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#fraud
A most familiar painting of the Boston Massacre by Paul Revere. Yeah, that Paul Revere. The Son of Liberty who on a midnight rendezvous, rode through hours of foot soldiers just to find a minuteman to faithfully shake hands with and agree to the rotten scheme. Cutting this own plate of my handiwork and calling it his own. He robbed me as "truly as he plundered me on the highway!" Indeed, the lawsuits are coming!
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Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 6:27 AM UTC
The Gospel According to Henry Pelham
i waited for grief to come in floods, in salt, in a body emptied out by mourning. but nothing came. only fog. fragments. a static silence where you should have been. disgust, i’ve learned, is a dry wound. it does not weep. it rots. you called me fake? dumb? CRAZY? as if snapping my bones could stitch yours whole. your words clung to my skin like mould on damp walls. i scrubbed. scrubbed. until i remembered: “the rot was never mine.” you spoke like a warden locked me in isolation, called it care. captivity disguised as care. and i, fool enough, tried to call it love. when my heart cracked open, you entered like a thief, shattering the mirror where i kept myself safe. i watched my life flash past, present, all of me. as you clawed at my reflection, as if breaking me could free you from yourself. you were never a batman. but a boy in a paper mask, reeking, hoping shadows would hide your stink. i don’t hate you. hate needs blood, and you’re not worth a cut. what i feel is filth, the stench of your voice in my throat, the memory of lowering myself to touch something already rotting. you are not a loss. you are THE DISGUST. the shame i scrubbed off my skin, the vermin i left behind writhing in its own dirt.
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Aug 23, 2025
Aug 23, 2025 at 4:52 AM UTC
batman? ROTMAN.
Americans               Want                  Less Government More Freedom Here’s                 The  Rub Official’s Stratagem Have Been At the Trough For.        So Long.       They Are.                Greedy Rapid.                         Rats Inspired songs 1)Money 1973 By Pink Floyd 2) nowhere to run to (nowhere to hide) 1965 By Martha and the Vandellas
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Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 9:46 PM UTC
They Won’t Let Go With Out A Fight
Our voices have been stymied, choked off, obstructed Forever. Let every single vote be counted and tabulated All must live up and adhere to the democratic principles Let the vote counters do their jobs. The real exit polls Are taking place now.Everybody's votes are important Everybody's voices must be heard; we are adamant About that. Let's the hard working volunteers do their jobs We will have a NEW soon. Let our fighters use the big jabs. Leave the indefatigable clerks alone, let them count the ballots Stop the nonsense. Quit acting belligerent in the parking lots All votes must be counted. Democracy is a meticulous process Be patient. It takes time and resiliency to see and reap its success Our voices must be heard. Democracy has its particular finesse. Copyright © November, 2020 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
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Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 2:01 AM UTC
All Votes Must Be Counted And Tabulated
It happened again I let someone in I felt like we were close but we floated apart I'll try to distract myself with art, I feel so alone, but can't tell anyone is this how it starts? My montage? I see it in TV shows, movies and music videos People evolve and change but I seem to stay the same But I'll wait for my beginning The part where I press play and see myself at the end I wonder, will I be grinning? I feel full of regret, but I cannot reach out again to these people I copied whether it was a mistake or not I have realized I don't have identity. This is why I'm lonely. I don't know who I am I know who I like but drive them away I'm a mirror for others to use as display.
