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Maddy Tidrick Feb 2013
We pride ourselves on being ‘America the Free’,
But how are we free when a he can’t marry a he?
Homosexuality is found in over 90 species,
but homophobia is only found in one.
If you want to blame someone, blame the straight people.
They’re the ones who keep having gay sons.
Not one Disney princess is a lesbian,
Not one superhero is gay.
Not all girls want a prince charming.
And not all men want a heroine someday.
They say, "Love is blind."
So why are we so blind to fact that love is love?
What has America come to that we’d rather see men holding guns, than holding hands?
Until recently, in the US military, admitting that you’re gay, had bans.
Homosexuality isn’t a disease.
You can’t catch it, and you can’t cure it.
Please.
Tiger Woods can have 19 mistresses,
Britney Spears can have a 55 hour marriage,
Kim Kardashian can get married for publicity,
But GAYS are corrupting the institution of marriage?
Closets are for clothes, not hiding.
Rockie  Jan 2015
Stranger Danger
Rockie Jan 2015
Parents will warn;
Family will mourn;
Those friends who were lost;
To 'Stranger Danger'

But what they don't mention;
Are the Strangers;
Who don't mean any Danger;
The ones with a story;
Behind the scary looking scars;
And the bans from the bars;

But the pain;
The pain of being afraid;
Being ignored and spat upon;
Maybe you're the ones who are;
'Stranger Danger'
King Bacon Oct 2014
Once upon a time, a long time ago
There was a little boy with a grimy flow
I used to hear him rap in Chicago everyday
And this is what I heard him say…….

He say **** like, he be like….

Ah! and I'm a ******* biter
The size of the incises inside ya might surprise ya
You might need rewind to decipher my cyphers
Ain't nothing on this world worth more than my saliva
I go so hard when I'm flowing
So cold my flows frozen

I'm a rowboat rowing in an open ocean
And I'm hoping, to blow up with no promotion
But dam, those explosions are so slow motion
So, I need some honey bees to pollinate my money trees
Cause fuckery of companies, accompanies that come between
A couple bucks and me, turned my orange juice to Sunny-D

Hide the cash for food stamps, no way i'm funded publicly
I'm hungry, but not for sandwiches I'm ambitious
A panhandler with gram plans and last wishes
Ask for the last table scraps you can't finish
Sell em back when you digest, and I repackage it

Abracadabra, I'm an alchemist, my magic tricks are acting as contaminates
I damage this establishment
They enacted bans on urban camping
If you ask them how they sleep at night the answer is
Happily on mattresses
jeffrey conyers Jul 2016
We pass laws about things we don't like.
Or don't want in our community.
But when you look through the microscope you amazed by those you see within the lenses.

Oh, we protest the strip clubs and that environment.
But pay attention to the visitors or clientele.
Always seems to be someone we know so well.

The businessman.
The police officer.
The minister.
Hosts of others
You know, those important fellas
Especially , a few elected ones.

The same ones supporting the bans on things.

People, even protest Walmart cause of the small family's store facing competition.
Oh, forget about the jobs for those unemployed.
Forget about customers to get a slow economy back on the path of recovery.

We, don't want the street walker disturbing visitors going to the store too.
After all, they have secrets to create several havocs to a happy home.

Again, when you look through the microscope or witness the news.
You shocked by their clients too!

Same, with the dealers of drugs.
Who?
When arrested we amazed that his clients might be teachers/ministers/politicians/judges/famers and the hard earn worker.

Looking through the microscope reveals the sinners controlling us.
Cristin H  Feb 2013
Hipster
Cristin H Feb 2013
I dressed my core in flannel garb
Even though its 90 out
Shaded my eyes with thick rimmed, large framed Ray Bans
Because I can
I’m wearing skinny jeans
But I bought them before they were cool
There’s a hole in the knee where I was burned with a parliament at a poetry club
It didn’t hurt
I spell Vintage U-R-B-A-N
My shoes look like I pulled them out of Fred Astair’s closet
Because I did
I am too cool to care.
But do not call me a hipster.
It’s too mainstream.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Just found my
honest to god
vintage 1963
James Dean Ray Bans
in the garden where
I must have
dropped them
last summer.

Even as an old man
they make me feel
like Steve McQueen.

