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Jodie-Elaine Mar 14
Tyrant vandal Belly buttons born from tongue toy hammer whack shameless pantomime gold-digger jezebel ***** archetype bad product off food witchy fingers green fluorescent pink yellow ray of backwards twist mother truckers flat wheel tyre engine fire engine whoop weep tear tears down ripped up feeling face straight up to ceiling baby crib our tired little limbs break against the tide I want to swim away from here place island Caribbean holiday at Christmas I don’t want to be here when I get back lead trail hike walk up the stairs followed my shadow tie me up to lamppost dead flowers bouquet take give taker giver relationship spit out the blues by Benny and The Jets riddle saxophonists up walls and silly laughter clown faces you are a good morning stream streamer party thrower down sink lob me up pipes plumber broken loo place to sit and ponder on my **** think too many faces cherub fat little smile me a river bend down here we build a fort like kids and you’re home for ***** sake safety traffic cone orange still scares me to death bobby pins left on windowsills I chuck the memory out back it makes me sick pummel the cheekbones down flat face two face baby feet get into bins bin trash bag split when I picked it up I’m covered in rotten courgetti hipster you’re a stinking mess I hate your stupid shoes walk in a straight line you drunken ******* skip home with me hop scotch decanter glass slips off side crash pop Rice Krispy cereal noise white noise rain playlist through the walls
I push through in pure stubbornness
leave us be
lots of love,
Manipulated stream of consciousness poem from the 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY...' collection.
Rizna M Rameez Dec 2018
Don't cry over her
Don't worry
Your daughter is safe in heaven's arms

But the tyrant,
When he faces his doings,
He will let out a wail,
A shriek that will resound upon the belly that fed him,
A shriek that will send shivers down the spine, into the very earth that will hold him no longer.
A shriek that will reach the people that refused to help him,
That defied him his self-proclaimed right of putting those bullets to the heads that did not, in any way, deserve it.
His pain, will be so profound, he would know what he meant by "The meaning of real pain",
Was utter foolishness
That the words he spoke, have now fired back against him
That the torment he caused, is rebounding upon not merely his body,
But his soul
The soul,
Tainted with blackness that slashes of blood has left upon his being,
That Lady Macbeth could never wash off,
However many sleepless nights she'd spent on it.
Elizabeth Dick Dec 2018
There is Joseph Stalin,
The Man of Steel.
Living in the moment,
Texting during the private ballet.

Tchaikovsky didn’t mind,
Who would demand their undivided attention from a tyrant?

The Red Russian, Drinking a Moscow Mule,
Devising plans in such a novel fashion
That Tolstoy and Dostoevsky would weep from such a tragedy.
Perverted enough that Nabokov would squirm.

It has been years since the Cold War.
Americans standing at the edge of the end of the world.

Now the 666 hands,
The Devil with orange hair,
Double speaks,
Ruining the free world by mesmerizing us all.

During this nuclear winter
I stand with you under the moon.
Hungry and cold next to a fire,
Missing the revolution.
Jon-Luc Sep 2018
Do not fret, for I’m no Tyrant.
Nor, am I a Liberator
I’am, the path for which you seek.
Do, you care to see it?

I can not mend wounds, for I’m not a Healer.
Nor, am I a tormentor.
I’am the vision, that you dream of.
Do, you care to hear it?

I can not forge steel, for I’m not a Blacksmith
Nor, am I a saboteur
I’am, the unity of which you desire.
Do, you care to taste it.

I can not be wise, for i’m not a Guru.
Nor, am I a apprentice.
I’am that of which is void.
Do, you care to feel it.
Praggya Joshi Aug 2018
I hope that those
Who think that
they are free
Cause that's what
They're made to believe
Soon realize
That real freedom
They haven't yet achieved
And gather their strength
To resume their fight
Against those
Whose tyranny
Haven't yet diminished
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Echoes of yesterday
Where do they end?
Upon the elf on the shelf

Santa has passed
Forsaken my abode
The inner being of my soul

He is the sole provider
My decider
Triumphant tyrant of woe

Must he be my foe?
Glowing with reassurance
Of the personification of hate

I'm a good boy
How about a treat?
It has to be just for me

To eat
Forcibly scarf down
My bitter hole

Santa will want
Me to rake
His' yard

But I will refuse
The suddenly offered abuse
From a passing sore of lore
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
I hate god
He devises strategies to invade
His' home and haven

Weakness being the sole characteristic of son
Constant is the spirit
Strengthening his' decedent onslaught

I cannot win
The Kingdom has come
Without any rain

Holding a crown of stone
Encased in gold
Lined with silver

I have no choice
But to worship
The tyrant who controls bold seduction
Cassia Jan 2018
A haughty ruler, dainty crown
His kindly wife a kingdom down
He plumps his plume, orders round
A second dinner, a starving crowd
His army fails, his ally falls
His kingdom wastes with ignored calls
A brand new plague; treated health
Fancy clothes and booming wealth
That is what is truly wrong
A tyrant waning, missing wrong.
I have this one memorized.
Petra Dec 2017
Become exalted among men.
That was his calling, down
To the fibers that made up
His consciousness.

Become a paragon of virtue.
Piety, prestige, power.
The three undulating commands
That invaded his dreams.

Hubris seeping from every pore,
He conquered his lands,
Spreading warmth from which
Came serendipity.

Will he die and leave his subjects
In a mask of pain?
Or will his benevolence remain
in the hearts of his loyal followers?

Such was the opaque fog
of his mind. Where he saw a perfect
Sphere of light
was an oblate cloud of darkness

Out of which seeped words
Of encouragement.
Prestige, piety. Power.
Benevolence. Destiny.
Just one more body.
Just one more royal cause.
They don't mind dying for you.
They will become martyrs;
You will become their god.

They call him a tyrant.
No. That word will not be allowed
In his country.
The darkness grows within him,
Becoming him.
Power corrupts people; most tyrants do not begin their rule with the intention of evil.
Brandon Cotter Sep 2017
Forecast eternity onto my soul
As a book scribed in circles
May you splice what knowledge
Has to offer
Or retract your quivering brow
For in the lands of time
Will rule forever
Tempt not this fortune you seek
For, echoes of the dead
Travel endlessly
Hand in hand
With the living
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