I fear
Your fear of me.
I fear trying to survive
In a Neighborhood
That's not a Community.
Where the  beautiful young women  
Won't look in my eyes.
Do they think
I might be a predator
Just because
I'm not as handsome
As the men they  court?
Yuppies profile me.
Because don't share their mindset.
I get treated
Just like a nigger.
If black lives don't matter,
Neither does mine.
They  think I'm needy
Even if I have five times
More financial assets than they do.
They  think I'll depress them
With my perspective
As they prepare to
Go get drunk.
If I wipe obliterate  your ignorance,
Do fear that you'll be
Destroyed?

This poem was influenced by the Rap of Criolo from Brazil.

“Son,
Bite your nails and make them rough like the burliness set beside you.
Don’t let tears fall like streaked sweat along the fabric of your skin
And speaking of your skin,
Let it dry;
Dry it with the blood of your heart so that men will nod and boys will bow to your feet,
The same way a curtain sways at the touch of strong wind
Let your strong limbs, your embedded masculinity rise within
And roar.
Take down all the boys and rise
Like a man.
Let your hands clash
Like a man.
Let your emotions die and your body live
Like a man.

Stop laying your hands on your hips while you speak.
Stop allowing your razor to cut strands off your legs.
A real man has hair,
Hair that flows like strings across the frame of your limbs
And your sides,
The space between your thighs
And speaking of which,
Let your emotions flow inside a woman for her to love you.
Love a woman like the woman she is,
And be a man like the man you are.
But certainly,
Most importantly,
Act. Like a man.

Show her what’s between your legs
And love what’s between hers.
She won’t refuse
And she won’t cut back.

She loves men.
She only loves men.
She is a girl,
And she’ll only love you if you act like a man.
You must act like a man.
You must dress like a man.
Strip off the layers of feminine odor
Take off that necklace,
Take out that mindset
Undress from that dress of indecisiveness
And appreciate what I gave you.
Clean up those cosmetics.
Clean up your act.
Quit quietly cooking that head of yours
Into the land of ridiculousness.
Change what those demons have created
And act. Like a man.”

But father,
What is a man.
Is a man someone who differs from those with different heads.
Is a man someone who keeps his hair short but his ego long.
Is a man someone who dwells in their own glory but refuses to acknowledge the worth of others.
Is a man tall?
Is a man short?
Is a man big?
Is a man small?
Is that a man who walks the streets in pursuit,
A cigarette dangling from his dead fingers.
Is that a man who feels the soft skin of a flower
Yet too ignorant and too lazy to care for it
So they pluck her while she’s still pretty
Then when bored, leave her to dry in the midst of a desert.
Is that a man who dares call a woman prude upon refusal
Yet easy when she accepts.
Is that a man who lingers on his own masculinity,
Entrapped in his bodily scent of hormones
Yet too ignorant to recognize the life he could have
If, just if,
He gave a look into the reflection of the water
Just to see himself for once.
Is that a man who makes false claims
Yet lives in complete hypocrisy.
Is that a man who has the nerve to defend lost causes when a woman speaks the truth?
Then I am not a man.
I am not a man.
I never was.

I never was confined in the stereotype you set aside for me,
Nor was a piece in the patriarchy
That was once built with honor
Now wrecked with the tomb of lies that all who were the norm,
Remain the norm,
And stay the norm,
Holding power over all for their own benefit.

I never was a man,
Never like a man,
And never will be a man.

If a man is all you told me to be,
If a man is what all you claim,
If a man is what you took from your father
And gave to your own,
Then I am not that man.

They weren’t demons.
They were me.

Maintenance of the Colonial Legacy
Is called
"Civilization"
Even though Colonialism itself
Was Barbaric

Conservatism was replaced
By White Supremacy.
The need for fiscal responsibility
Was superseded
By the Need to Kill.

As America intensified its Obsession with Race,
We were propelled directly  towards Mediocrity.
I guess Advancing the Cause of Mediocrity
Is President Donald Trump's way
Of "Making America Great"?

Gaib 7d

I sit in the back seat, and listen to the slurs.
The hatred like venom poisons  all your words.

