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Ackerrman Sep 26
It takes a very small man
To “Want to punch that girl in the face”,
Or to compare,
A young student to a “Sewer Rat”.

To bully twelve year olds,
Single out young girls,
Transparent fold in time,
Stunted growth.

It takes a small man
To bully children,
It takes a smaller man
To expect respect this way.

“Do yourself a favour
And just shut up”

“Get your head down-

It is like watching a ******
Order 'sewer rats'
To be clean,
Tell the sea to recede.

Your idea of a model student
Is a student who
Already knows
What you are incapable of teaching.
I work in one of the worst school's in the country. Some of the teachers of cowardly, incompetent bullies. But in England, the worst performing schools are given the least amount of funding. In fact, the tiny salary that teachers and support staff are afforded mostly just attracts half-wits who could never earn 20k any other way, I have seen very few members of staff that care about the kids. What is being invested, does not attract professionals, it attracts phonys.
KM Hanslik Sep 7
Lately, been on an ego trip
just trying not to flip my ****
or put my fists wherever they'll fit,
meet your skin and feel it rip
Been on a lifelong ego trip
telling myself just to go with it,
feeling lost and trying to sift
through all the *******, leaving matches lit
wherever I go, take a sip but swallow slow
feeling like I'm about to blow,
about to go off & I don't even know
how to make reparations
with all these half-strained relations,
half-numb sensations
eating away at my patience;
hit the ground running; touchdown on pavement
& you can ask me how my day went,
maybe you really do care
about global warming and solar flares,
but it's been rough even trying to comb my hair
hit me up like you've been there
or follow up with one of your blank stares,
but I'm good on that, I think I've had my share
trying not to go off in parking lots and coining insults on-the-spot
one-liner comebacks on-the-dot;

Been on a trip with my ego
just following wherever she goes
but she can take me down some dark roads,
I guess that's why I go with the flow
so much but I'm tryna break out of that
like trying not to swing when you're up to bat,
swimming in **** like a sewage rat,
Been riding my ego cause it gets me high
head in the gutter, middle fingers to the sky
leave my conscience on standby,
shooting shots like a drive-by,
ground zero and time to let these bullets fly
just another petty cry
for something we never knew was a lie
turns out we've been milking our will to live dry;
I think it's time to put our egos aside,
I think I wanna get off this ride.
The X Rhymes Aug 22

Chapter 1:


in which the reader can explore
how home and garden spats
can escalate to full scale war
between mankind and rats


the story starts some summer’s day
when in a tranquil spot
a human/rodent lawn affray
leaves tempers piping hot

as pleasant stroll turns fight for life
in lush green habitat
commencing as a sunburned wife
screams OH MY GOD - A RAT!

then kicking boots, a swinging *****
a husband’s profane curse
while rat’s escape is somehow made
before things get much worse

under fence and into ditch
he cowers in a ball
tail curled tight, afraid to twitch
hid where the weeds grow tall

as feeling fouled a gardener growls
he’ll spill blood on the grass
and waves a trowel to disembowel
should next that rat trespass

but when the dust cloud settles
the rat makes like a mouse
creeps quietly through nettles
and nests beneath their house

Chapter 2:


in which our rat will contemplate
the human love of hate
a plot device to illustrate
anthropomorphic traits


men have built this social wedge
dividing skin and fur
if born the wrong side of the hedge
you’ll hear their vermin slur

like calling pigeons rats with wings
their prejudice is blind
outrageous fortune’s arrows and slings
do not ennoble minds

they make survival the key skill
for rebels and outcasts
a victim of this ethnic ill
our rat had caught on fast

all problems need solutions though
so gathering his friends
with revolution seeds to sow
our rat says “...ears, do lend

they ghettoise and blight our lives
for reasons rather vague
they cut our tails with carving knives
and blame us for the plague

the question’s be or do not be
acquiesce or defend
lets take arms to that troubled sea
and by opposing, end

my friends once more unto the breach
Apocalypse right Now!
Reservoir Dogs meets Halo Reach
oh brother, where art thou?”

but no paws raised to get involved
no songs sung in protest
and so the issue went unsolved
polite interest at best

they’d just keep calm and carry on
concede, surrender, yield
and so with hope of conflict gone
it seemed their fate was sealed

he thought of payback until late
then finally, went to bed
roll over and capitulate?
he’d sooner end up dead

Chapter 3:


in which the tale continues
to chemical warfare
the holocaust that imbues
this rat’s thousand yard stare


with their need to annihilate
such horrors man can think
a rat could underestimate
the depths to which they’d sink

that’s why he failed to smell a rat
when man set out some food
was such his lust for body fat
obligingly he chewed

while thinking what a lucky chap
their prejudice has turned
so he devoured every scrap
until his stomach burned

and when the meal would not digest
his mood went south from thrilled
and feeling ill returned to nest
to find his friends all killed

every one of them deceased
the reason plain to see
they too had found that poisoned feast
and ate as much as he

horror struck as rat deduced
from all the ***** hurled
his life, like theirs would be reduced
he’d not long for this world

behind him was his last sunrise
ahead lay no man’s land
a distant look befell eyes
he’d make his final stand

