's all my fault, I'm to blame,
So now my life will be a waste, I'll never be the same,
But at least I still have my health and the joy of being
A complete and total "human pain!"