They wrote it on her DNA
From mother’s mother’s mother
And all those aunts and uncles
The deacons, elders, teachers, preachers, leaders
They wrote her wrong:
  
“He’s weak, so be responsible”
“Don’t cry” “kneel down”
“Listen” “obey” “because I said so”
“sinner” “he died for YOU”
“Thou Shalt Not” … “shalt not” … “shalt not”…
“Be a good girl”, “say ‘sorry’”, “bow and pray”
“OBEY!”
“You must Forgive!!” Forgive, forgive…
  
(from infant, to girl, to ******* that grew)
Walk the line, speak OUR “truth”
THERE IS NO YOU!
REMEMBER: please, not pleasure
“That’s right, Kneel down, Apologize…”
Meek is pretty
Femininity
Yesss…bow…
seek PERFECTION

“Desire? NO! Desires don’t belong to you!”
Oh, Their desires? Honey, they can’t help it…

GIVE  
F O R G I V E
don’t live
don’t be
Just see
OTHERS
…
…
…
years
…
free
…
me
…
yet haunting whispers of the child’s ghost
remnants of her twisted DNA
Echoing cellular repercussions
through the years into the now
…it’s complicated…
(“May I have a rewrite?” she’d meekly plead)

“To late” wrote fate
she shrugs, “why hate?”
decides resigned just to deal

A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

It has been seventy-three days,

since the Orange haze,

created such a craze.

and I watch from my safe view,

as everything went askew.


Those who get infected seem to be,

already plagued by insanity.


So alone I will sit,

watching the world get enveloped,

by the Orange mist,

creating even more lunatics,

bringing tears to my eyes,

watching idly by,

as everything goes awry.

Dude, cultists are so awful.
Double-speak, indirect action,
All this horrid pageantry.
The intelligence is so lacking,
The feebleness so evident.
Not only in the strength of their arguments
But by the content of its body.
Frankenstein & the monster.
Very stupid.
Arrogant, ignorant?
Yep.
Short-sighted, unintelligible?
Absolutely.
It would stun to think
If it weren't so simplistic.
To take such a reductionist view
On things so complex,
I do understand that need for you.

Baseless threats
And poor attempts at intimidation.
Meek control
Where everything is construed as favor.
Cannibals,
Obsessed with their palate & others' flavors.
Barbarians,
Bastardizing the words of others.

But to run with it
After you understand it,
You're a ******* imbecile.
To not build upon it
But to take it as gotten:
You don't get anything.
It shows.

drop of blood in fire,
trickles down the flame - loyal;
the covenant smirks.

Tell the church,
the priest can speak and yap all he wants,
his words aren't the truth, he's another man;
at the bottom of it all, he will never be God.

Tell the church,
the believers are not blind followers,
the church is not perfect, it's an institution;
sometimes the dark at the end of the tunnel.

Tell the church,
the people are not their pets to parade,
we are God's children, not church's slaves!
if worse comes to worst, it's because of the church!

God is absolute, the church is not!
God is loving and freeing, the church is not!
God's love is unconditional, with the church, where's the love?!
And God is divine, kind and perfect, and the church will never be!

So tell the church,
they can make an enemy out of me,
burn me at stake or hang me until I bleed;
at the end of the day, to God I'd still believe!

And tell the church,
they can silence me or bind my arms,
dispose of me, turn my bones to charms;
until the end of the world, all they do is harm!

There seems to be no escape.  
    The MAGA cult groupies are all queued up.
Tickets in hand, they gather their baggage
     Lining up to board the leaky ship
For a one-way trip to the bottom of the sea.

Their bags are exceedingly heavy -
    Filled with their leader's failures
Formed of laundered cash, ****,
    Top Secret document theft, fraud,
Abandonment of faithful allies
    and defenders of Ukrainian freedom.

There are no first class seats on this ship
     because there are no first class passengers.
They long ago sold off all they should value
     to stand by a creepy hotel clerk
Consumed by arrogance and self - idolatry.

Their hero arrives in a three-piece suit
     to escort them to their cabins
As soon as he scrapes the mashed potatoes
     off his corruption soaked soul

But wait - there seem to be empty seats
     Many former voyagers are turning away
tearing their tickets as they go.
      They tell how they’ve had it.
With lies and losing and treachery.

Too bad for them - for you see,
       There's no place like the ocean floor
To gurgle on the wrong side of history.

You are the sun to my moon
You are the day to my noon
You bring out this side of me
That is away and never beside me
I start to see you rise
I start to bring you light
Why if we are so perfect
We live on opposite sides?
You’re the west to my east
Fall to my rise
I wish I had more than the twilight lights
To hold you in my arms all night.
See the twinkling stars in a gaze
Leave you with much more than the chase
Of after morning glory
Wish we forever stayed
In a state of smiling haze.