It makes no difference
Whether it is poet freak or Hello poetry
The sites are different
The loopholes are quite apparent
Human psyche is the same
There may be only a change in name

Good poets are every where respected
Fake poets are easily detected
Great poets are always adored
Eternal poets are highly revered

If writing poetry becomes a poet’s obsession
He tries his best to achieve perfection
The main aim of poetry is to please
Our tension it will soon release

The aim of a great poet is to instruct
But every poet’s intention is to construct
The platform for comraderie
Writing poetry is not a reverie

Poetry consoles, delights
Instructs, pleases, and relieves
Even our greatest psychic pain
Writing or reading poetry is a spiritual gain

it all started when i signed the contract
i knew i was ****** just cuz im black
fresh in its like a jail cell with no bail stepped into a world with no feelings
no heart apart
from this contract i got a duffle bag m 16 rifle
Told mama im.goin' to war
she dont understand i may come back in a box hard to dodge the ****
of the government over here
fightin' for some silly *** oil
negoitating with the enemy
but at the same time i am the enemy? United states burnin' up country while we workin' for free
got **** congress makin' millions more times than me
they say it aint a conspiracy?
they say i think too much and that my feelings touched
cuz i been in combat but truth is
they dont want your kids
to know the difference between reality n illusion is but
i say **** the press the army and im coming back vicious revenge
is delicious malicious
acts been done since man crawled out the sand pit times tickin'
grease the c.o.p so gun dont start trippin' and im still.wonderin'
will i escape the pain and misery the governments done to me and my comraderie
we earned the title of a vet
but they pawn us as trophies they get good publicity
sayin' we winnin' the war
when the war is at home rights being takin' every single day CIA Linked with the NSA no more private security
what the ******* think an IP is?
watchin' over us scared of us cuz of a revolution may bust out the cobb webbs been meaning to do this art is a reflection of reality i callit how i see why so many of military corps endin' up in the penitentiary?
cuz fools is pickin' truth over a numbered name excercisin' rights brings society pain got all the conservatives goin' insane
these muthaphukkas know the real
but they braille with they mass appeal startin' race riots white vs black black vs mexican
nigguhs u aint a American
ya stolen
secret society dont want us in unity
so do what the ******* want to embrace ?Crowleys tactics ?
use that black magic and watch em go in flames
use frankincense and myrhh to focus my brain
i got wealths no riches
nigguhs cant put a price on a mind
im the son of garvey malcolm even that crazy boy Carlin
as long as they stand for true
imma stand with you
army fatigue galore guns indeed
breakin' the demons seeds
that was planted long ago in the garden of eden
serpents been on earth since
darkness was first they had to separate dark from the light wrong from right
now that im out on bail
the military losin' there sight too focused on drug cartels
when they ones who sail
the dope in but the hood gets the pen? ultimate perdition folks in the senate listenin' say its us but we ain't got no passports why the **** they hidin gold at the fort?
Knox imagine that if we were to overpower the system the wouldnt have no choice but to listen they silence the powerful voices that influence minds
fools stay on yo grind
and so what even though my comments is being recorded and audit
but im at peace with self i dont see sunshine cuz its shorted
now take this to the daily news
so these public speakers can report it uh

There’s nothing like a frosty winter morning,
when the sky has had enough
of trying to look nice and welcoming
for you today,
but instead decided to take the day off
and retreat under the soft grey fluff of a blanket, and you too,
have done the same, in a show of comraderie,
cracking the window open just enough
to feel each other’s breath
across the zipping air
that won’t stop fussing
or biting off the skin on your right thumb.

There’s nothing like such a morning
when a bottomless pit of steaming hot coffee isn’t enough, though your heart-rate
is through the roof, but you pretend that’s good
for you, as if it’s pumping blood and heating up
your insides.

A morning when the requirement to stay inside
is no longer a discomfort but an opportunity –
for some calm piano tunes,
just like the wind
converging then diverging,  
to serenade you in the background, while your rough
cold hands, stretch out in their familiar spider web
but this time in a slower
motion stretch
and take you to the keyboard once again,
because there’s nothing like it on a frosty, freezing, gloomy winter  
Morning like this.

It's Friday night.
The drunks are at play.
Is that fun? What they do?
Black out.
I tried it.
Failed.
"Get it yourself."
They shouted at me.
As I asked for water.
While in a docile state.
And yet.
I still want to join them.
Their comraderie.
Its life.

more than anything, i need your love.
i didn’t dare to ask for it, but
your unexplained adoration slunk seamlessly
into the passing days until i let my guard down
& believed you when you said you felt
the same.

you don’t even know the half of it.
you couldn’t understand how i gave you myself
from the beginning, trusting you to be the one
not to break me, but giving you that crushing capacity
all the same.

