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JA Perkins Nov 2020
Everywhere you look -
smiling faces with
hidden motives..  
Selling dry wells to
thirsty humans
swearing they're
full of water..

Devilish schemes
trickled down to the
ignorantly oppressed.  

Like lambs to slaughter..

You don't believe them?
Then you're an outcast.

Parade the washed up
faces of your platforms.
Stand behind the
curtain and watch.

And I should be
thankful?
Well.. roll the drum
of patriotism..
Not everyone gets to
choose between
two evils and pay so
handsomely for it.  

And that's freedom?..
You're lying.

We really are in
the slums and
most of us
don't even know it.
It is what it is
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
take a poor, fat, spiced chocolate kid
from its welfare house
put it in a program with rich kids,
tell it it can be just like that,
if it learns critical thinking,
logical reasoning, communication,
and problem solving.
can it?

[falls asleep in a dumpster]
no one accounted for the rest of the hillbilly family.
school officials build a false sense of equitable hope,
and wear their badges with a flair of pride.
guess what i learned at school today!
not now, hon, we're watching dr. phil.
then, it's my 600lb life.
then judge judy.
then house hunters.
then the price is right.
then
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
this ******* thing came to this:
two brains, sever and split.
two pigs, top of the town,
made marquee marked on the ground!

punctuate!
i'm smothered, but
the fourth wall's
done getting scraped!

version one point one was nothing new,
these scrapes make room for version one point two.
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
n if you have a clue
pork who watches you move
will be taking notes
this ***** knows how it goes

n if you have a plan
pork who watches you move
will catch it, understand
this ***** is stealing souls

keep it under the knife
surgeon and patient
simultaneously
ship and astronaut
in E.V.A.
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
i know well the fear as it manifests
in the dampness come night
dollar bills burn hot in pocket
the reddened skin of my inner thighs
fights to fray the cloth, but i
i'm better off sleeping in my pants
and my shoes, as to evade
then this thing clicks and the misfit
cuts come to fall into plan
by design, without fail, buy and sell
then there's me, this thing replete
with confidence in its destruction
by its hand, or on demand, its a
matter of course                  lightbulb!
Desire Jan 2019
We must become far more than what the system wants us to be.
We are surpassing standards our peers have failed to reach.
We are achieving goals and making it to places
    our ancestors once dreamed.
We are living the wildest dreams of those before us.
We are going to places not even some of
    our parents have been to or seen.
Who are you becoming?
XLVII. FROM THE SLUMS
-
With the weight of responsibility of trying to secure a future for one's family, with the pressures of progressing and "making it" in life, there are those who are fighting and pushing forward! While people sit back, comfortably, living crowded and messy lives, and living from check to check, there's a people focused on marching ahead... In no way am I replacing faith with "success" but there's a difference in doing what you can and trusting the process from remaining comfortable in circumstances that weren't meant to be permanent in the first place!
Hailey Piper Jun 2018
The smell of stale smoke lingers through our hair,
A staunch like presence,
but never fully there.
Yellow stained fingers,
and blood soaked knuckles..

hammy-downs that don’t fit quite right,   awake critiquing ourselves late at night.
Hoping and preying not to become what we’re destined to be.


Drifting through the slums,
Seeking some kind of pleasure.
Friends and family succumbing to ice,
Melbourne’s national treasure.

Young souls corrupted,
so much potential forsaken.
One hit,
And it’s total annihilation.
Paul Butters May 2017
I was brought up in Western Leeds,
Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep.
In sprawling suburbs:
Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums.
We had our fields:
Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb
(Fireweed to the Americans)
On former demolition sites.
Our childhood spears were honed
From fireweed spears.

Our house was in a terrace
On “School Street”,
Where we took baths in the sink
And crept to outside toilets
In the dark of the “back yard”.

Those days were punctuated
By the “Yie Yie” blare
From the local factory siren.
A deafening sound.
And by endless hammering
From the scrapyard nearby.

But we loved our dripping and bread,
And our walks to the sweet shop.
Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags”
Along the sides of the cobbled street
Under old Victorian gas lamps
Straight from Narnia.

I recall crying on our return from the coast
At a dismal scene
Of soot shrouded trains
On tortured railway lines.

But I also feel nostalgia
For those heady days
Of childhood innocence.
Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit,
And running around
During a “New Year’s Revolution”.
Happy Days.

Paul Butters
This maybe explains a lot.
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