"alternatives" poems
We hear it at the grocery store,
from Walmart, and the bank.
From the guy at the quick stop,
when we fill up our tank.
They mean well, I suppose,
every time I hear them say,
the same old repetitious words,
“Have a nice day.”
Sometimes they even say it
when the day is done and gone
Day and night, wrong or right,
Those words keep rolling on..
Well, just in case they have no clue,
of anything else to say,
consider these alternatives,
to “Have a nice day.”
“Hey, I’m glad that you came in.”
“I hope to see you again.”
“I appreciate your business.”
“Good luck to you, my friend.”
“Be safe in your travels.”
“Come back again ok?.”
“Thanks a lot, take care out there.”
There are other things to say.
I’m glad I have that off my chest,
I’m sorry I feel that way,
Thanks for listening. Gotta go.
“Have a nice day!”
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
"Contentment is a synonym for loneliness, cool loneliness, settling down with cool loneliness. We give up believing that being able to escape our loneliness is going to bring any lasting happiness or joy or sense of well-being or courage or strength. Usually we have to give up this belief about a billion times, again and again making friends with our jumpiness and dread, doing the same old thing a billion times with awareness. Then without our even noticing, something begins to shift. We can just be lonely with no alternatives, content to be right here with the mood and texture of what’s happening."
"it allows us to finally discover a completely unfabricated state of being. Our habitual assumptions — all our ideas about how things are — keep us from seeing anything in a fresh, open way… We don’t ultimately know anything. There’s no certainty about anything. This basic truth hurts, and we want to run away from it. But coming back and relaxing with something as familiar as loneliness is good discipline for realizing the profundity of the unresolved moments of our lives. We are cheating ourselves when we run away from the ambiguity of loneliness."
"Cool loneliness allows us to look honestly and without aggression at our own minds. We can gradually drop our ideals of who we think we ought to be, or who we think we want to be, or who we think other people think we want to be or ought to be. We give it up and just look directly with compassion and humor at who we are. Then loneliness is no threat and heartache, no punishment. Cool loneliness doesn’t provide any resolution or give us ground under our feet. It challenges us to step into a world of no reference point without polarizing or solidifying. This is called the middle way, or the sacred path of the warrior."
by Pema Chodron from "When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advise for Difficult Times"
Mar 28, 2023
Mar 28, 2023 at 6:17 AM UTC
A root of confusion in math
is not knowing whether a term
is a noun, verb, adjective, or adverb.
An equation is nothing but
a string of nouns.
But I may think about these nouns,
by their adjective or adverb
alternatives, for example,
which convolute the matter.
Verbs in math are really the outliers.
Thus, I've been thinking wrong
with "math is a verb" mentality.
The most common math terms are
nouns, which function alone
as subjects and objects.
What I think of as "doing math"
is akin to "doing porch".
It entails a deck, railing, stairs,
a chair, a roof.
So too, does math include these
things.
I walk on the stairs and deck.
I sit on the chair.
I enjoy the roof's shade.
So too, the things of math are
used via terms which are not
included usually in math terminology.
Almost the only verb used in
math is "think" which is convoluted
by the subjects/objects which I
employ during thinking.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
I was standing in the aisle at Bulk Barn
I was low on neutrinos and looking to stock up
I like to sprinkle them on my cereal in the morning
I made my way down the aisle and found the anti-photons
If you like your coffee black and not sweet
Then this is almost as good as other alternatives
My electron supply was fine
But I thought I'd get some anyway
Just for the ion-y
I don't understand the economics but I guess
The invisible hand does
When the clerk looked in my basket
She just waved me through
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
My Principles Are Not For Sale!
This poem is dedicated to all those secret, righteous souls, the silent minority (and heaven alone knows who they are) who guide their principles of conduct, whenever their evil inclination challenges them, by the credo "G-d is watching." They do what is right, unimpressed with what "everybody else does." They readily hold their lip, and bow their head to maintain this "peace" in G-d's world. To them, know, this is their holy sacrifice--a sacrifice to G-d, on his very Alter (our world).
Surviving adversity, it is really against the odds
that you'll still stay normal with your full deck of cards
Like many a cause that you know have a price
where principle is concerned, you're ready to sacrifice
There is right and there is wrong, you don't need to belong
your principles are just, they have made you headstrong
No rhyme and no reason can sway you from this cause
because you've pondered its justice and have found no flaws
Shouts of anger and negativity galore
you are now tasting just what is in store
What words could you offer to those limited in thought
when all is finished, would it be your wisdom they sought?
