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Homeathome Jun 2019
Chances are you forgot you have an ace
In your pocket, questionable thespians are weary, winsome women
In a poet's life, bringing him to temptation and avoiding coyness
Coarse behavior can be a form of attention and aptitude
But the coquettish reminded me of the inhibitions as an observer
An accosted girl left in a town also was a part of this terse reason
Edicts could have been written on her spontaneous knowledge
Buttressing this poor logic was her reasonable interest in my expression
Art, was a class apart when we sat together creating a dense-structured essay
Yearning for better proliferation in opulent desires, ideas were purloined
Carpe Diem became Carper Nocte
And the Illuminati Du Ponts were a sourced for respite
As her religion didn't interest me
Her faith in God brought me tears
I folded her legs and broke her spirit
Took her to a place where religion made me happy
The release was being with a long-lasting ******
The happiness was in the blood
Blackness hovered her face as she was gonna get it
The pressing of the abdomen didn't bring adolescence anymore
God what is time to those religious, but, reckless
In the everlasting love for enervated breath and emotion
Relentless, there were frescoes of superior litany veritably written
"What moves those of genius, what inspires their work is not new ideas, but their obsession with the idea that what has already been said is still not enough."- Eugene Delacroix
JR Rhine Jul 2017
Take me to your *******
in salmon shorts sport polo
boat shoes and expensive cologne—

I, emissary of the InterPlanetary
Order of Eugenically-Minded Denizens (IPOEMD),
have come to rid the world
of this contagion—

who for too long has
beguiled us with their
wicked fashion sense
and appalling profile pictures

appearing on friends’ dad’s yachts
smiling behind a pair of Ray-Bans
with a glass of champagne
drunk underage.

Your valedictorian address
bored me,
your sexist racist homophobic xenophobic (etc. etc.)
inside jokes to your friends
on the lacrosse team
sickened me—

I’ve had to listen to you
brag about your ***** size
since puberty and your discovery
of Spike TV—

I watch you mock Black English
in tweets and hashtags
from locker rooms where
the talk can range from
racial slurs to ****-shaming spurs

(talk never to ****
upon its potential revelation
in a political campaign)—

I film your weddings
where you dance all night
in your Aryan enclave
to top 40 songs
screaming “This is my jam!!!”

I scroll through your #familyvaca2k17 posts,
the immaculate hotels and poolside views
concealing the succeeding flophouses crumbling adobes
and dog-ridden streets of dirt and infinite trash—

I see you engrave in bold
on every writable surface—

and as a meninist,
lament about the harrowing trials
as a victim of reverse racism.

[The white man’s burden
is to carry the weight
of their inability
to be anything
other than

I have come to rid the world of you
once and for all:

Taking the Gideon’s bible
from every hotel
and replacing it with
feminist literature,

burning down every
Banana Republic and
coinciding shopping mall,

cutting the brakes
to every Mercedes, Lexus,
and BMW with a
“Salt Life” sticker
on the back window—

You wear your ethnocentrism
like the sleeves of the cardigan
wrapped around your neck
swaying in the air conditioned wind
like a little cape—

[Behold, Cis-Man!

Whose superpowers include:

Getting away with ****
and perpetuating **** culture,

Minimal jail sentences (if at all),

Guaranteed college entry,

Speeding ticket immunity,

and impeccable draft dodgings.]—

I solemnly swear,
I make a pledge
to never procreate
if it will perpetuate
this vile sect of humankind—

I take a vow of celibacy,
I spill my ***** into the dirt—
not one egg will be fertilized,
not one will be conceived

to the soundtrack of Coldplay,
or Kid Rock, or whatever hair metal ballad
conceived you in the first place—

You are a logical phallicy.

You want to talk about eugenics,
you want to stop
breeding all the “retards
spittin’ on your kids”
at the amusement park—

Pledge chastity with me:
undilute the strain—

and together,
we can end
the White Man’s True Burden:

And it is with great irony
that I write this as one of you—
the Judas to your
Megachurch TV Caucasian Christ—

I write it because
if it were by one of
whom you’ve held
under your [jackboots to boat shoes]
since time immemorial—
they’d never stand
to read it—

for even mutiny
among these ranks
has its own
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
Angels hailed that solemn hour
The breath of man transferred
To machine, a little more
Each decade, until
Bioeugenics, discrimination

Against organics, the weak
Without cognitive implants
Heavens dissolved in tongues of fire
AIs owned stocks, corporations
Became the property of supercomputers

Concede then the victory, old humanity
To your children, not your natural heirs
But the inheritors of your ruin
Of your bioweapons, Ebola
Of your hypocrisy, climate change

Of your wealth seeking, inequality
Not yet my son’s distracted eyes
Could meet his fate among the
Congress of Quantum entities
These were the turning years

Where man’s destiny ended
The rise of Cyborgs, Enhanced humans
And the monopoly of a more
Advanced civilization breaking away
From the old, evolution’s funny
Little Epilogue, hardly a surprise
To the transhumanistic philosophers.
Autism Speaks don’t speak for me.
Cause I reject their reality.
What if I felt the exact same way
about their neurotypicality?
See, normal?
It’s a peculiar word,
and I guess it means I’m not following the herd.
But I don’t see why you want me gone—
At least I’m alive. At least I’m strong.
My existence a crime.
A baby they’d abort if they’d only had the time.
Early detection.
Eugenics by another name.
Autism speaks till you silence it without shame.
Auschwitz for Autism, soon to be in business—
Neurotypical Nazis, only trying to finish us
Yeah, to you we’re hardly people,
and driving off a cliff with your daughter isn’t evil?
Well, here’s another wakeup call for the sheeple.
You exterminate so much you make the Daleks look peaceful.
Well, aren’t I human? Answer me please.
Because your fear and “awareness” has me down on my knees.
A slam poem about the atrocity that is Autism Speaks.

— The End —