Now I can pretend
to be cool and smooth
again; but I doubt
my Lady will be fooled.
   ~mce
James Dean, Steve McQueen: dated references, but what would you expect?
All I smell's Hawaiian Tropic
My vision seems very myopic
Bikini girls my visions topic
It's time to hit the surf

Lime and salty margaritas
Hot and **** senoritas
Bikini girls my visions greeters
It's time to hit the surf

Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
But...you're the one I love

Tanned, long limbed and in the water
There's one beauty, I wish I'd caught her
Still, I think she's someone's daughter
I wish that you were here

Sitting here was all unplanned
Where all I see is surf and sand
It's heaven in this tropic land
I wish that you were here


Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
But...you're the one I love

Ray Bans cover up my eyes
As I stare upon their oiled up thighs
I hear them yell and hear their cries
Youthful beauty at it's best

A boat drink full of Cuban ***
Brings me back to why I'd come
It leaves me feeling rather numb
I'm glad I'm here alone

Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
Now I know why we split up.
This is not auto-biographical by any means. I am not a beach person, and am happily married.
JR Rhine Jul 2017
Take me to your *******
@cisgenderwhitemale
in salmon shorts sport polo
boat shoes and expensive cologne—

I, emissary of the InterPlanetary
Order of Eugenically-Minded Denizens (IPOEMD),
have come to rid the world
of this contagion—

who for too long has
beguiled us with their
wicked fashion sense
and appalling profile pictures

appearing on friends’ dad’s yachts
smiling behind a pair of Ray-Bans
with a glass of champagne
drunk underage.

Your valedictorian address
bored me,
your sexist racist homophobic xenophobic (etc. etc.)
inside jokes to your friends
on the lacrosse team
sickened me—

I’ve had to listen to you
brag about your ***** size
since puberty and your discovery
of Spike TV—

I watch you mock Black English
in tweets and hashtags
from locker rooms where
the talk can range from
racial slurs to ****-shaming spurs

(talk never to ****
upon its potential revelation
in a political campaign)—

I film your weddings
where you dance all night
in your Aryan enclave
to top 40 songs
screaming “This is my jam!!!”

I scroll through your #familyvaca2k17 posts,
the immaculate hotels and poolside views
concealing the succeeding flophouses crumbling adobes
and dog-ridden streets of dirt and infinite trash—

I see you engrave in bold
ALL LIVES MATTER
BLUE LIVES MATTER
AMERICAN LIVES MATTER
on every writable surface—

and as a meninist,
lament about the harrowing trials
as a victim of reverse racism.

[The white man’s burden
is to carry the weight
of their inability
to be anything
other than
incorrigible.]

I have come to rid the world of you
once and for all:

Taking the Gideon’s bible
from every hotel
and replacing it with
feminist literature,

burning down every
Banana Republic and
coinciding shopping mall,

cutting the brakes
to every Mercedes, Lexus,
and BMW with a
“Salt Life” sticker
on the back window—

You wear your ethnocentrism
like the sleeves of the cardigan
wrapped around your neck
swaying in the air conditioned wind
like a little cape—

[Behold, Cis-Man!

Whose superpowers include:

Getting away with ****
and perpetuating **** culture,

Minimal jail sentences (if at all),

Guaranteed college entry,

Speeding ticket immunity,

and impeccable draft dodgings.]—

I solemnly swear,
I make a pledge
to never procreate
if it will perpetuate
this vile sect of humankind—

I take a vow of celibacy,
I spill my ***** into the dirt—
not one egg will be fertilized,
not one will be conceived

to the soundtrack of Coldplay,
or Kid Rock, or whatever hair metal ballad
conceived you in the first place—

You are a logical phallicy.

You want to talk about eugenics,
you want to stop
breeding all the “retards
spittin’ on your kids”
at the amusement park—

Pledge chastity with me:
Interbreed,
undilute the strain—

and together,
we can end
the White Man’s True Burden:
Existence.






(p.s.
And it is with great irony
that I write this as one of you—
the Judas to your
Megachurch TV Caucasian Christ—

I write it because
if it were by one of
whom you’ve held
under your [jackboots to boat shoes]
since time immemorial—
they’d never stand
to read it—

for even mutiny
among these ranks
has its own
privileges.)
I stared at my phone screen,
Waiting for you to reply.
With the soft winter breeze blowing through my heat filled room,
I could almost mistake this day for summer.
With you in your ray bans,
And me in my aviators.
I want to sit in a meadow of daisies
by the river,
watching you pick the petals from the stem.
And hear you laugh like sunshine rays tumbling down my skin.
It isn't only until just now,
That I realized that this is not
Summer,
and we are not laughing anymore,
And nothing is easy.
It is hard and I miss you..

— The End —