Words of the heart enter the heart, when all else fails
it's not a bad place to be, when addressing another's ails
To overcome adversity there is not always one solution
but it can never be found in starting a revolution
In final sum, it seems like the rule of thumb
better to negotiate that peace and then some
For the alternatives are all to clear
why perpetuate hatred and fear
so put aside your differences
and find a world wishing to care
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
scars of a past I wanted nothing to do with
led me to handcuff myself
to a lampole for security.
I had reached my consensus.
I threw the keys to these cuffs
in mental portals where I thought
no one would dare to ever travel.
Many tried searching
but I intentionally
obstructed access
with deceptive rants of fear and caution.
By then
I was sure
that I had thoroughly built walls of security;
I was safe
...but who would've thought
my aesthetically intellectual design
had a weakness?
The enemy came just as they all did,
hoping to be let in...
but this one reacted differently when the ranting came;
I was now at a disadvantage
because I had no other alternatives for defense.
The enemy showed no care for my security;
It was attractive
And I succumbed while
Never forgetting my plan
Although it seemed my design was nugatory.
My mental lampole and cuffs,
gone.
I was left subjugated
at the feet of a queen
who carried an aura
with the most beautiful spectrum.
Like a bull snake,
promises of security
grappled my core,
draining it of all fear
leaving behind no traces
of deception.
Although defeated,
she still remains my enemy
because serendipity
never seems to stick around.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
**** me
I don't trust me
maybe I'm rusty
shes just *****
*****
hate to look you in the shoes there lovely
lackin alternatives the shoes it be
rub me
filth to the core not unseen
unteen times past I felt bad plugging
and running
not scared of ****
its ******* is ******
a life oh
what seems to be life so
This ain't livin'
Marvin Gaye given
insight my sight unseen
unto the looking glass glean
maybe better off taken time to see
sorry not me
that whole waiting scene
I plead to gods on high be free
my soul tattered torn on the throne
all this time wasted holding on to the goal
just to throw
oh a life oh
what seems to be life so
This ain't livin'
Marvin Gaye given
cowardice a man who never felt fear
resin to live in this hell world imprisoned here
******** leaders
wish I had time
in a pile of ***** alone in the world, fillin in for atlas, who me? nah I'm fine.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
One, and two, and two, and two
The people I saw to get to you
The door, the desk, the man, the bed
The thoughts of what you're going through
My face a distant helpless frown
My heart gave way when I saw you wince
My knees felt weak and Buckle-y
The thought, it came: I let you down
Control so far, we can't attain
Alternatives so distant now
Delete the wrongs this world wreaks
Loss too great, the horrid pain
A miscarriage of all our aims
No doctor can prescribe a cure
I finally scream in cathartic rage
"I thought this ******* comic was about video games"
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
ESKOM
Where do I start?
Writing this by candle light;
Yet today we are lucky,
Load shedding came early
The system is done,
Its broken, corrupt,
Time after time,
Excuses one after the next
Us we are lucky,
In some ways anyhow;
For we have a few means
To keep warm for now
Others are not,
In fact most are not,
They suffer, they die,
But ESKOM - care they do not
Yes it was once ok,
to be totally without,
But once electricity is introduced,
Its difficult to go without
Those who have the means
Have done what they can,
Generators, gas, solar,
Options are endless, but only if you can
To most the expense is impossible,
Of course we want solar,
We want clean energy,
Just like we collect rain water
Its nothing new,
Its now been decades,
Leaving people to suffer,
ESKOM one problem after another
Winter after winter
Just when its needed most,
ESKOM takes it away,
Light, warmth, taken away
People light fires with paraffin,
Then bring them indoors,
Just to keep warm,
In the morning they dont wake up at all
Where is investment in alternatives?
For ESKOM cannot go on,
As one of my cousins said -
The grid is often more off than on
I cannot complain,
Not for myself anyway;
I choose to live here
I'll do things my own way
But I do see suffering
Knowing a long winter is ahead,
With an overburdened health system,
Knowing every winter leaves people dead
How much longer will it take?
