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Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
You call yourself a soldier of fortune,
you have no idea how right you are.
Even though you think you're fighting for something important,
you're marching for a rich man's new car.
Each bullet you shoot is a stock market spike,
and each victory is new land to claim.
To them you're a barcode or close to the like,
those you fight for don't bother to know your name.

History is written by the winners,
so don't trust the accounts you read.
The strings are all pulled by the sinners,
who wouldn't offer you a bandaid while you bleed.
You may give your life for the flag,
there's honour in that thought.
But they're using your morals to drag,
you and your platoon from spot to spot.
To shoot to **** and see what treasures they've got.

The industries fund each side of the war,
making life and death just a casual bet.
Ford provides the tanks for both just like before,
money spent with a return they're guaranteed to get.
Land's value is more than you know,
'cause the world ain't making anymore anytime soon.
So pick a spot on the globe and go,
and ship out the next loyal platoon.

History is written by the winners,
so always question what you hear.
Behind the scenes there's profiteers and grinners,
and you're seizing the power and resources they hold so dear.
You may give your life to protect,
every single man, woman and child,
but they're using you in retrospect,
and smuggling things in a corpse defiled.
Do they even glance at the bodies that they have piled?

The world's in trouble, there's no denying,
and each soldier has stayed true and loyal.
But at home the problem is double, you'd never know with their lying.
You can't fight your own men and thus you can't get the oil.

Just like every crime, you have to follow the paper trial,
it's no different this time, you're a victim of a government that seeks to fail.
They've made you into a collection agency,
one with guns to force a payment.
It's in plain sight so blatantly,
every person and country has to pay their rent.
For population control,
everyone has to pay the toll.

History is written by the winners,
so only one side gets to plead it's case.
Instead of helping the kids getting thinner,
evil gets a makeover and changes it's face.
I don't wish to shame anyone doing their duty,
I know you believe you're doing the right thing.
But what I'm saying, or eluding,
is they've turned war into business that's always profiting.
So before you put your uniform on,
ask who will benefit from this battle.
You might see the side you fight for is wrong,
and they're marching you to slaughter like cattle.

The real wars are at home,
but they want the heroes to roam,
No one to stop their own war crimes,
counting dollars, quarters, nickels and dimes.
They even call it a machine,
could it be more obvious what they mean?
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
You asked if you could see me before I lost my mind,
I pushed back 'cause I was busy and it turned out that you went blind.
I know that speaking can still be a medicine,
but if the boat's leaking you don't let more water in.

Daily I read the news only to seek out the star signs,
today's lit a fuse literally and inbetween all of the lines,
and I must've read it over and over, about half a million times,
took the paper into a folder and made it into rhymes.

Now I'm living as a shell,
casing in an outdated ghost.
Stuck in a purgatory hell,
sailing back and forth; riding the coast.
But if I balance on the tightrope,
I might make it to the other side.
Clench my toes and then pray for hope,
and hold on for the slow painful ride.
I've been starving at a king's feast,
while the sun's been setting in the east.
I've been rioting while keeping the peace,
while the sun's been setting in the east.

If I stand still long enough I may fight the urge to shake,
I need a pill to make me strong and tough but it's the pill that makes me break,
and if I ask more favours of this world it just might turn to quake,
but I'll sit back and let it savour before I start to ache.

But you can see the snow piling into overload,
and you can tell yourself the sky's still blue,
but if you slide and drift through an open road,
your mind might not tell you what to do.
You'll feel your heart rise than drop,
as you struggle to stop.

Now I'm living in a shell,
casing in an outdated ghost.
The story's longer than I could ever tell,
but the message behind it is what matters the most.
But if I balance on the tightrope,
I might make it to the other side.
The string rises on into a *****,
I'll just pray my foot doesn't slide.
I've been starving at a king's feast,
while the sun's been setting in the east.
I've been only getting what I need least,
while the sun's been setting in the east.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
I was never one for holidays from the start,
naturally I'm almost always depressed,
but tis was the season when life broke my heart,
and gifted me three years of feeling stressed.
Life became dark even with every coloured light,
every tree withered until they became dry,
the old Yuletide songs became cliche and trite,
I replaced each note with a tired sigh.

