Hello all you beautiful people
that’s how I would start my dissertation
beautiful people with nothing to lose
and everything to gain

while ugly people,
plain people persons like me
have to work so hard, softened, while you,
intent on being beautiful,
are nothing
if not beautiful

My one thought gets lonely when I see you
what ought to be considered entire and whole
will one day also grow old
the beautiful are nothing if
not beautiful

For me thought comes naturally and I
consider myself fortunate as I must be
content at not being beautiful,
am forced to say something so profound
that a phrase line like
“I broke a nail”
is not as life threatening
or
“How about the price of gas”
won’t seem as wonderfully global
as it would from beautiful persons,
intent on being simply beautiful
when beautiful is simple
or vice-verse

Ugly person you see must work at being
charming, quick witted and swift
while you polish nails
I polish my lines for a play in which
the only star is the beautiful person
behind my ugly shell

A treatise on Bach, formal judgments of global peace
Orwellian theory into practice
both animalistic and I-Robotesque
work their way into ugly people conversation.

Not, “the price of gas”
but "why" the price of gas
or *how" the price of gas
and knowing the answers.

Plain persons have so much more going their way
for the effort expended learning something crucial
something literal, may one day eke a way into
beautiful persons conversation
beautiful people intent on being beautiful
are only beautiful and nothing
if not beautiful.

As for the cockeyed slim-jim like me
I’ve got a lot of learning to do
my hopes of ever being beautiful have long since passed
I thank the Gods and technology for the quest to question
and the simple beauty of not being beautiful

For if I knew nothing except how to be beautiful
I’d be lost for last words
and as for being beautiful
I’d be nothing if
only beautiful

We are done.

I will no longer sit idle.

I will not wait for my friends to get hurt.

It is long past due,

we will not tolerate it any longer.

Do not make up excuses,

listen to what your friends tell you,

do not give the benefit of the doubt;

they do not deserve it.

If they make you feel

unloved, belittled, ignored, hurt, unsafe,

come to me.

If they call you names

*****, *****, disposable, immature,  a child,

come to me.

Tell, if you wish, all of how they have done you wrong.

Tell me, and I will tell you.

Dump Them.

Gone is the time of "It's none of my business"

Gone is the time of "It's not your relationship"

Gone is the time of "No one asked for your opinion"

That is my friend,

and I will no longer sit and let my friends be hurt.

The devil plays
With idle hands,
And makes them do the devils dance.
For this I hardly stand a chance,
Cause my idle hands have begun to dance.

I'll be here for infinity x infinity
A penchant for curves like cursives
I say it in my verses
Vocab too wide for curses
Don't like likes
Fingers to whoever dislike
Like a vlogger: share, comment, and like
Oh yeah, subscribe
Fun, I prescribe
Right on time
Better late than never
Man of the hour
Original with the flavour
Chocolate and Vanilla
Black and grey
If you're too slow to comprehend
No résumé
No references
DIY my title says
Fickle fools play 'Simon Says'
Press remotes don't change but
Batteries can be replaced all the same
God - like
Holier - than - thou; Pope's attitude, beg for mercy
Self - driven, self - motivated
Ministering like Osteen
Light and dark
Yin & Yang
Angel or demon I can be
High off life
Limitless, no pills
I'm probably ill
Well it's my will
To count millions in $100 bills
Like ice, I chill
That's me, trill
And that's that
Suh bill

LanceSkiies

Nothing’s burning. What went wrong?
No one desires the simple song
you croak out for crumb suppers, ‘cos
it doesn’t make them think of feasts.
Release the guise of competition -
like you’d ever win these heats.

Behold who placed: staid mottoes
wearing proper faces wrapped
in proper chains.
Observe their seats in proper chairs:
the owners of their stake
never relinquishing the bloodline’s hold,
impenetrable walls between the well-born
and the cold.

Who likes us? Weakness does:
tremblers demanding ones like you
to save their damsel hide. The saved abide
all laws convenient to them;
for the rest, they cut a deal,
and you’re not in it.
Be afraid of that. They ratchet up
that fire finesse and do
damage control: what dare we salvage?
Wayward cities? Idle souls?

Compress them in a tank of rigid steel
mixed by the craven powers.
I’ve got mine - don’t call it ours
(although I speak for all of you.)
We’re through if you don’t show up
at my dinners, check in hand
in sleeve in shirt in suit
on fire -
when I’m done, sweep up your soot.

They’re just walking by
Idle sticks and logs and twigs
Wayward trees passing to and fro
In their forests of isolation
The birds don’t sing there
If they do
Then each tree hears its own tune
My tree is cut
Just a stump
Just my luck
I have no birds to sing anyway
Accept for this one wayward jay
It’s less of a song
More of an ironic cackle
Laughing at my stump
Chained to this rusted shackle
There used to be a song
Sweet like sugar
Bitter like sole cinnamon
But harmonious
Lovely
Divine
Mine
Now I’m just walking by
An idle stick
A log
A twig
A wayward tree stump
Just my lonely luck