For ESKOM to finally close,
To open doors for others,
Its time to get rid of the coal
In a Country basking in sunshine
nearly every day of the year,
The lack of solar power is saddening,
And shameful, but ESKOM doesnt care
Yes we have fire,
But we also have rain,
Those two dont mix,
Cannot cook on fire in the rain
The saddest things is this,
That ESKOM just dont care;
Lives dont matter to ESKOM,
Anyway - they have their share
The few that can make do,
They can afford to.
So everyone else is forgotten,
Nearly 80 percent of the population
Its cold, its wet,
We cannot light fire,
If we do its outside,
Buildings no longer designed for fire
How much longer ESKOM?
Will you allow people to suffer?
Will you eat all the money?
Will you do this to South Africa??
We all hope for a brighter future; quite literally...."brighter" .. :)
Nomkhumbulwa **
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
My Principles Are Not For Sale!
This poem is dedicated to all those secret, righteous souls, the silent minority (and heaven alone knows who they are) who guide their principles of conduct, whenever their evil inclination challenges them, by the credo "G-d is watching." They do what is right, unimpressed with what "everybody else does." They readily hold their lip, and bow their head to maintain this "peace" in G-d's world. To them, know, this is their holy sacrifice--a sacrifice to G-d, on his very Alter (our world).
Surviving adversity, it is really against the odds
that you'll still stay normal with your full deck of cards
Like many a cause that you know have a price
where principle is concerned, you're ready to sacrifice
There is right and there is wrong, you don't need to belong
your principles are just, they have made you headstrong
No rhyme and no reason can sway you from this cause
because you've pondered its justice and have found no flaws
Shouts of anger and negativity galore
you are now tasting just what is in store
What words could you offer to those limited in thought
when all is finished, would it be your wisdom they sought?
Words of the heart enter the heart, when all else fails
it's not a bad place to be, when addressing another's ails
To overcome adversity there is not always one solution
but it can never be found in starting a revolution
In final sum, it seems like the rule of thumb
better to negotiate that peace and then some
For the alternatives are all to clear
why perpetuate hatred and fear
so put aside your differences
and find a world wishing to care
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
Sitting in my alleyway
I watch people every day
They see me in my cardboard box
I hear the things they say
It used to bother me, but now
I just let them look and pass
I used to beg for their spare change
But, now I do not ask
I think that as they pass on by
It's my situation that they see
Homeless, living in the cold
They're not seeing me
Some stop, and stare in silence
They don't have the words to say
they see just what they want
While others turn away
Some who pass, they cross the road
On to the other side
They'd rather think I don't exist
Although it's here that I reside
I think that as they pass on by
It's my situation that they see
Homeless, living in the cold
They're not seeing me
If you ask, I'll answer
I'm a man, I have a voice
Although I'm in this alley
I am here by my own choice
Alternatives are out there
But they are not for me
Remember, it's my situation
Not the man I am you see
Dec 5, 2021
Dec 5, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC
it's a college party
even though i never finished and the rest of y'all are spending money you don't have on the ingredients necessary for homemade sangria so you can drink the crippling anxiety of not knowing how to pay off your student loans away
there's a man living in a tent in the backyard, and i'm pretty sure we put one too many pieces of scrap wood in that very-hard-to-maintain bonfire. that has to be a metaphor for the state of most of our lives. stop throwing things i'm unprepared for in what already feels like a situation that is going to **** me.
is this a literal housewarming
i'm drunk, and sitting on the deck, counting the christmas lights. i smell **** and there are white people dancing and singing to blink 182 inside.
i paint my name on a drywall with a brush and canisters i find on my way to the living room, where i'm asked to referee a game of beer pong. i lose interest quickly.
i scroll through my phone, sober enough not to text you but drunk enough to desperately want to. someone sits down next to me because i've apparently become that person at the party.
i talk about rent with a guy who really wants to connect on the fact that we're both middle eastern, even though i'm not middle eastern. he smells like PBR and completely believes what he's saying. he says he's proud of me for following my dreams of coming to new york and that he likes my "crazy hair" and that he wants to **** me.
i raise my eyebrows, more in disgust than interest, but he then takes his perceived cue to shamelessly ask me if i have a ****** i don't, and i leave before he brainstorms any alternatives i am just as aversive to.