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Sep 10, 2024
Sep 10, 2024 at 7:30 AM UTC
Ill mirror you until I meet my beginning
I could never write Anything remotely As flawless as you do So I'll fake it until Someday I can find Beauty in words too
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Sep 10, 2024
Sep 10, 2024 at 7:06 AM UTC
Poetry scam
Mr Fraudy They talk about bringing back the corrupt boss The camp is divided down the middle Some for the boss the **** lickers Some not for the boss the honest ones A right storm is brewing! The mango tree and cig area Plus toilets and canteen buzzed The old fraudy manager will return If he does then I will go to war Start off with a Messenger GC So all can air their secret views Knowing there will be a spy there Do a Google form DO NOT REMPLOY HIM! This and other things from my end I’ll take my historic complaints to HR So it’s on the record he did this On these dates and will do so again To some other suckers he rules Keep an eye out for the ex-boss He soon maybe your new boss! Even if HR say other wise
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Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 11:08 PM UTC
Mr Fraudy
bad tl a certain team leader/was obsessed with cash/bumping up his metric/any which was he could/legal or borderline illegal/the tales of his was known/he did it in six centres/greed and metric manipulation/not a good example of a good sup/when you meet this snake/watch him closely/he has no conscience/is good at his job/manipulating people and the system/see the car he drives/wears different trainers each day/i'd rather have nothing/than be like him
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Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 10:50 PM UTC
bad tl
I'm not afraid of gods Not particularly afraid of man The ones that give me pause Are the ones who think they themselves Are made in the image of their gods Gods by association, what are the odds? They will stop at nothing To hide the fact They're both a fraud I swear to god ©2024
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May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 4:57 AM UTC
~•§•~ The Men Behind the god ~•§•~
i wince because you wanted me to love you tenderly and tirelessly, but tragically for you, all you ever did was waste my precious time. so, sure, you can twist my words, do it for your own self-assurance, but i will note yours down accurately, for my own sanity and art; i can handle being publicly contempted, but we both know, deep down, you are still attempting to be something you are so clearly not
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Feb 28, 2024
Feb 28, 2024 at 1:12 AM UTC
a (d-list actress playing) saint
They flip like flapjacks, Sizzlin' on heat; They flip like a light switch, *The rats, The finks, The stools, The snitches.* How many will get told tonight:      ***Y'll sleep wi da fisches.       That'll school you alright.***.
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Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
Sleep Wi Da Fisches
Mouse Cat The client went on about how fraud hit the revenue A single case of fraud could be bad Costing thousands in dollars by criminals Take the Mobile Application on cell phones This was for business owners to take calls on Separating them from personal calls On the upmarket plan it was text capable With unlimited SMS text messages It was a free service but if 10,000 were sent In a single day that cost something If enough of such fraud cases were done It cost the company hugely in lost revenue It took time to find out if a new user was a fake Doing fraud before their account was cancelled Even if it took 48 hours to stop them just imagine How many thousand text message could be sent On 1 upmarket business account Mobile App Its ease of use on a cell phone was a drawback It allowed scammers to call up for a new fake account Using a stolen credit card to pay The 30 dollar activation fee for the service That started immediately with a free 14 day trial Perfect for nifty social engineering fraudsters There were hundreds of them all being smart We all had to be smarter to thwart them How exactly do you do that? It was cat and mouse
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Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 9:00 PM UTC
Mouse Cat
Lord knocks at the family of four sensing the needy void a grace hopes to cure and fill light to its darkness that almost devours the other three for its life-taking shadow A veil of moonlight uncovers Lord's worn in tanned and dreads Together his lady angel carrying bags of white powder looking around for space separated, weighed and fed the void Led the lord to a room spacious and humid, no other stuff but a static television sound no moving air powders remain let the cure runs thru the house of juvenile and the lost Goodbye days are waving to the lost's relative three A vast and lonesome emptiness Hits the face and broke a bridge Of trust and a second chance A Lord's fraud grace put the four floating in pitch black water sets the powdered metal and spark from their eyes shines through the soul and life were almost taken if the wall didn't catch the bullet from the drug lord's blessing.
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Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 2:29 AM UTC
A Lord's Fraud Grace
Cultivators of silent corpses seed plague, in the ignorant, Across webs of lust and greed where they will bleed, and pray. In the motley virile fictions they intoxicate the disempowered, Dominating with illusions and indoctrinated stories where they prey. What feared is the interpretation of the vice, not the tyrant, That is when, history becomes a weapon to, a future, portray. In writhing thickets of hair the salt of the vengeance is ambient, Each who was indulged within false Utopia will then repay. On wounds, salt, time will pour, for the witling faded poor. That is when, we rinse our papers and end this spurious play. Scripts to them are art to perceive to what benefits and sells. Nations are blocked with blind belief of man but not the superior, While rulers control their puppets, and puppets drug with pills. Doubting and standing against is remote, it is the ulterior. With words and malice they steer heads, and penetrate the cells, Building their heaven upon our hell, where we stay the inferior. Imprisoning the gospel truthfulness in themselves, the rotten cells. The times of miracles are over, and prophecies are fulfilled, but freeing ourselves from mendacity would be our grand miracle. Salvation is waking up from a fancy dream, and a truth spilled.