Chapter 4:


in which our rat will meet his end
but just as death draws near
a potent message he will send
that’s received loud and clear


they say that an undignified crawl
from certain points of view
can still be seen as ‪walking tall‬
depends where you crawl to

a one-man mission rat would lead
avenging those deemed ‘pest’
the only weapon he would need
was nature’s own bomb vest

he’d sneak in under radar
and dig past their front line
to this cruel world bid au revoir
and make himself a mine

hit ramming speed and say farewell
and give as good as got
his parting shot, the putrid smell
when he began to rot

so through a hole already gnawed
rat crawled to meet his fate
the pain too great to be ignored
but soon, he’d detonate

from deep within their crawlspace
a lesson he would teach
a rictus smile on his dead face
hid way beyond their reach

on slow release as he decayed
he’d poison their clean air
a ***** bomb, a gas-grenade
low-tech, bio, warfare

by process of corruption
an A-bomb, he’d mushroom
a weapon of mass disruption
to stink out all their rooms

like chlorine, sarin, cyanide
enough to sting the eyes
while flying from his rancid hide
for shrapnel he’d throw flies

no armistice or peace treaties
in this rat’s one-man war
he’d go down taking casualties
by drifting through their floor

that’s how you earn the name hero
when hope is almost gone
if sucker-punched by torpedo
you make yourself the bomb

Chapter 5:


in which I spill an afterthought
on rat’s red mist of rage
for those who like their poems short
just skip this final page


revenge - a dish that’s best served cold
to retribute wrongs done
it’s made when anger’s heat takes hold
a humble pie, spat on

but rat preferred the slower burn
that smells bad while it bakes
the kind that makes the stomach turn
insidious as snakes

choose patience as your virtue
set low your cooker dials
when hurting those who’ve hurt you
the rat inside you smiles
I do do short ones.
But this isn’t one of them.
Philomena Aug 15
When all is said and done
I know I will miss this place
Miss the people
The view from the windows
The pillow I cuddle each night
But at the moment I feel like a rat in a cage
Poked and prodded and just now
Catching the scent of nearby freedom
Into a frenzy pacing the bars back and forth
Looking for a way out
Yet knowing that there isn't one just yet
Life to me now retired Is like a rat race everybody constantly on the go rushing around like headless chickens a frantic race against time to which I once  was a part
Glad to say no more but at the time I fell Into place like a round peg In a round hole
conforming to what ever was required of me yes sir no sir three bags
Now I'm free of all those pressure of this constantly ever changing world never knowing what will be from one day to the next two more
shootings In America what Is this world coming
Philomena Jun 23
I stand in the mirror and I must ask
Who am I?
As I see it now I'm an upcoming young woman
Dressed in white with the future laid out before her
Finally commanding the respect I once craved
But I listen to the music
Our old songs
And I remember when I was nothing more than a passenger
Just trying to get to a destination
And somewhere between here and now I changed
From another emo gutter rat to a lady
And for so long this is what I thought I wanted
But the title of lady doesn't suit me at all
So as I stand in the mirror it's not one reflection I see but two
A put together lady in red
And a thrasher in black
And they both smile the same sick twisted way
And I just wish it was easy to figure it out
Who am I?
Chase Parrish Mar 12
Click-clack clatter claws at the doormat.
Right where our ramada had roofed a small rat.
"What was that?", asked the rat.
Which in fact, twas our cat.
Nearing fast to the rat
Who has asked, "What was that?"
Twas a blur, and a crash,
Then the black flash did slash,
But fell flat.
This was in response to a prompt in a poetry discord i'm in.
'Write a poem that focuses on the sound of the "a" in "hat".'

If you want to check out the discord here's a link!
Abigail Rose Mar 9
I never asked to join the rat race.
But being a cognizant participant of the
perpetual scramble
I've noticed
it seems
we're always neck-and-neck,
it's me!
No, *******--
it's you--you're winning--oh,
wait--it's me again!
him, me, you...
Is this a marathon we're supposed to sprint?
Are  humans even capable of doing that?
Or... hamsters?
I slow down and become a fat ******* lump,
moving slowly, and yet somehow,
there you are beside me still.
There is our row of hamsters wheels,
and here is our imaginary race
to a finish that exists in an industrial dream.
The soul resides in the breath
we can never catch
as we are racing--
I'm winning!
You, me, you, him, her, me... again.
And again.
And again.
For efficiency's sake
we race in a row.
I need a ******* break.
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