The names you call them, the jokes you tell.
The things you tell me, how they'll all go to hell.

I wonder how long you've spit lies.
How can you hate them, the tears fill my eyes.

You think you can teach me, that I'll hate them too.
But you'll never understand the impact of the words that you spew.

It's not your fault really, you've learned this since you were born.
Your parents, their parents, all passing down scorn.

Against innocent people, just like you and I.
Tell me, have you ever thought, that you've been living a lie?

Why do you hate them, tell me what do you fear?
Are you scared of who you've become, afraid of your mind.

I mean do you really think it's that hard to be kind??

Saravda,
The daughter of Indian Immigrants,
Had always felt looked down upon and bullied
Growing up  in the United States
Due to her dark skin tone.
The other kids
At the School in Los Angeles she attended
Used to call her dirty names.
So,
When she had the opportunity to visit Moscow,
She fucked as many Russian Guys as she could.
Saravda didn't really feel like a Slut.
Sex with Russian Guys
Was just a way of releasing all the anger she felt
Towards the United States.
After going wild like This for two weeks straight,
Saravda was summoned to the Commissar's office.
She thought that might  be in trouble.
Maybe, she went a little bit too far in her Indulgence?
However, the Commissar greeted her politely.
"Well, Miss Saravda, how have you enjoyed your travel here in Russia?" he asked.
"Oh, it's been quite wonderful," Sarvada repleid.
"I've met a lot of interesting people here."
The Commissar cleared his throat and said,
"Oh, yes."
"I'm sure you have."
Then he opened up a suitcase containing $100,000.00 in Cash.
"Saravda, let me be honest with you."
"I know that you're impression of the United States,"
"The country you grew up in,"
"Is not entirely favorable."
"Do you know what a 'troll' is?" the Commissar asked her.
Saravda  now knew that her entire Moscow sexcapade
Had probably been videotaped,
But it didn't bother her.
After all, she had really enjoyed herself!
The Russian Authorities were probably just making sure
No one got hurt.
She just responded to the Commissar by saying,
"Um, yeah."
"Very good!" the Commissar said.
Saravda suddenly noticed the loaded pistol sitting on the shelf.
"I want you to take this little token of Appreciation from the Russian People,"
"And I want you to do everything you can"
"To throw the American Political System into Chaos when you return to L.A.."
"Now, does that seem like reasonable request?"
Saravda really wasn't shocked by this sort of infiltration.
After all,
Russian Guys had been infiltrating HER for the past two weeks!
"It's okay with me," is all she said in response.
"Very well then," the Commissar told her.
"You can leave now with this suitcase  resume enjoying all your activities"
"With your Russian friends."
At this Announcement,
Saravda picked up the Suitcase of money
And simply waved goodbye to the Commissar
Without Shaking Hands.

Let's spend all our money on War,
Destroy the Public Schools,
And make a College Education prohibitively expensive.
Then,
When an area becomes gentrified,
We can sweep the Homeless off the Streets,
Lock them up
And profit by incarcerating them.
After all,
Isn't that The Way of Progress?

This poem was influenced by a chat with an Elderly, Black Couple at Lupita's Restaurant on East Colfax in Aurora, Colorado with Fox News on TV in the Background.
Mims Apr 11

I'M HILARIOUS!
shaky fingers, stale breath.
I MEAN, MY JOKES ARE OLD
i tiptoe around conversations. and contemplation's.
I CAN'T HANG OUT WITH YOU TOO MANY TIMES, OR YOU'LL REALIZE I RE-USE MY JOKES LIKE HALF CIGARETTES.
but at least,
i don't joke about,
sexuality,
about,
homophobia,
or racism.
no
my jokes aren't the kind of funny that's not funny in that way.
sure,
they're mediocre.
but i,
am aware,
of the line.

stay kind

Goodbye Russophiles
Goodbye Assad Apologists
Goodbye Alt-Right Assholes
Goodbye Covert Racists
I'm sick of all your shit!

I realize that is not even very good poetry. However, I think that USING criticisms of the United States to EMPOWER Russia is rather MANIPULATIVE.
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