Brent Kincaid Jul 13

We are allowed to be unkind
To the sick, the deaf and the blind.
We gladly toss them into a ditch.
They don't matter; They are not rich.
We giggle and count what we’ve got
Laugh uproariously at those who have not.
We call our poor neighbors our inferiors
Because having money makes one superior.

It also works the same with every race.
Supremacy is about the color of your face.
It starts there and moves to include nationality.
Only Caucasian Americans match our reality.
Sure non-whites can pick our cotton for us
But, as for equality, the concept will bore us.
It says in the Bible you have to be from here
And white and Protestant, those words are clear.

And this stuff about fags and lesbians too
Not one word of that civil rights stuff is true.
My preacher told me gay people are abomination.
That’s why us Republicans support segregation.
That's some of what is wrong with our schools
Somebody has been listening to communist fools.
We need to get back to the good way things were
Before all this equality stuff was allowed to occur.

I tell you the truth, this stuff totally makes me burn.
I mean, these college-warped hippies need to learn
That this country is a Christian one, since beginning
So, we don’t want this equality stuff you’re selling.
Just shine our shoes and park our expensive cars
And we’ll tip you a little bit and there you are;
Right there in the place all of you ought to be;
Freedom is for us rich whites, it’s American history.

ruffy cho Jul 11

i opened the cabinet at the basement and my gasp was trapped in my throat

in front of me unfold universes in the form of mountains layer by layer in stacks of paper.

undone were the buttons of my blouse and my gasp was trapped in my throat because she's here

and i needed to build another universe; another escape route; another layer of another mountain.

spread were my legs at the study desk of the classroom and my gasp was trapped in my throat because she said i need to be quiet or else they'd hear

and i needed to focus myself to the time it will be over, at the clock ticking after-class minutes, i prayed for timeskips.

after dinner, open arms, my mother asked what i wanted for my birthday

and i needed the comforts of the words "safe" and "no more touching," of the promise of "no more after-class sessions" but i just told her i wanted another notebook for my stories.

my poems are available at my wattpad account, ventricles.
an online digital collection will be available at issuu on october 2017.

Ain't a prayer in the world
That I'm gonna' remove
The yoke of History
From your shoulders,
And there ain't no chance
That I'm gonna' be able to compete
With all those ironclad dictators
For access to your  heart
Even if I slug down
A bottle of Viagra.
I might as well
Quit while I'm ahead.
Ain't no point
In trying to be something
That I'm not.

Patrick Jul 9

The ground beneath our feet shakes
As the American Spirit springs forth
From the geysers, from the sewers
And cloaks of ambiguity mold away

Directions no longer divide us
Tragedy brings forth the needle and thread
To sow friends and enemies together
Against a common foe -- apathy

Oppression knocks on the nation’s door
As we sharpen our spears to a point
And cry out into the starless night
Against the hammer of tyrants

Freedom’s trail will be blazed
Fields of grain will turn to flame
Cold winters will feel the heat
Of summer storms sailing to oppression's door.

Apply all the hooks;
be as unnatural as you can.
Monitor your movements;
Watch the placement of your hands.
Mind the way you walk,
Stay within the box,
And do the best you can;
To obey the master's plans.

These people tried to keep Those people
In their Place.
Those people
Tried  to keep these OTHER people
In THEIR place
The  Others
Tried to keep those people
In THEIR  place.
The people Way Over There
Tried to keep their next door neighbors
In THEIR  place.
Their next door neighbors
Tried to keep the people Outdoors
In their Place
Called a "Reserve"
The Outdoor People
Tried to SMASH the fence of the Reserve
But the people inside the outside the Reserve
INCARCERATED the Outdoor People
Who were living in the Reserve.
So, the Outdoor People
Incinerated the Prison.
When the Prison burned down,
The Guards became afraid
And began
A Doomsday cult,
Telling Jesus would return
At the End Times.

Poetic minds are islands often found
In common reaches of the status quo
And in remote and deeper waters
Of vox humana in muted undertow.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker

May the voice of the human always be heard above the noise of the human!

Have a Superior Bloodline.
Have the most attractive racial features.
Our women
Are more beautiful than any others.
Are the only ones
Who are fit to rule.
Tell me,
My fellow Americans,
Don't you enjoy
Having shit rubbed in your face?

Toby Jun 20

What do you think of these strings that you see?
I want to snap them free.
Controlled, but not by me.
All I see is the path laid out in front of me.
Set for me.
Not right for me.
I want to be free.
Everywhere I go and everything I do is up to judgement.
I try new things, paint my nails.
I'm being girly.
I don't use a purse.
I'm not being girly enough.
I'm not a girl.
I'm not a boy.
I don't really know what I am.
All I know is that even when it doesn't seem like it I still have strings attached.
I'm going to take some scissors and cut them out of my arms.
I'll be my own man or woman.
I'll finally be myself.

Thanks for reading.
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