ironically, i find a ****** dispenser attached to a tree on the walk to the subway. considering the amount of catcalling i experienced on the way to the station, my level of discomfort is amplified by the fact that the neighbourhood literally, physically implies, ******* is going to happen in the streets. it's 2am, and i just want to go home. and i'm sitting on the J train, recalling everyone who's told me it's shady and unreliable and makes you feel like you're going to die.
a few months later, i am nicknamed J train.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
sometimes-(sometimes);
i love you on the lips
moon garden
paradise hills and november
and it's temple
template of our own world of wild tales .. sometimes
sometimes twine
sometimes silent running sometimes engine purl
under our dark star
the wind rises ; blood and black lace
the pace of our isle
raw and in keeping
sometimes the lighthouse taps
blinking metronome and we use habits of coherence
and practicality and partnership
in some dark corners
alternatives
on another earth
seats an uninvited guest
viewing
(i feel.. sometimes)
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 6:30 PM UTC
“every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
Letter from George Washington, 1790, to the Jewish community of Newport, Rhode Island
<•>
multiple motifs present poesy alternatives,
but one supremes
safety in your own chosen orchard,
supping on clear water, wine and figs
children of trees, nurtured by one’s own hands,
children of your children, running the grove,
shouting out in sweet safety
the wasps happy shameless pollinate,
dreaming of more generations,
ruefully smiling, thinking of
Adam and Eve, who ashamed of
their apple’d sexuality,
hid their nakedness of course beneath
the safety of
fig leaves
you do not pray for safety
you do not ask for anything,
nothing to fear says the father,
for you already live in our own
George’s garden of eden
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
Working your way out of ionic ******* can be
seriously interesting however, it can also be
lugubrious.
I was standing in the aisle at Bulk Barn.
low on neutrinos, I was looking to stock up
I like to sprinkle them on my cereal in the morning
I then made my way down the anti-photon aisle
if you like your coffee black and not sweet, as I do
this is almost as good as other alternatives
I did realize that
my electron supply was fine
but thought I'd get some anyway
just for the ion-y
I don't understand the economics of this transaction
but it is apparent the invisible hand does
When the clerk looked in my basket
I was waved through
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 7:56 PM UTC
.*pre-scriptum alternatives... either a bus-driver... or a garbage-man... ha ha... Leibniz... was a ******* librarian!*
a zookeeper,
a warden in a prison...
or some obscure,
accolade role
in an asylum...
i'm being pushed the role
of a chemistry teacher...
mind you... i know that the best
way to pet cats,
is to "ignore" them,
let them play their
solipsistic hide & seek game
with plain view of the target...
but i'm thinking of 3 dream jobs...
horticulture isn't an option...
must be the sort of man
with a floral pattern
rather than a sky-scraper
in my underwear
to provide gender
exclusive role play...
whatever the hell the means...
but teaching children
chemistry?
d'ah ****
i want to be on the forefront...
a gorilla zookeeper,
a prison warden,
an accolade
for what's the upper tier
of nursing,
namely, inside an asylum...
but i won't ever get a chance
to prospect myself for such roles...
hence the poetry...
given that i'm a chronic drunk
in England, but a sober
sparrow in Poland...
come to think of it...
i'm ever only drunk,
when i start talking...
alone, drinking?
i can catch a judge
play-thing sober...
but those are my dream
jobs...
and in all three instances...
none, are advertised for
potential applicants...
like a safe pass into a business of
past, trans-generational funeral homes...
just like they said:
it's not what you know,
it's who you know -
unless of course there's a merger,
and you're thinking
about emperor Nero stabbing
himself in the neck...
within the confines of a self
acknowledgment, "question".
