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madameber Oct 3
I am an insult to the concept of race,
A thought experiment that didn’t get far
Enough to be included in the mix,
A lack of imagination in their
classifications and categorisations,
I was unwritten, a source of confusion
For later generations convinced of
The natural division between nations,
I was a glitch in the system,
The number two where just one
Should have been, the result of somebody's
Irresponsible coding, I was an omission,
An improbability made impossible to be.

I am a danger to the concept of race,
Because I cannot be defined within
The limited scope of what it means
To be other, because I’ve danced
Across the lines meant to divide
Two sides, and played the roles assigned
To two supposedly different kinds
Of people, my flexibility confuses
The boundaries and disrupts
So-called realities, my existence exposes
The fault lines beneath the stories
We trusted to explain our selves to us.

I am a challenge to the concept of race,
Unable to exist on either side
I occupy the space between the lines,
And I am not alone in my defiance,
Not the only one tired of defeat and
Compliance, of being reduced into
Someone else’s truth, of talking politely
And making excuses so they can continue
Their ruthless manoeuvres to swallow
Us back inside the machine, dictate
Our personalities and wipe our minds clean,
But we've tasted freedom and we're not
Going back, we’ll reclaim our identities,
Invalidate the categories that divided
Us in the first place, the bitter performance
We called race.
it's a working title.
Perdue Poems Jul 13
around the post they skip
with rope in hand
growing tight
with smiles delight
but smiles falter
their skipping stops
their post was not to share
they tugged their ropes
tied to the post
and ripped themselves in half
Darryl M May 8
Before the rain, came the dawn.
Before the sunset came the shivers of the spine.

Same as I am, they call it.
Of unease they feel.
Ashamed of me, ashamed of us,
Ashamed of what I call being.
Ignored I am, but flamboyant I shine.

Quiet I am to theirs,
Disgusting, they call mine.
Hated it is, when talked about.
But enjoyed it is, when watched upon.

Assumed an easy make in search for nether regions.
Wrong they are.

A dimmed life for the living, in the Dull of the Sun.
Completed: 21st April 2018 [18:35 PM]
Dull of the Sun – an LBGT Poem

It’s difficult being the mouth/voice of the people, because you must choose which people you speak for.
Darryl M May 6
Speech of Silence.

I don’t stand for Wrong.
I don’t stand for Right.
I’m that thin fabric of Character!

Boisterous crowds in shouting,
A void I leave in meaning.

‘Against a deed,’ they say.
But against me, they stand,
poke, push, laugh, insult!
A snake, I am,
Yet venom they spit.

Do I fear?
Would I ever?
Only the Poet in the Skies can recite.
I’m Alive!

Just a simpleton,
Filled with red nose jokes.
An Earthquake, they tremble.
Rains of fun, I enjoy,
Umbrellas of skirts, they hide behind.

I don’t stand for Wrong.
I don’t stand for Right.
I’m that thin fabric of Character!

Echoes of a Vacuum.
Lorrin Feb 26
I am a part of a broken generation
Our economy
Our climate
Our very way of life
- broken -
I am apart from this broken generation
I will strive
To fix
To heal
To love
The hatred that spreads like cancer
Blackening the hearts of the world
I will stand apart
I will love the broken
And heal the hurting
And perhaps
The next generation
Will be a little less broken.
Ryan V Jan 9
I address this grievance to the flag of the divided state of America, and to the nation for which it stands, one electorate under law, rhetorically divided, with liberty and justice for sale. Where supply and demand is the law of the land, America. Land of low fat low carb gluten free gluttony. Home of the diet double espresso. Nation of a decrepit prescription of the common condition based on callous repetition of rhetoric. We can't Compromise the promise of compatibility for a culture of coercion through coined commerce currently creating currency through craving. A public sporadically radical, showing signs of torrential existential turmoil and torment. Imprisoned by cuffs and shackles, chains and whips, butts and ******* and legs and hips. Now there’s bookbags full of mags and clips. Classes taking cover, news flash another weeping mother followed by the voice of the mass’ biased thoughts and prayers, and to think that this once was rare. My country tis a fee, land where it costs to be free. Home of break back opportunity and men maintaining slavery but nicknaming it economy. Establishment of laborious lobotomy. Land where justice is blind except to class and color line, federally funded crack ******* genocide, slyly twisting the rhetoric, the difference between prescription and criminal addiction is aesthetics. Yet they try to blame the ****** epidemic for mass incarceration invading the lives of those too poor to be patients. Enforcement is cuffing crack ****** while cops get nose bleeds with escorts behind closed doors. Outlaws working corners and streets while all rights are reserved between corporate sheets. Private prisons profiting on human rights violations using correctional castration to remove voices by stripping votes and choices. Rehabilitating via dehumanization. Now chain-gang gathered cop shot corpses litter the monstropolis its a matter of time and we ain't as fast as the clock is. Tick Tick bang there goes the next kid, would've rather he'd been arrested but for those below so it goes, unnoticed, no mass hysteria. So it goes when you're made in America.
gravygod Dec 2018
i'm not sure what to do with all the distance
it's been months that have felt like years
i can remember when you came into my life in the winter
and I can remember when you left in the summer
arrival and departure
the distinct difference between the two
i'm only at the thin line of division
the way my emotions don't add up
like miscalculated algebra
all to your advantage
i kept your love letter
the letter where you plagiarized a novel
because i wasn't good enough for your own words
that was my only closure
i wanted desperately to burn the stuffed bears from the carnival
i could only part with one
when i hold it close to me
i feel like how a child would
expecting prizes only in fabric and cotton stuffing
not words of affirmation or love
i almost drove by your house
but i knew i would only go mad thinking
of who has been touching your new furniture that i helped pick out
leaving their fingerprints in place of mine
i miss my t-shirts that you still have
i hope when and if you wear them
you can feel me close
my heart beating where yours is
sometimes i feel like i miss you enough for you to show up
as if my pain could teleport
the craving of a complete closure
one where i don't need liquor or a lighter
others bring up your name
as if i'm not in the process of misplacing the letters
or dismissing the syllables
i've been trying to forget your face
your face of sharp bones
flaring nostrils
and nostalgic lips

i've been trying to imagine if that night would have never happened
when that veteran couldn't take himself anymore
he chose you to be his last interaction
it was all in hints
he was screaming for help without making a sound
how were we supposed to know
i still wonder where that blue jay is that he buried behind the building
i just couldn't bare to see it
now i wish i made a map
X marks the spot where our love died
i remember when you had to bury your own blue jay
you never saw it coming
you took the wrong step and it was under your foot
just like he said his bluejay was
fidgeting and fighting for life
i'd like to think it was a sign from him
to let you know it's possible to move on and forward
so you did
you moved on to scabbed skin and worn-out lungs
i moved on to scholarly headaches and false pretenses
back then i could never fathom my days without you
now i find it difficult to recall how we were
it feels like our romance was a dream
because it only felt real when i was asleep
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