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My spiritual abilities
My knowledge
Of religion
Bible or Quran
Where handed down to
Me via blood
Via DNA
M R White Feb 19
At times I fear I am just like my mother,
Irresponsible, corrupt, deceiving.
Going no where – fast.
Gathering too much of the bad genes in my body.
They range from,
Alcoholism,
Being dependent on any type of pill,
To being with controlling a spouse.
I have never seen my mother with a man that was good for her.
This is another looming fear, being under the thumb of controlling men.
I think things like that run down the bloodline.
It’s all I have seen as a kid,
A man has to be controlling to really be in love with you,
A man has to put you in your place to show you he cares,
A man has to fully support you,
strip you of anyway of being independent;
because that is love.  
It is scary, and you yield many red flags.
But something in me finds beauty in it.
I know this is horribly sick, I know this isn’t right.
But something about the fight, is so beautiful.
When you tell me I mean the world to you,
I believe it, I do.
But something else looms over my head.
And I’m not quite sure what it is,
but it is quiet and sly.
This is what I fear what my mother felt,
A looming fear over her head, not even realizing the weight.
This is what draws me in, I feel myself reeling closer, and closer
to this unsettling, but secure feeling.
A promise of a beautiful land to live on,
with a beautiful family and wonderful home.
A promise of a great life, but at what cost?
My own father? My family?
It seems odd that you would want to strip me of the man that raised me,
the man that molded me.
Of everyone near me that I have grown close to through the years.
Odd that you want to be my one and only.
Quite literally.
But something is so intriguing about you.
I can not help but tell myself that you are the one.
But again, at what cost?
This is my biggest fear, I do not want to inherit this gene from my mother.
I do not want the gene, of having
every aspect of my life needing to be controlled.
To be solely reliant on one human being,
and it not even be myself.
That is my fear.
To be merely dependent on you.
I love you, I love you so much.
And that is my fear, loving you more than myself.
And putting all my life on the back burner to please you.
I beg of you,
do not be that man.
Your envy is green as a sly snake, and it is evil.
And your anger, my god your anger, it is red as the devils horns.
But,
your love, compassion, and sensitivity,
is as warm and pink as the act of love making.
And love trumps all, does it not?
Your envy may be green, and anger red.
But your love is what makes me feel whole.
I love you, and understand,
I will give you all of me.
As long as it does not drain me.
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Paul Butters Jul 2018
Life clings on
In deserts, ice sheets and hot acid pools.
Those selfish genes persist:
Batons in a Marathon relay race.
Generation follows generation.
Clone adds to clone.

So life spreads:
The mightiest empire,
Covering all the globe.
A world full of living wonders.
All manner of plants, insects and animals.
Oceans teeming with fish.
From tropical paradise
To awesome glaciers.

We must be mindful
Of this glorious beauty.
Mother Nature reigns supreme.
Sing and rejoice,
Party hard
And put aside
The awful truth -
That in the end
Everyone dies.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\7\2018.
A thought I cannot escape.
TJ Dec 2017
i give them my executables and
ask them to reverse engineer me
to look into my code for reasons
reasons that i'm not just broken
not just slow
not just bad

if these letters
on this line
mean
that i am programmed to worry
then it is not my fault
not my fault that
i have wasted years
years of my life in fear

it's just a bug
looping too many times
using too many clock cycles

my code may be broken, but
if it is broken
then i am not

maybe, just maybe
i am a good processor
given bad code.

not my fault.
no one could blame me.

it would mean
i do what i am told to
perfectly
quickly
efficiently.

but
what i am told to do is
buggy
unoptimized
inefficient

my programmers are lazy -
not me.

when i find
a function in my code
that never works
and they say
"that code is fine"
then why?
why does it never run?

something must be wrong with me after all
me, myself, the processor
i don't do what i am told

but no, no, no
i don't want that
i can't be broken, overheating, dusty
segfaulting
bluescreening
panicking

no!

the code must be wrong
it must be

so i look again and again and again
i lose myself in my code
i click and click and click
2x more and 2x more and 2x more
COMT and DRD4 and ANKK1
rs53576 and rs7794745 and rs1858830
lower risk and normal risk and higher risk
of the same thing
in me at once
conflicting
overwriting each other

there is no code to add risk objects
and no one knows
whether
they make a group or a ring or a field
or just
something
useless.

like dividing by zero.
you can...
but it's useless in the real world.
just like me.

i look for more code
for more functions
for more comments
more more more
give me more
take my rights
make me open source
as long as i can see me too.

602,000 lines are not enough
not when i run millions

stick your wires in my veins
take the code from my blood
decompile it
untangle it
i need to see it all

i need to know
that i am a good little processor
even if i am doomed to
forever
run BASIC and
a million GOTO statements
and ugly ugly spaghetti code
i am still good.
written 16 February 2016
annette Dec 2017
my mother sees purple
because purple lives on her flesh.

she has stains
from shoulders down.
they scatter across her back
like pressed grapes.
the juice squeezed out of them
to create a rich man’s wine.
they wrap around her legs
like grape vines.
pulling her closer to the ground
with each step.

she hides them.
when men approach her
she says
“quiero que me ames.
my body has rejected me
and even in the womb
i was mutating.”

the men love her face.
she is a woman who does not age.
they say to her
“tu eres morada.
to love yourself you must
accept the color.”
so they have all added
new shades of purple
to her body.

i think that is why
my favorite eyeshadow color
is purple.
es el color que mi mama ve cuando piensa en el amor.
DaSH the Hopeful Oct 2017
Tempestuous pestilence of manic depressive tendencies invested in a message cocked and loaded as a centerpiece

           Unfold it, if you will,

   The beast lives in these pages
  While the people all went home to their own separate cages
Locks become phones that never ring
  No bars but still encasing, these cells are in our genes
  
Its a prison of DNA strands unlocked with a paper key*
    Held firm by *words written within
the world awaits to see
You aren't what you are born into. You can sculpt yourself to become whatever you want and achieve artistic freedom.
B Chapman Sep 2017
She claimed to be dying,
I asked to join her.
'I die alone.'
She's just so tired.

I screamed 'together,
Or not at all!'
She collapsed at my feet.
I wish I could carry her.

Take her pain,
eat or bury it,
lift her above,
but I'm just too weak
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