We couldn't deck all of the halls,
infact neither of us could even stand,
while the normal people were crowding the malls,
I was watching the clock's moving hand.
Santa never received a list from me,
I was too busy writing a final farewell,
I wasn't judged nice or naughty,
no destination towards heaven or hell.

Seven years of bad luck,
It's been seven years of dread.
Seven years since my comfort was struck,
it's been seven years since they pronounced you dead.
The winters have gotten longer,
the summers are never even there,
I'm weaker instead of stronger,
I'm fading and refusing care.

Our carol's weren't sung they were quietly spoken,
you know our festivities were just kind of a drag,
'cause that Christmas not a single present was opened,
Instead we closed up a body bag.
I watched them wheel you out the front door,
no reindeer were trotting on our roof,
I lay sobbing on our cold hard floor,
no Santa, no God, and I now had proof.

Seven years of bad luck,
It's been seven years of dread.
Seven years that image has been stuck,
reliving it inside my head.
The winters have gotten colder,
and summer has lost it's length.
I may be seven years older,
but it seems I've lost all my strength.

I still can't decorate a tree,
and saying "Merry Christmas" cuts me like a knife.
Atleast I'll always have my memory,
and you're with me with every kindness I show in my life.
Really late Christmas piece, but just found it today in my work bag. I may sound bitter and Scrooge like, but I hate the holidays, my mother died Christmas morning after a 3 year battle with cancer. This was me getting out the feelings on the 7 year anniversary. Sorry I'm always such a drag.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
A note to men from a woman: I'm sure you're tired of reading these,
but this one is crucial, I won't blame you for every problem in this world.
But I'm asking you to read the whole way through please,
for we've all been told to be seen and not heard since we were a small girl.

When you approach us to talk, don't look at *** walking on legs,
and don't talk to us as if you'd speak to *** itself.
Don't tell us to dress nicer, 'cause then we'll feel like we're dressed in rags,
and feel that pressure to look for a man for wealth.
Not every woman will use you, but some will,
and not every man will **** us, but some do still.
Truth is, we are treated differently, but so are you,
but we get to pull our discrimination out of our pocket when it suits us best,
Pocket is a metaphor, some workplaces "suggest" wearing skirts and something to show off the chest.
Worst part is, most women then do.

When a man loses a job to a woman; no one bats an eye,
"They've got an equality quota to fill" and that isn't a lie.
I'm sorry for that standard, for whoever is qualified should get the prize,
but we've lived in a world of participation awards and protest cries.
That being said, we almost always work under or for you,
not every time, but most times, you know that's true.
I can't speak for the wage gap, for in Canada we all earn our wage from the same,
but every woman I speak to works harder and longer then the men around,
for myself I stress to go above and beyond for my own pride and name,
while the boys all laugh and talk sports into the ground.

When you want to compliment us, please try to think of something other than our appearance,
Something that doesn't equal "you are pleasing for MY eyes to see."
We'd never say "you look like you've got a good ****" though I'm sure you might want to hear it,
but wouldn't it be better to compliment each others manners, hard work or creativity?
Tell a girl she's beautiful on a date, 'cause that's when she tried to look nice for you,
not when she's living life, she isn't bait,
especially not in sweatpants with an up-do.

You can hold a door open for us, and we can hold a door for you,
We can all hold doors open for each other.
Chivalry is dead, but common manner's will do,
we should treat one another like a sister or brother.
"Men and women can't be friends"
Well to that, I say it's a lie,
and so is the message that it sends,
that we are just meant to procreate then die.

Final message to men, and this one is so common it's insane,
But when we are nice and smile, it isn't to flirt,
It's be polite and sweet, it's that simple and plain.
So sticking with being polite, I'm sorry if your ego is hurt.
Don't claim we lead you on by being nice,
and don't use the word friend like it's a bad thing,
'cause that just proves you're looking at us like a vice,
even if you think you wanted to give us a ring.
No matter what you do for a woman, or your relationship with her,
gives you the right to enter her body without her soberly saying yes,
Imagine if we entered your urethra with needles over and over,
that's the closest comparison I can think of, I must confess.

