What does it mean
To be a man
Or a woman
?
Does a man
Become less male
And more female
If an accident reminiscent
Of one Lemony Snicket
Led to the removal of
One ugly piece of flesh
?
Does a woman
Become more of a woman
When the internal organs
Begin reproduction
According to the textbooks
?
Which part of
You is wrong
When there is a discrepancy
Between brain and ******
?
Or is there greater beauty
In uncertainty and ambiguity
As liberal and conservative admit
In humility, that
In truth
“I don’t know”
?

If you find yourself unable
To comprehend the notion
That is Political Correctness
And believe that outrage is
The result of being offended
Rather than the consequences
Held behind the power of words
I might believe you to be an *******.

If you are unable to control a pathological
Need to spew hate and ignorance from your tongue
And find that comparable to human suffering
Or some divine right that has been stolen
I again believe that you are likely an *******.

As a person, who by his own privilege
Was fat with ignorance, having been spoon fed
Lies and deceit as a result of words which are used
And abused to oppress and suppress, Manipulating
The masses to paint people as this, that or the other
I am only further enraged at this sacrificial death of knowledge.

What thought can you not express in this politically correct world?
What words that are not racial, sexually or otherwise charged,
Can you not expel from your chest?
Without hiding behind the guise of mental oppression, what can
You truly wish to say that you have felt you cannot?

The truth of that matter is not what is permitted.
It is that there is less validation in your hate.
And you attribute this to someone simply being offended.

This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?

This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?

This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is  
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
  (after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.

This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?

This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?

This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.  
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.

This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!