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Neuvalence Mar 2018
It is as if every word I utter
I stutter as I rethink
to avoid their words
of a terrible idiosyncrasy
hollering profanities
and shame towards me
for the wits presented
to them for only glee
Their disproportionate
lines of reality burns them—
like the termites that feed
on the heart of a tree—
How could I fathom
their blatancy
in having such an
aversion towards me?
Scarlet McCall Jan 2018
We’ve been acquainted with the term “alt-right.”
We have endured their hate speech and their threats.
They seem to be entirely male and white.

We’ve been berated by their angry tweets,
with innuendoes, ethnic slurs and smears
(from those without accomplishments or feats).

Puzzling code words and parentheses
fill their tweets and comment sections long--
a feast of paranoid conspiracies.

Resentments numerous in which they stew
combined with sexism, ignorance and fear
make a toxic and addicting  brew.

They may go farther, deep into the night—
should we ignore them or begin to fight?
Borrowing the rhyme scheme from Robert Frost's "I Have Been One Acquainted With the Night," my favorite poem. I did something like this nine years ago when the rumor mill first began to get out of hand, but it needed an update.
Austin Heath Sep 2014
Prince of stolen goods come to take over
the nation that spat in his face.
We are losing all our ground an marbles;
we are not going to be okay,
things will not be fine.

Mother is in a women's shelter,
losing weight and begging for money
weekly
from her deadbeat son
who is now broke.

King of hearts take away the sleeping sensation
oozing up from my toes to the center
of epicenter of thoughts that shake my body
like earthquakes of palsy or a stroke
made up of
every pond or puddle you pass up
couldn't hold all the tears I haven't cried.

Sister can you hear me now,
I'm not exactly trying anymore
I'm silent with syllables and
loud with my pauses.
I'm not going to make it,
and I can't turn around.
I'm fragile and delicate and
some would say I'm flat-out weak.

I want you to put flowers on my grave
instead of sleeping somewhere next
to me, six feet under, or sleeping in
wondering what went wrong.
This **** isn't your fault.

Put a sword or some sharp object
to **** away the idea that
I'm going to use to destroy whatever
is left of myself.
**** me, to **** me before I **** me.
Steal everything.
**** anything.

— The End —