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
California gold-rush blues
Got you pretty thirsty
Where's tank girl when you need her
Saliva thick
Lump in throat
Tongue swelling
Neck swollen
Can't breathe
Drowning
Shrinking skin
Hallucinations
Eyelids crack
Tears of blood
Leather-purse face
Amputated lips
Nose withered
Eyes trapped
We're all exported and exploited
Sold sanely cheap
Used how the rich see fit
Dead in one week
Ecosystem crashing
All for their mansions
Filled with rooms they never use
Profit ******
We see oceans through our windows
97 percent
97 percent
3 percent for you and none for us
Little boy is drinking bubbles
But it ain't champagne
It's dead dogs and fetus juice
Dog dogs and abuse
Where are the wetlands
Where are the holy springs
Soon we'll all be Atlantis
Just another lost city
Soon we'll be living
In underground caves
Like cowards
We all want roses in our garden bower
But the best heroes
Might as well be slaves
Global desert
Without rain
Green turns yellow
Here come the earthquakes
****** forest
Rest in peace
They erected cities
In your memory
Cartels and shades of grey
Vivendi, Veolia
Machines with no soul
Privatizing blue gold
In their corporate quads
Woe to WTO
The new colonialism
Coca Cola 7-Up
Sorry but your time is up
Destroy everything you touch
When it's gone
Get up and leave
Destroy another planet
**** and conquer
SLAPPing silly pointless fools
Transporting silly tools
Shooting all the people's people
Got to pull up the roots
Bullets through lace curtains
Has a ring to it
You spineless cruel leaders
With your oil rivers
Well you've made a rival now
World map's changing underground
Alternatives are scarce
Purity is all but lost
Path of least resistance blocked
Metamorphosizing clocks
Circulation down the train
Don't drink the red water
Just pray for rain
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 2:20 AM UTC
Gloominess all around me
I could see no light
The pain is ruling, tears are flooding
I know there is no way I can fight.
I scream, I cry, I hit the walls
but all I get is woe
I curse my fate, sit in disgrace
having nothing to do.
They dragged me in this ocean of chaos
blaming me that I committed a crime
Now I can do nothing
except to sit and hymn
They smashed my face real hard
and thwacked my jaw
They made me naked on those frigid nights
for breaking their law.
They tortured me all night long
just to make me accept the sin
I had no any alternatives left
except to agree and lean.
I had no evidence of being innocent
So I accepted the crime
For I could not bear the grief
that they gave me every time.
Now, I am waiting for that day to come
when the ropes embrace my neck
I will then fly freely in the air
with no pains to take.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
I spent my boyhood avoiding
the disgrace of my differences.
Creating alternate empires that
I ruled with stoic passion.
I gave out negative vibrations, as a boy,
to control the level of association.
Built walls and lived within them,
perfectly encased in sarcastic wisdom.
Does not take too long to understand
that being yourself is not suggested.
Eager advocates educate the boy that his
differences must be suppressed.
Be the same. Be the same. Be the same.
Moulded and conformed, unaware
of the boyhood desiring to think for self.
I spent my boyhood reading books
that opened libraries of imagination.
Absorbing the solitary creations
of so many magnificent lives. They presented
me with echoes of alternatives.
I never have understood the slicked back
membrane of uncentred filters.
Solitary self-confinement made so
much more tickled sense to me.
I passed out scented cigars of me
to ear-drums inclined to not listen.
They agreed to, and supported,
the numbness of not thinking.
Letting the self-declared prophets
dictate how we must believe.
I spent my boyhood being the boy
that did not fit the paper model.
Set it on fire. Set it on fire. Let the
message always be that a man
must indicate his own set of standards.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
On lonely nights
When thoughts of you
Dance throughout my mind
I wonder how often
I dance through yours.
I wonder if we met
For the first time
Right now
How would life unfold?
Would we spend
The next eleven months
Building our lives
Planning our futures
Wasting out time
On a foundation cracked
By your empty words
And careless lies?
Would you destroy everything
We had worked so hard for
With two simple sentences?
Only to give it
One more try
For two more months?
Would we then fade
From each others' lives?
Maybe we would grow.
Maybe the following year
Would be built
On solid foundation.
Maybe you would
Really love me
And our relationship
Would grow into marriage
And children
And grandchildren
And great grandchildren
And ashes
Intermingling with soil
And growing something beautiful
Like our love once would have.
Maybe I would break your heart.
Or maybe
We wouldn't know each other
At all.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
there are times
when the meaning
of a word
is asked
one that
has been read
and regurgitated
used regularly
correctly adopted
as part of
an apparent
well-read
or pretentious
vocabulary
however upon
being asked
its meaning
there is only
a blank
vacuous
addled
unable to provide
a succinct
or even literate
definition
to save face
to re-establish
the hubris
of this
abashed lexicologist
analogous alternatives
will be offered
oversimplified
synonyms
carrying a little
less gravitas
a layman's explanation
to maintain
position on his
self-congratulatory
podium
Oct 13, 2022
Oct 13, 2022 at 11:42 AM UTC
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement
People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces
There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois
Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC