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Some will always be children 
And for them stories always simple
Little and Big, White and Black, Good and Evil 
Them and us. . .plain and simple
The Mellon Oct 25
People are beautiful,

However.

Pretty people please a perverted industry,
Of powerful men
Preferring **** to passion to progress,

Preferring ******* productions over
#metoo protests
As mr. president likes to grab 'em by the p..

Provoking pain-passing-fists
Pulsating pro-rights protests,
Journalists plee for coverage praying no one pulls a
Knife and produces plumes of blood from the press
All while
Young picassos paint Guernica in America.

A broken people of a nation perpatrating hate-

Where red plus blue can only make purple-
But dark blue and dark red parish and persecuted plee for due process?

Plain racism profoundly perpatrates power and policy because polititions prefer power over people!

A parchment in hand is worth two poor people on the shores of Philippine islands passing pork bones around on plastic forks polluteing ashore to portion a pathetic excuse for super.

Admittedly population proceeding proper capacity depleting the recourse needed per proper production for product based programs-
-tax breaks produce proper rich persons-
Poor penny pedalers paddle street corners prostituting their dinner from someone's porch steps.

Pathetic "Presidential" GOPs
Catapaulting propaganda past press outlets producing media paranoia.

Piranhas perhaps are the least problematic politition ashore.
Petulance is peace right?

Perhaps Palestinian misplacement and
Poor communication produce
A melting *** per pound of C 4
Blasting
Terrarist propaganda pasted
On highways toting plywood posters
Providing hate.

Parasitic politics polluting a proud nation
Patrolled by plastic islands and pay-per-view gun violence.
Police brutality providing protection for
Parkland shooting,
The NRA having premeditated lawsuits against progress

Programs protecting people getting
Passed-

-Sorry blocked,

By political party(s)
Preferring deep pockets to
Public safety

Appocoliptic predictions
Loom in present day policy
As unreputable "science" papers
Preach lies to gospel preachers

Perhaps human problems
Produce paper cuts
Peeling skin to skin
For radical apologies to bleed out,

Perhaps bleeding pools
Poor out filling
Evaporated paradise
With EPA Pruit's preference of
Proper science.

Perhaps penguins and polar bears
Produced proper plans:

Die off before the planet plummets per plume cloud of nuclear power.
Or more likely planetary pestilence
For people.
Inspired by Harry Bakers poem "Paper People"
Adrian Nov 7
If my voice were loud enough
I’d climb the tallest mountain
And shout from the top
If my voice were loud enough
I’d tell everyone what I need them to hear
If my voice were loud enough
I’d scream through cities and suburbs
A ghostly voice echoing through buildings
And subway tunnels
If my voice were loud enough
You’d never stop hearing me
Because if I could be heard
I would be heard
But my voice isn’t loud enough
Because I’m 14
Because I’m Hispanic
Because I’m *****
Because I’m a girl
Because I’m just one girl
But if we all use our voices
A million different voices
Clamoring to be heard
We just might be loud enough
once they've
established bunts
now there's
fire as
she'd desecrate
the flag
in Orriskanny
whether it
flies round
their loops
that's still
her shape
this world
or bats
in air-conditioning
never heard
of Statius
a note of caution
OpenWorldView Oct 28
An Orwellian term
used by self-righteous hypocrites
hiding behind a cloak of morality.

Wake up.

Political correctness controls the narrative
by shaming and suppressing.

It forces upon us
the “one true” ideological orthodoxy.

It eliminates decent and
makes people lie and self-censor their words.

Stand up.

We must allow others to speak
and voice their thoughts.

Some might be ******,
so let’s expose their faults.

Some might be outrageous,
so let’s pause and defuse.

Some might be hurtful and mean
so let’s self-reflect and steel ourselves.

Speak up.

Political correctness leads to sameness
contrary to the individualism
it pretends to protect.

It is a road into slavery.
First the slavery of your mind
and later slavery of your body.
Open dialog and discourse instead of laws and restrictions which put chains around words.
As I fly amongst all monsters and men
With the former being the common kind
I find my sanctum inside an oak tree
Quite tall to see a world, not too blind

In nations across, a nation below
Wars are waged, men are hung
As sinful a woman would wait and sow
For their husband in pieces, because I have sung

"What song do you speak?" asks the eager fool
Fair and serene, as my song's painted grey
Not black, nor white, nor prejudiced tool
I trickle innocence, fall asleep towards May

I don't move as leaves fall, dead bark will suffice
As a cold, bitter home, though not quite as your hearts
That would feel content when it treats one as mice
For now they are small, and thus chewed apart

For their colour? Their kin? Their wellness? Their faith?
I've flown above beauty in some diverse place
For naivety or luck, I cannot quite fathom
Why this nation of pastures should spit on one race

A race, so beautiful but starving
For food and water, in a time not so kind
But the poor in the pockets are so rich in the heart
To beg for acceptance, but justice is blind

Blind justice, you say, is blind to colour
Blind justice, I say, is blind to a heart
Of a land of the "free", of one democracy
But in which fair acceptance will indeed, never start

I flew in a town of monsters and men
I bother only with the former kind
The good men were hung, under soil or cement
My innocence, shot by metal led blind


Nature doesn't change, pastures stay green
Nature doesn't change, humans stay green

Fly, youth, Fly
Cry, innocence, Cry
Die, bird, Die
Here comes Jacques
On the pavement
Screaming at the sediment
Of conditional skin
People calling out, “a hack!”

When’s the next race
And when’s the next attack?
Who’ll be under the tracks?
Soul’s got no control
No more, ‘till the look is late

They seem catatonic
Stuck in the soul of fate
It is a gene state
Someone ought to stalk the hawk
His language is sardonic

See through the bottleneck?
Reliance on sonics
To repress every chronic
Malfunction of compunction
Here’s the future, bloodlet

We may not see what we deserve
Someone birthed us to forget
The role of a conscious pet
What’s within the ship’s fins?
The well-fed wield a coat of fur

Scream into the water well
It might throw something up to sell
you cannot silence my voice,
erase who i am and stand to be.
i will not be pushed to nonexistence,
for my story is not written in pencil,
it is written in ink.

― and i will leave my mark on history
don't forget to register to vote and then actually go vote this novemeber
Alfa Oct 16
I carve myself out of a cardboard cutout,
I wish I wasn't empty,
stuck between two worlds that do not want me.

I am like the globe,
shattered.

Rushing blood gurgles through my veins to my head, my
words sound like Russian out my hot mouth
"so spicy"
they say it cause I'm foreign to them.
My blood pressure rises,
makes
the tea kettle screams,
on the perfect pictured home oven,
i am fuming.

I look out at the white picket fence,
raised oppressed gates,
overtaxed, overcharged, overfed, rising still.

The fury builds inside me,
I stomp the fence,
break the oven,
crash the globe,
and weep at the **** I was made out of.

we will never win.

but, it doesn't matter if we're the minority or majority,
the darker you are,
the faster you talk,
the farther away from the home land
  ...                                                       ­     

they'll still give you the gun.

           But, they'll blame you for everything that happens after.
A comment on American societies mental illness, health crisis, racial racism/stereotyping, gun laws, my own identity as a first generation american from immigrant parents, and how chaotic, hopeless, and dissociated I feel about my own self. How apart I feel from America's "dream" and what America really is today... thank you for reading.
Alfa Oct 16
How do you make your rice?
is it in a ***? a pan? steamed? heated? not at all?

mine is in a frying ***.

Yellow, with pollo from the fresh market.
Peas, y frijoles on the side.

Mix it up, eat it, keep it for later.

Burn the bottom so you can get la chemada part.

If you like the chemada part, not everyone does.
A poem about my personal views on American society. How a bunch of different cultures live together which is why I make references to rice, as different types of rice making shows what culture you come from. I say I like mine in a "frying ***" because that's how I see America, a frying *** and not a "melting ***" as they say. Whereas a melting *** mixes cultures well, a frying *** keeps people at the bottom "burnt" like "chemada" (burnt rice at the bottom of the pan).
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