veritas Jul 26
oh sweet moon-milk of mine
soft crescent (swift faded
honey-pink curling  now
lie down.
oh blushing beautiful lovely
boy-doll waning cheeks
feed up, love.
caressed smooth marble skin
slow down
luna lit cherubic boy of mine
perfect cupid arrow
i literally wrote this for jimin so uh yeah...
Acina Joy Jul 23

Sometimes, there is an inner darkness that speaks too close to our hearts. Tempting us. Making us yield.

I know it is bad to bow down to these baser motives. These seductions that occur in the darkness of our beings. But, this all depends on us.

To decide whether or not to fall victim to its height of bliss, or to eventually fall to our knees once these illusions are over. It is my decision whether or not to fulfill this growing void.

My only question is, who would always be foolish to believe that darkness is a monstrous path, rather than a human delusion?

Pretty biased on this one, but all I wanted to express was that darkness was something that existed long within man, rather than achieved. I believe it is innate, but not always acted upon. It only needs a push and a nudge to click off the safety pull the trigger. That action in itself is hard to decide, but easy to do, just as evenly as darkness and light.
Brent Kincaid Jul 15
It used to be fun, loving on the sly.
An exciting time, but I don’t know why.
What was so thrilling about it all then?
Nothing to be proud of. Not very zen.
Sneaking and giggling like a fool
Only proves to me now I was a tool.
But for those of me raised in that time
Being gay and horny was a big crime.

Even now, many say they don’t mind it
But if I have to be gay, I must be quiet.
Don’t talk about my time with a guy.
If I have to do that, do it on the sly.
They invent unclever euphemisms
And further deepen the sexual schism
That says we are good and you’re not
At least according to the family I’ve got.

They’ll just wink and dig with an elbow
And that’s they way they want it to go.
Of course, even better, just don’t say
That you I am one of those, you know, gay?
We’ll all know stuff, we don’t want to know.
We won’t discuss your twisted shame, oh no.
We'll just gossip with each other about it
And none of us in any way will ever doubt it.

After all, the bible I didn’t read condemns it
So, even though more of society permits it
It really isn’t right, they condemn me to hell.
Oh, I have heard this lame tale that they tell.
Of course, I read that book and they’re wrong.
They changed the story as time went along.
But they’d know all that if they took a look
And actually read their religion’s book.

So, decades ago, I changed my thoughts
And now use on them what they have taught.
I nudge and wink and agree not to discuss
The crap they do and their errors about us.
I don’t ask them with who they are cheating
Or other Christian teaching they are defeating
By paying attention to the mote in my eye
By my love for a perfectly respectable guy.
They chose to call it The Freedom Tree
Because in their ultimate wisdom
They felt it represented all of mankind
And their famous bid for freedom.
But all the while they didn’t really intend
For all the people to enjoy it.
They meant the right people in their laws
And selectively chose to employ it.

It stood in the center where battles were
And where some patriots had died
And from the beginning they ignored many
And abused them far and wide.
They argued that they were not really people
These of color or unaccepted belief
Then subjected them to the very horror they
Themselves had come here for relief.

So this was The Freedom Tree so named
By some kind of patriotism that chooses
Who gets to live, and love and prosper
And in the end, decide who loses.
Maybe they should have chosen a name
That said what they thought was right;
Maybe the name should have been
The Tree of Freedom For Everyone White.
Warm up
Listening to intuition
Hands full
Cast as a wallpaper
Time traveler
Witnessed the disgrace
Can’t explain more
Stereotype, eccentric?
Towards a familiar face
Being a neophyte
With a marijuana life
Switching gears into auto pilot
Floated with no gravity
Clarity, that makes no sense
Unseen, unheard but close to heart

A selection bias
Let the Adrenaline rush
Dream or nightmare?
Claws sharper than Scalpel
Waiting for a response
“Yes” is the answer
Proof of life
Night with an open eyes.
God’s mistake
All come with an expiration date.
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Just because I’m vulnerable
doesn’t mean I’m weak.
Just because I don’t cry in front of you
doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.
Just because I don’t speak up
doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.
Just because I don’t react
doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tear you apart.
Just because I smile
doesn’t mean you can walk on me.
Just because I don’t hurt you back
doesn’t mean I lack masculinity.
Just because you say I am fat
doesn’t make me ugly. Not uglier than your soul.
Just because you say I’m feminine
doesn’t make my gender redundant.