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Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 9:52 AM UTC
Rotten
Put on a suit and a pair of heels, Maybe they won't see the imposter hiding underneath.
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Jun 7, 2021
Jun 7, 2021 at 12:44 PM UTC
Imposter
These poems I write, they’re my escape, though from what I do not know. My troubles seem to evaporate the moment I let them show. I write about love, which is ironic because I’ve never had a lover. I used to think maybe I was sick; for I’ve never longed for one either. I write about death when I’m feeling down so I can cry to something new, but thinking to when I lost real tears, maybe they weren’t mine to lose. Even now as I write this down - my headphones on but paused - I wonder where my motives are bound, for I always feel like a fraud.
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Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC
The Fraud
what if i am faking it? i'm a fraud i dont know what to do, or who i am i'm nervous i'm angry i'm anxious i'm scared it's all fake i don't feel any more what if she's right? i don't have anxiety it's all fake what if i'm faking it?
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Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC
it's all fake
i am not a man ***** made at best with a lack of quality control i cry shamefully waiting for the day to find that my heart has officially grown cold like all the good boys that receive their praise what id give not to ask but to only receive just for one moment i want to feel what it feels like to be treated like necessity and not a burden i long for everything that will never be mine
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Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
you’re not like other boys
Every poet is a fake eyewitness, peddler of make-believe hearsay, A conveyor of love he never knew in a city he never saw in a way to make you feel the passion as if it were true, He is an air-brusher of reality, Thus a proselytizer of the Absurd: That you can paint pictures with words; That you can travel by verbs; That you can conjure nouns by saying them; That you can lead several lives within your only one. Every poet is a fake taxidermist, seller of second-hand stuffings of souls that were never alive Every poet is a fake imperialist, would be explorer-cum-colonizer of the terra incognita of your mind Every poet is a fake poet
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Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
Every poet is a fake
Church services will resume shortly, so, get ready to crowd the rectory. Confessions are in session cause these are concessions to con men plying their moral dissent to compliment other idiots. Success, cause intellectual blindness and devotion to a deity who doesn’t give two ***** about all of you who are not rich republican men. We win, my gullible friends. Come on in. Kenneth Copeland and Cresflow dollar will be taking your money to support their private jet go out and get more stuff while the poor struggle in debt. Why care for those who despair? Why share what we have instead of bailing out big businessmen? We got to open the country again and we can start with religion cause they already believe that science is fake and magic is reality. So, lets get them out and about who cares if grandma get the disease. We need to please these rich dudes, these fox news red hat attitude gotta get a clue red state race bating confederate flag wearing NRA make America great… Wait…… Yeah, go to church your pearly gates await just please stay in for at least two weeks when you get back from hearing your preacher speak.
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Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 10:43 AM UTC
Untitled 459
* *I seem to be deaf to the moon. So pure yet cold, it's soft light whispering deep into my soul, lulling me to a peaceful rest and yet, I turn away Various seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years blow by like the wind; fleeting and colourless Am I not just a speck of dust, a dancing vapour, a grain of sand that will crumble and be forgotten? How I yearn to be more, transcend through this mortal coil to be free of any burdens to not let my emotions gnaw and drink from the pools of my sense my securities my dreams and turn a woodland meadows of light, life and birdsongs into a blackened forest with raining ash, brimstone sky My quill and ink are there but my hand turns to that of golden stone, beautiful but stiff Still lost I am... Where is the girl I thought I was? I fear that all I've cloaked I will one day become... I know it's all obscure But I plan to overcome* *
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Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
Fraud