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twoweekbenderPoems
Poetry is a healthier alternative To picking fistfights with strangers (*OI. THE **** YOU STARIN' AT?*) Or stalking your gigs While groping the knife Tucked into my waistband Because convalescing in silence Is still better Than having quack doctors and faith healers Crowd over your body Touch, rub, probe, poke With their grubby fingers Write you illegible prescriptions Charging you a king's ransom For 'professional advice'. *You just need to get out more. Fresh ***** is the answer! Pray. Have faith. Geez, you're not over it yet?* It would've been better If I just kept my **** mouth shut And kept up the facade A walking picture of health. I don't need your ******* platitudes Your uncomprehending stares The drivel you proudly spew Like how you so lovingly ladle out swill to the homeless Assured of another mansion in heaven. **** you. This is not a soup kitchen And I don't need your pity. (And condescension does not save you.) Convalescing in silence Is still more logical Than rallying people To eradicate sickness from earth By arresting viruses Putting them on trial. A virus does what it does. It is in its nature, Like how stray dogs bite And how ****** **** Poetry is the best choice. It's active non-action. Reflecting While the seasons change, The fullness of time comes, And news of your impending demise arrives Of when your moral destitution Finally catches up to you. And by the time it comes around, My youthful ignorance will have bled out a bit, And I will receive the news With a smile, a cigarette, and a new poem.
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
Poetic Justice
Poetry is a healthier alternative To picking fistfights with strangers (*OI. THE **** YOU STARIN' AT?*) Or stalking your gigs While groping the knife Tucked into my waistband Because convalescing in silence Is still better Than having quack doctors and faith healers Crowd over your body Touch, rub, probe, poke With their grubby fingers Write you illegible prescriptions Charging you a king's ransom For 'professional advice'. *You just need to get out more. Fresh ***** is the answer! Pray. Have faith. Geez, you're not over it yet?* It would've been better If I just kept my **** mouth shut And kept up the facade A walking picture of health. I don't need your ******* platitudes Your uncomprehending stares The drivel you proudly spew Like how you so lovingly ladle out swill to the homeless Assured of another mansion in heaven. **** you. This is not a soup kitchen And I don't need your pity. (And condescension does not save you.) Convalescing in silence Is still more logical Than rallying people To eradicate sickness from earth By arresting viruses Putting them on trial. A virus does what it does. It is in its nature, Like how stray dogs bite And how ****** **** Poetry is the best choice. It's active non-action. Reflecting While the seasons change, The fullness of time comes, And news of your impending demise arrives Of when your moral destitution Finally catches up to you. And by the time it comes around, My youthful ignorance will have bled out a bit, And I will receive the news With a smile, a cigarette, and a new poem.
twoweekbender
Written by
twoweekbender
M
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
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