I’m more a man than you’ll ever be, choking on your insecurities.
Getting kicks out of putting other people down,
everytime you feel threatened by the vastness of the world.

Just because I don’t stop you
doesn’t mean you can go back to doing what you did.

Just because I am me.
And not the version of me,
You want me to be.
Just because I am me.

And just because
I don’t roar doesn’t mean I’m not strong.
I’m more than capable of ripping you to shreds,
with my weaponry of words.

Just because.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
After I pay off my school loans
Whenever my banker pleases
To let me out of the contract
With its usurious interest fees
And I am sure I will get there
When I am down on my knees.

I’ll have my Republican Bible
With its verses edited wisely
To exempt all the white folk
From behaving quite nicely
And making sure welfare
Is only for rich white neighbors
The rest are not allowed in
Our society except as laborers.

I am sure that Republican Jesus
Will welcome me quite warmly
For supporting the death toll
Of our Christian Soldier army.
He will be so delighted that
We vilified ungodly abortions
And how we treated those awful
Poor mothers and their orphans.

He will have to be delighted
That we held back the riches
We gained from our warfare
Ignoring our soldiers in ditches
Or maimed in those battles
We know you wanted us to wage
In the name of Republican Jesus
Out of our holy sense of rage.

Republican Jesus surely will
See how cleverly we diverted
The money to the richest people
Not the soldiers we deserted.
And, how only the people who
Did not need help financially
Got all the extra wealth we had
And we made sure of it annually.

I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
And I’m sure greed and bigotry
Will just tickle him to pieces
Because it says in the Bible
The only people who will get in
Are the people that look like me
And vote for all the same men.
Between circular arguments
and confirmation bias, critics
debate the fallacies of Faith,
themselves unable to connect
to Yahweh via the divine spark
that has drawn us closer to Him;
each individual has been given
a unique measure of Faith; yet,
desire dictates the development

of our personal growth in Christ.
The Scriptures remain available
to those wishing to receive the
fullness of God’s Love or those
wanting to dispute His authority.
Now people choose to search only
for information that support…
their preconceptions; after all,
we’ve the choice of Death or Life.
Inspired by:
Rom 12:3; 2 Cor 10:15; Eph 4:13;
Deu 30:19

It should be noted that many people studied The Word of God with the
original intent of disproving its many truths, only to become saved to
their own surprise. A fact that is ignored by the mainstream media.

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
Pretty girl,
Started out a fellow
All alone there
Hiding in her cellar
Went to the church
The priest said to confess
The scummy man
Then asked her if she dressed.

He said to her
It it was her holy duty
Then he called her slut
And grabbed her by the booty.
Pretty girl
Damned now and confused.
It never occurred
That she had been abused.

But she had
A friend living next door.
That was me
And I knew she was not a whore.
Just a kid
Who in those times
Was reviled
Her gifts from God called a crime.

I took her out
Rollerskating and to dances,
As a girl.
I believed in second chances.
She left school
And started life as a fashion model.
No longer did she
Hide her soul inside a bottle.

A lovely tale
One that could have been so sad;
She stood up
From then on life was not so bad.
Pretty girl
Started her life out as a guy
But much of her
Was too wonderful to deny.
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
Hey, aren't you
That son-of-a bitch
Whose mother jumped the wall.
Yea! You know who you are.
I spotted you hanging on the corner
Through the windshield of my car.
Were you talking conspiracy,
And planning your next job;
Dealing girls, drugs and guns,
Looking goth macabre.

You know who you are.
I saw you look right back at me
Through the side window of my car.
You were talking to your buddies,
I couldn't hear what you said,
I'm convinced it wasn't good,
By the tatoos on your head.

Yes, you know who you are.
You're still idley standing there,
In the rearview of my car.
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