Now to my females: don't cry wolf when you make a mistake,
I'm not talking about victim blaming, I'm talking about taking it back when you regret it the next day,
'Cause that hurts a real case of violation and heartbreak,
just because you have a boyfriend or the guy last night now has nothing to say.
When a man calls you a *****, please don't you get angry,
It's a compliment in my eyes, cause you spoke your mind against his.
A ***** has a spine and a mind, and that *****'s mind is free,
I would change my name to *****, maybe in front of it with "Ms."

"That's just the world we live in."
"That's just the way things are."
I don't know about you, but I believe we can all win,
In changing it to "the way things were " in a future not too far.

For you see, we are not each others natural enemy,
The real evil in this world drew this idea with great creativity,
to distract both him and her, and you and me.
They organized it, exaggerated it, and flashed it on a TV screen,
to keep our attention away from what's going on behind the scene.

So to all justice warriors who are obsessed,
still hold your torches and pitchfork in hand,
'Cause truth is no matter what 99% of us are all oppressed,
and right now by targeting each other, we work into the 1%'s plan.
All genders and races, we are all allies,
Look into our eyes and faces, and you'll see the ties.
By keeping us fighting one group or the next after that,
We don't have the energy or attention to go after the real threat.
It'll buy them time, while we buy their production line,and their wallets grow fat,
and we'll remain their pawns in their game, and they'll have the coin to place their next bet.
This was written as a spoken word poem, which I've never been overly fond or fluent with. But here's my opinion on the ressurgence of feminism. The truth is, we are being pitted against eachother on purpose. The same people advertising the "me too" movement are the same people who have sexually assaulted women/men for the most part. We don't need feminism, we need equality and humanism.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
She walks away, colours tend to fade,
blending and mixing to a dreadful grey.
In another day, all decisions will be made,
With nothing left to do or left to say.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'll feel a little bit stronger,
regardless of what I lack.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to say goodbye.

I march along, to a beating drum but no song,
where everything is neither right nor wrong.
In another week, I'll lose the will to speak,
only listening to the floorboards as they creak.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
my memories will become fonder,
even though the past I'll have lost track.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to lie.

We continue on, as if there's nothing that is gone,
waiting out the night to see the dawn.
In another year, I'll still be standing here,
and honestly it's my hope but biggest fear.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'd put hold on my honour,
for too long the sky's been black.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to try.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'll feel a little bit stronger,
regardless of what I lack.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to say goodbye.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
Dreams of dawn keep waking me,
I'm going on another spree,
of taking a path that's not worn down,
I've been faking the math and turning it around.

I don't want to go, but I know, that life is so.
I don't want to go, with the flow, they move too slow.

Dreams of dawn keep waking me,
with a yawn and shaking constantly.
Feeling ill and dreading the sun,
so I'll take a pill but it's not the only one.

I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, the wind's can blow, I'll hide from the snow.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want go, I'm feeling low, I'm no swan but a crow.

Dreams of dawn are waking me,
I'll be a pawn along with society.
Too much work for too little of pay,
my knees will **** but my feet will stay.

I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, I'll never grow, if this world's a foe.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, march in a row, and feel the tow.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, don't make me, no, there won't be a show.
Em MacKenzie Jan 2018
I am the rain, contact and I stain,
hydration for the nation but they always complain.
I'm better than snow, or atleast they say so,
less cold but I'm bold when I make the wind blow.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
but the comforting shelter blocks the beautiful stars.
And all of the thunder blocks all of my cries,
I slip when I drip straight out of the skies.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, down the drain.

I am the rain, sun storms I can feign,
it will fight for the light but I always remain.
My puddles collect each dribble and speck,
with a splash then I'm brash just like you would expect.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
the blanket of grey mask the twinkle of Mars.
And all of the lightning makes everyone blind,
you will pass greener grass when I'm around, you will find.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, sunshine's bane.

I am the rain, wash away the pain,
I get bored and absorb into dirt and to grain.
My heart is the storm, it still keeps me warm,
it shakes, the Earth quakes, but still keeps it's form.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
as I fall down on sidewalks and shower the cars.
And when the wind blows it pushes me far away,
I'll travel through gravel but always will stay.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, through each vein.
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