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exist 2h
being different
may mean you’re not normal
at least to society
but it also means
you’re brave enough
to break the mold
and to me that’s more rewarding
than fitting in
break the mold 2k18
All are demanding,
him to be in race?
Whipping him lagging,
behind in case.

How many marks,
he ever scored.
Else he has always been,
Thrown out of door.

Papa and Mama
and teacher they all,
Guide him how to,
Rise, how to fall.

Amazing his life,
amazing his place.
No Option, No choice,
he always in race.

He likes the music,
and likes the dance.
He also rejoices,
the singing by chance.

But no body cares,
what cares he all,
No rise in chasing,
Not bothers the fall.

The things he likes
that gives him solace.
I wonder Will ever,
He get his space.


@AJAY AMITABH SUMAN
This the story of a small boy, which I have witnessed. Now a days there has been sea-change regarding the way parents are handling their kid. The parenting is commerce oriented. I have seen that everybody including parents and teachers , are focused only on the aspect of making a child competent enough to earn requisite money for leading a lavish life style. The saddening part of the child was that no body ever cares about the inclination, interest of child. I have seen the child struggling against his desire and doing so many things, which ultimately making his condition worse.
An aging circus troupe
wearing shoes with concrete soles
dancing on a sheet of broken glass.

An elephant chewing peanut shells
with bells, maracas and whistles
hanging from it’s elongated ears.

A songstress whose voice is lost
singing “Over The Rainbow”
while her lapdog barks the chorus.

An out of tune electric keyboard piano
autoplaying the “Macarena” at full volume
while a toilet flushes in the background.

Two seagulls fighting for a french fry
while the toddler who dropped it
screeches “******!” in the backseat of a Ford Pinto.

All fall short in comparison
to the sound above my head
coming from my noisy neighbours.
Yesterday which seems so far away
brought a new glowing dawn, a new day, opening a new path, new ways
Blessing every tired child with new energy to play
Every blind to see, mute to say
past is gone but let's love this gift of the present
do not delay cause life has a bad habit of taking everything away
If you are fortunate than me then in this journey called life
you'll be stabbed and betrayed
if you don't love yourself but want others to pray
here's harsh slap on your face that no one will ever want to stay
Everyone wants others love but no one will give their's to spray
This life of your's is more of a living on a battlefield
every day will bring new war lined up in arrays
ready to ****, to defeat
ready to send you on your knees
This life is your's to live
yours from society's chain to free
take charge of it else not only for you
but also for other's your life will become a misfit
Alfa 2d
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 2d
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).
Rayne 2d
How dare society make us women feel like
Our very own bodies is a prison,
To be locked up behind the metal bars of our *******,
******* by the chains of our curvy figures
And the sentence lying between our thighs.

And the sentence is brutal.
Consent is no longer existent
When the *** is too tempting for a man to say no
And for you to say no.

Our butts slapped,
Chests groped,
Cheeks pinched,
Thighs squeezed,
In this prison we had the decency to call our own body
We are handcuffed to the degrading appetite of a man.

Women are not a display of things to touch
We are not a dessert menu for a man’s hunger
To be ordered by catcalling:
Want a taste of a woman’s behind?
**** that ***-!
A taste of ****-
Oh, baby, put on a show for us!
Or just the full course meal-
Hey girl, ow ow owwww!

It is about time we strong women break free.
The jailor of men- I stole the key.
It is about time we change out of our prison uniforms of
Bikinis and mini skirts and stilettos
And break down the locks that confined us.

Our prison sentence is just about up,
And when we are let loose,
Us women will no longer stand for such debasing behaviors.
And when we’re free,
It’ll be time to teach the men a little lesson

This cage of our body does not define us, boys,
Maybe try finding the prisoner behind the bars-
Her personality,
Charming smile,
And brilliant intellect,
Instead of demeaning our existence,
Objectifying our importance-
We are not your tools, your toys.

We are humans, too, you know,
With- get this- feelings.
Try manners and kindness rather than
Feeling and groping your way to a woman’s heart.

We are not a play museum- we are the artifact,
The masterpiece- Mona Lisa, Starry Night, the Sistine Chapel-
You must stand behind the red velvet ropes and perform
What the English language calls respect,
With a thing also known as consent.

This- my body- is also known as my body,
It is not his, it is not hers, and most importantly,
It is not yours.
Please try to understand this- I know, it’s super complicated.
And if you gain anything from this, let it be this:

We are not here to satisfy you-
Women are not prisoners to a man’s every need.
We are not objects- no-
And we deserve to be heard.
I do not write for you
I write about you..
Well not about you, about you
but about what you would be
had I wanted to add
a new character
to my fiction
CC 2d
Welcome to my generation where
teens want to die,
They feel worthless and no one needs them
in their life anymore,
They self harm so they don't **** themselves
so they can last another day,
Wake up wishing they hadn't
woken up,
They tell us to be ourselves
but they judge us,
They say not to hide what we feel
but depressed people are annoying.
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