If I say that I'm hungry ,
My mind isn't on food.
For my people I'm angry
Those I left in the hood .
This is not about bread.
But for knowledge I fight
Without a future I'm afraid
The poor will have no right.
God kindly give me wings
To fly home to my people
With loads of all the things
I've gotten from the hustle .
If I would ask for anything
I rather ask for benediction
With it I would do one thing
Help the poor with education .
The sunrises with powerful myth. The sky lights up as it was on fire with reds the camera can't collect.
The shopping centers still all a jam. When all I wanted was to buy some jam.
People pushing rushing like it's the end of life. Of my God there's only one more Barbie let's get into a fight.
Yesterday I begged for food. With others that have no one, no where to be for this crappie holiday you see.
Jobs were cut. Just in the nick of time. As disaster seems to cloud this world of mine.
If I was an immigrant even better to be illegal. I'd probably have a fucking pillow.
Excuses from the social worker, about vacations and not enough people to help those of us.
Here we sit 2 days before Christmas. No tree in the house and not a single gift. Ranch dressing is what's left in the frig.
I paid my power bill so I could be warm. I guess that's now a choice to be hungry or warm. This life we have is really about feeling abused and worn.
Christmas can come and be gone for all I'm concerned. There is no longer the love during the holidays. Even the churches have gone a stray.
I'll give you this loaf of bread but you must stay here and let us get inside your head. I'm hungry, don't need a sermon . I've heard them all being raised conservative almost worst than a mormon. I've prayed for changes no one answers my prayers.
This time I'm giving up. And I no longer care.
Merry Christmas to all you that have everything. Screw those of us that have lost everything.
Bleeding arches and broken guts,
Slow and eyes,
Skimming shiny surfaces,
Don’t look! Don’t look!
To other flower chests-
Mine’s too big.
Not enough soil.
Too weak for my own pedicles,
the sun hurts,
the sun hurts,
the sun hurts,
It’s perfect Mommy!
I want that One!
Pluck me from the ground and destroy my nerves and veins
Photosynthesis doesn’t work,
On hollow laminas and lonely stamens.
Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine
Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.
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Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame
many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,
whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt
(during Red October) for a meme
poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized
from potential mistress didst exclaim
desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts
came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.
i don't want to be a flower
something to be plucked and looked at
i want to be a groundswell, a mighty wave
or a ravenous forest fire
i don't want to be adored
i want to be feared
I like to look behind me
And to gaze at all of done
And to find I've left a shadow
And to remember all the fun
As bright as my life
And as dark as my shadow
And as my shadow follows me
And as I see it grow
My shadow comes hungry
And I feed it all my sins
And I now look at my shadow
And I seem to see me
"Eat" they say
they don't get it
it's not okay
the weight falls fast like stones
recedes to nothing
skin and bones
fatigue beyond compare
an endless cycle
at the mirror, stare
the scale only lies
air in your lungs
and between your thighs
in pain I lay,
take the hunger away
If the size of your brain doesn’t matter, then why doesn’t that work with what you know?
like how does the amount satisfy whats smart?
But the amount of food never satisfies your hunger.
What are you hungry for?
When you go to the store and find nothing.
What are you searching for?
What if its nothing at all.
You're looking for happiness
and that cant be sold at a store...