[one night, when i confessed how much i feared losing you,
you told me,
reassuringly,
“there will be other people.”
but you only made me cry. how could you possibly feel how i feel
when you could see my future in the hands of others & i only have eyes
for you?]

i’m sorry i’m not as whole as i’d like to be.
i’m sorry for apologizing to you
instead of kissing your forehead.
i’m sorry i carved the word “worthless” onto my skin
when i was seventeen
& that you can still read it.

there will always be the loose ends,
the fragments,
pieces of myself that remain
raw & ragged & will never be
okay,
like the nervous, automatic game
played by my palms, as they strain to clutch
my naked stomach,
the moment i awake,
measuring
with practiced fingers,
confirming i have not became an excess.
“too much” used to be far less literal until
i gave my shrinking self-worth a body to
dwindle in comraderie.

i am waiting for you decide you need someone
with more skin than scar tissue.
i am waiting for you to discover i am far more empty
than full.

i am waiting for these jarring epiphanies to come to you
in a rush of suddenly,
a wave of understanding breaking over your bowed head,
the realization i am not
what you want.

if there’s one thing i know for sure,
you could walk away from me & never look back
& i would only blame myself.

Make me understand.
Go to school learn and leave.
Leave with a complete understanding of what exactly?
State, define, discuss, examine, list the ways to get ahead.
Fight for success, it's a doggy dog world out here...he says.
If you don't take them down they'll take you down, he says.
I don't get it.

Make me understand.
Analyse, evaluate,
Keep those answers to yourself one less mark on their test means one more on your's.
The working world is like a jungle.
Only the strong would survive.
What if I'm weak.
Weak with the mentality that I should help my fellowmen.

Make me understand.
Shouldn't we work together to accomplish success for each person?
Every mouth fed, every table with bread no child dreading the dreadful fears of empty cupboard and dry draws.

Make me understand.
Theories, definitions, calculations, formulate your rise and their downfall.
Accounts  doesn't account for you begging for change on the street.
Change your views and renew your review for when they enter the interview with you will trampled them like the enemies you'll chew.
One more time...

Make me understand.
Write in first person, because you should be the first person on your list.
Neglect the feeling of comraderie or friendship.
The only way to be on top is to start trampling from the bottom.
Remember, no friends in business.
Be a friend for food, then leave them face down and flat on the ground.
Feed those fools with fake smiles and phony promise rings.
Then stand tall and claim your rightful place as king.
Trust me, follow my guidelines and you'll be left standing in triumph.
Okay young Trump?

Now I understand.
Now I'm powerful, now I stand tall
Built a wall to make sure the others fall. So they call me a monster.
Because I needed someone to guide my hand
But unfortunately, I asked the wrong person to...
Make me understand.
                     ~Gabbriella with 2 b's~

Where can I find people like me?
Do they actually exist somewhere
out there int the vast expanse of the world?

Or do I sit here bemoaning my self made exile
in the same vein that a child does when placed
in the corner as punishment for some transgression?

Even if there were some community I might
feel welcome in hiding with at some far
flung place pledging true freedom, still I would
suffer the pains of having a broken soul.

It's been a long time since I opened up
my shoebox full of pictures and saw myself
five years old and wading barefoot through
a cold creek....loving every second of it.

There's another polaroid of me feeding a mint
to that angry old donkey, dead years now,
but that ornery ol ******* and I had some
sort've understanding, him knowing his place
and me trying to discover mine.

Most of my life has been spent clawing my
way toward some ill defined future I thought
I had to travel toward in order to live well,
and now I find myself willingly going backward.

My Dad achieved his dream of having land when
I was fifteen, and when I came back to live with him
again, his land became my own, his cares for our place,
became my own, hauling rocks and worrying after fences,
being a part of something that we built from our hands.

The world changed quickly though,
and if I had been older and wiser I
would have expected that the eventual
break would appear when most we all
needed something of peace.

But those minutes in the clear creek,
and that grudging comraderie with a donkey,
getting off the bus when seventeen and having
horses recognize me as I walk down the dirt road,
hoofed friends meeting me at a gate every day;
that is the home I need...and one day will return to.

I grew up watching my parents reduce themselves to their bassist.
Oops, that's a typo:
They are not musicians.
Debasement, so crass.
Humiliation on full blast.
But I guess it's a fairly common thing to dread family vacations.

My mom can't take the hint.
She can't tell when we're disinterested.
My dad talks a bunch of crazy **** despite who might be listening.

There's an unspoken comraderie amongst us siblings.
We're all in this together.
We fight our inherited,
unwanted,
self-destructive tendencies.
When I lose a battle I can always count on them to make me feel better.

Two have found ther wings.
They flew away from this place.
One soars high,
but I fear the other found himself another cage.

It's okay, I think.
I mean, I think he'll be okay.
As for us remaining two,
we're slowly making our way.
Our way out, is what I mean.
It's what I meant to say.

This nest hasn't been kept very warm,
but I guess it's still a home.
With two featherless,
flightless birds to deal with;
I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone.

I awake at 4am
Meandering through
Selfish thoughts

Toxic grains and growing pains
Have I changed
Or same *******

Same pretend man writing
Heartfelt speeches of comraderie
All lies and I false prophet
Proselytizing strength in numbers