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cv Feb 2016
in this stressful society we have,
so much slanders,
                              sins,
                                     scandals
                                                     have been scrutinized over
and over
              again

for the satisfaction of sardonic,
                      scornful,
      "sacred"
­disparagers.

      nothing shocks me more
           than the so-called "spectacular" sculpturing of others
  based on the dehumanizing standards
                                                       ­            of mankind.

shackled
              by the scalding hands of screeching vermins,
why do we keep on letting ourselves be scarred--
                                  stuttering,
     ­                                                shuddering,
              screaming
for help
because simple succors are never,
                                       have never been,
                                         will never be
                                                                  enough?

why
       do we keep letting ourselves be singled out
as stigmas
        when "failing" society's endless scans for
superficial perfection?

*(how sickening.)
/just a little thing i made maybe a year ago. i had a lot of fun with this.
(although, i have no idea how this would look like in mobile.)/
Al Aug 2015
i think a part of me will
always love being six years old—
love being tiny, unassuming, cold
in my reactions, bowled
over by my peers, told
to be bigger, brighter, better.

i am largely the same now—
but i am no longer six.

no one tells me to
become any bigger
or brighter or better,
being small means being
crushed, and if i am
overlooked, no one cares.

if i were six, this
would sadden me.
but i am no longer six,
i no longer care,
and i am alone in my
acquired apathy.
on some level, i recognize that there are discrepancies between my worrying for others and lack thereof for myself, but i hardly bother with it. that said, do not be like me, please. (lol).
paper boats Dec 2014
As
This burden of breaths
Takes its toll at times
Conjunctions cloud these corollaries
For fog to float further
And away, and away.....
**And away
I don't know what to write,
because my mind is white.
A walk would be in order,
to get thoughts out of disorder.
As I'm trekking through the forest,
I get an idea! A florist
who goes to Vegas
and...encounters writer's block.
I just got writer's block while trying to write a poem and it turned out to be this random, rhyming poem with awesome alliterations in the notes. :)

— The End —