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Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
I don’t want to play in your yard
I don’t want you to play in mine.
I know this is going to make you angry
For me that will work out just fine.
You don’t know how to play with others
And don’t know how to have any fun.
If ever there was a big doody brain
Look in a mirror because you are one.

If we don’t play the game so you win
You want to pout and whine to us all.
Too many times you have thrown big tantrums
And when you left you tried to take the ball.
Or you threw it so far away we had to run
To get it and bring it back to the game.
Every time we tried to give you a chance
Everything turned out exactly the same.

You don’t know how to play with others
And don’t know how to have any fun.
If ever there was a big doody brain
Look in a mirror because you are one.

We all believe your parents are the reason
You can’t handle the way life really is.
You’re fine as long as you are winning
You crow and brag you’re an amazing ****.
That’s not what happens in the real world;
Things do not always go your way.
So, now you have to deal with the facts.
None of us care to ask you to play.

I don’t want to play in your yard
I don’t want you to play in mine.
I know this is going to make you angry
For me that will work out fine.
With this path that you've taken
Yourself, you have forsaken
To live untaken.
Like a lone pine raised in isolation, misshapen, made to live in desolation.

Crooked in appearance
From times of endurance,
When plagues like venomous snakes
Left the landscape full of stakes.
You were the one who survived the onslaught.

You combated the disease,
Pushed yourself from the antagonists.
You can say you lived, you survived,
But tell me, what's the use now,
If you're to dwell alone.
The egoist who thinks deserves love, but isn't ready to love anyone else is forced to live in isolation. Not willing to think of the wellbeing of others, they find nobody wants them . They might as well survive, but they'll never be satisfied.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
Almost all my most popular poems
Are the ones kicking Trump’s fat ***.
I know after November sixth for sure
This particular issue will lose gas.
While that will slow me down for sure,
It won’t make me loathe him less.
He’s a charlatan, a liar and a ****,
In almost every way a total mess.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

So I will have to maunder around a bit
To find a juicier source of poetic satire
Than the Big Cheetoh has often been.
He’d open his mouth and spew hellfire.
He frothed and threatened and whined,
And for the most part the scorching
Ended up being his own big ****.
And never was an *** more deserving.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

He’s arrogant and babbles lies
One of the nastiest people ever seen.
He only seems to make sure his face
Shows in photographs in magazines.
He has little understanding of the job
He thinks he wants to be chosen for.
He expects everyone to bow and scrape,
To compliment, effuse and to adore.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
He lives in a world
Of never and always
Even though there is
No such land.
You could explain
All the facts to him
But he would fail to
Grasp them or understand.

It’s all about opinion
And how he feels
And the way he thinks
About what he sees.
Nothing fazes him
Nothing teaches him
And no hint of reality
Brings him to his knees.

He only cares about
What he wants to have
Or what he wants
To make you believe.
He doesn’t love anyone
He hates almost everyone
He only gets upset
But he never grieves.

He looks into the mirror
And only sees himself
Because in his universe
There is nobody else.
You are just something
That is here to be used.
If he badly wants to do it
He is allowed to abuse.

After all, sun and moon
Revolve, rise and set on him.
In his solar system one star shines
Everything else is very dim.
Since he is rich, and can afford it
He keeps paid companions close.
He can stand free thinkers
Only by the miniature dose.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2016
I wanted so much to like you;
I had heard so much about you.
Your show sounded like fun
Sadly, too soon I had begun
To listen between the lines
To know you, see who you are
To know behind the shallow mask
To see the ugly stained star.

I forgive myself for a bit of it
Because I know that it was
The method you always use.
I would later guess the cause.
Perhaps myself and others
The countless clueless mass
Mistook the rich and famous
As people with any real class.

I had to see the gaudy penthouse
With gold used instead of chrome.
I needed to see the fake opulence
That you chose to be your home.
I saw you hobnob with famous
And calling them your friends
Soon I would be let to see
The photo was where it ends.

So, I packed away any care for you
And chalked it up to my youth.
Little did I know right then
I only guessed at half the truth.
Because you put your skanky ****
Into the presidential race
And this latest **** of your ego
Means I never stop seeing your face.

Running for the highest office
The leader of the free world
Sure seems to have given
Your screwy hair a different twirl.
Suddenly you dragged out  speeches
Of Hiter, Mussolini and Stalin.
You shouted the policies of the KKK
And thew your vitriol all in.

Since too many fools in America
Started chanting Trump, Trump
You seem to want to turn DC
Into something like the town dump.
As for me, I have trouble sleeping
Worried your fans might be letting
And idiot in charge of the nukes
So he can bring on Armageddon.
Harmony Nov 2015
When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist

Ego dwells in all
Serves a purpose over time
Ego screams and hollers
Like one stuck in slime,
When it is time to let go
Go it must for the good of all

Just thank and let it go
Promise it is for the best
That the ego that lets go
Finds peace to reside within
All tamed and mature
To tell many a story
To the future progeny

When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2015
Spam is like ego
Fragile, vain, hurtful to host
Flames turning to ash
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2014
Cadaver wants fame,
Posts— poetasteries  . . .
  .  .  .  Never sees it's lame.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2014
Gnat is mucky king!
Little lord thinks he matters,
  .  .  .  Buzzing above *****.
irinia Jun 2014
Egotist, the master of the ego mist
or some ego antagonist
he is so much there
in the center of a web
of regurgitated fears
recycling pointless
the old cycles of
night after day
life after chaos
but no death
after ego inflation
just a rusty song
of imprisoned moments
or undeciphered gnashing
all character is just the dust
you cannot grasp
grey ruminations
curses wiggling
in times devoid of innocence
the cruelty of a ****
refusing to wither

at the end of his cigarettes
a speck of self
is threading a stratagem
to severe the ties
for the ******* of distance
so that he can continue
uninterrupted
to mutilate his heart

no one can persuade the night
into whitening
like you clean your teeth
of curses
the rest is sadness
the dew would know it.
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