"arming" poems
The shortest distance between two points of travel.
The fastest method for achieving a result.
Quickest answer for a resolution.
Marrying equals.
All terminology meaning essentially the same thing; synthesis. That is what the two-party system is meant to be doing. It is the point of checks and balances. A check is a stopgap. A balance is a measure.
No one wants to ban personal firearms. No one wants mentally-ill people to own them. No one advocates violence by school teachers to assuage future potential violence. No reasonable person wants children to grow up in a police state school system. No American believes that State and Federal government can agree on what should be done in all states.
We will not be arming teachers. Nor will we be banning guns. There will never be armed guards at public schools. States and the Federal government disagree on so many levels there will never be consensus on change when it comes to this issue. So, change the issue in a way that offers a stopgap as a measure.
The President of The United States issues a proclamation that all land directly adjacent to the front of all public schools will be bought by the federal government at today's market price. That price will be fixed provided the states do two things. Use state eminent domain laws(every state already has them) to file a claim on said properties and assess the value thereof for the federal government.
Secondly, establish police precincts on said property.
Ask yourself;
"How many children would die if the local police were directly across the street from the school at the time of the shooting?"
And,
"Would Conservatives or Liberals be against this proposal?"
Also,
We should all remember that these shooters plan their attacks and would have to plan around the police being there immediately after they begin one.
Problem solved...
...and no one touched a gun(right) to do it.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
Where the grapes you eat are red and green
But the ones you draw are purple
Where you love your parents with all of your heart
But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends
Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds
Can be destroyed by the light of day
Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise
Can be healed by a kiss
Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess
By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu
Where a boy becomes a conquering hero
By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper
Where a slightly unkempt yard
Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents
Where an in ground pool
Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored
Where winter
Is a season for snowmen and presents
Where summer
Is a season for ice cream and beaches
Where Mommy
Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller
Where Daddy
Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman
Where science has no bearing
Because rainbows and lightning come from magic
Where logic doesn’t make sense
Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical
And there is no place for suffering
Because pain is overshadowed by innocence
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Summer Solstice
"Everybody knows that the change is coming
"Everybody knows that the deck is stacked"
Leonard Cohen
In Colorado, the Cache La Poudre is burning
That's where they hid the gunpowder
Has it blown yet?
In the Southeast Asia Enterprise Zone
The suicide nets are ready for another night's harvest
Do we understand that our beautiful electric screens
Are polished with blood?
In Syria, the death squads are arming
For another day in the abattoir
Everyone is ready for the bodies
I called out to you in the night
I dreamed you loved me
From the bottom of your soul
In the morning, your e-mail address
Was blocked, texts came back forlorn
The earth is crying out
But Jimi is so long gone
No one understands
And the wind howls alone
In the land of plenty
We're all tucked into our corners
Of the unlimited cage match
Our abs are ripped
Our tattoos look good
But our eyes are empty.
Winter is coming.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Sometimes writing poetry
is all we've got
Exclaiming our feelings with words
Is all we've got
Fighting for change with words
Is all we've got
Sometimes arming ourselves with haikus
Is all we've got
Exploding bitter pills with prose
is all we've got
Soothing our scorching wounds with sonnets
Is all we've got
Asking for mercy, love, unity and peace in repetition
Is all we've got
Sometimes writing poetry for you
Is all he's got
With every stanza he wrote, he bought a Ferrari
with every rhyme she wrote, she bought you a mansion
because
that's all he's got
So dream
Pray
Shout
Love
With words
because
that's all we've got
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
IN YOUR lips moving fervently,
Your eyes hot with fire,
Life seems immortally young with desire,
Life seems impetuous,
Hungrily free,
Having no faith but its burning to be.
You could dance laughingly,
Draw where you move,
Hearts, hands and voices pouring you love.
Youth be a carnival,
Life be the queen,
You could go dancing and singing and seen!
Whence came that tenderness
Cruel and wild,
Arming with ****** the hand of a child?
Whence came that breaking fire,
Nursed and caressed
With passion's white fingers for tyranny's breast?
In your soul sacredly,
Deeper than fear,
Burns there a miracle dreadful to hear?
****** of ******
Was it God's breath,
Begetting a savior, that filled you with Death?
2.2k
They repeatedly boasted aloud
of conquests and victories
for a short period between
their palmy days of youth
and unexpected quick death;
a mad rush of adrenaline
before thought could wake up reason,
nothing more than a basic need
for impulsive violent action,
few drops of poetry could have changed direction,
a death wish triggered by moments of darkness
that invites a chain of tragic consequences.
But thoughtful they were
to hire overzealous writers,
being aware of their need of arming future.
The writers extolled the futile deaths
embellished words, made it look heroic
which really pointed only to a ****** end.
Look at each tomb stones lined
here in the cemetery, once more
see, if the names extolled once are still not eroded.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Tear gas and fear tactics.
Riot gear and semi-automatics.
Our military industrial complex has come home.
The government wire taps your cell phones.
Spies on you with drones.
While bully cops with billy clubs break your bones.
You know the motto:
serve master's interests,
protect master's property.
The crooked politician is today's slave owner.
Officer his overseer.
That sweet war on drug money armed them up.
Homeland Security bought the armored truck.
Nothing left to do but duck and cover up the evidence before it hits the 6 o' clock media dump.
I stand here today in full protest of toy soldiers in bulletproof vests placing American citizens under house arrest
with evening curfews and death threats.
Until those who are sworn to
uphold the law
begin to
abide by the law,
there will never be peace.
There will never be rest.
The Geneva Convention of 1925 prohibits the use of
asphyxiating and poisonous gases, liquids, and bacteriological
methods of warfare.
The United States has spoken out against countless countries
that have use these tactics on their own people
but has stood idly by as the police use it as a tool to disperse
the peaceful protests of American citizens.
This ******** needs to stop.
No one needs to die.
Not a civilian, not a cop.
America's infatuation with arming itself has come with
zero accountability and a severe lack of responsibility.
A scared nation with fingers on triggers have created
a bigger body count and has widened the gap between
police and community.
Hate and bigotry will never disappear from the human psyche.
It is the responsibility of every individual to
bring positivity into the world.
Ignore the intolerant.
Praise the pacifist.
May future generations reject the appalling actions of their forefathers
and usher in a new age of love and peace based on
tolerance and understanding.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
He rolls out of bed
He drops out of his rack
He puts on his armour
He zips on his flight suit
He buckles his spurs
He laces his boots
He grabs his longsword
He grabs his helmet
And walks out to the stable
And walks up to the flight deck
To his steed
To his plane
He saddles the beast
He pre-flights the beast
Mounts
Gets in
Rears up
Kicks in full burners
And gallops forward
And takes a cat shot
Lowering his lance
Arming his missles and guns
He looks for dragons to slay
He looks for dragons to slay
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
poetry isn't just for white people, Vivian
isn't a girl's name, and I will
wear these white jeans past Labor Day.
we forget that we could
touch the stars if we *******
tried, but instead we are
here, drowning in atmosphere,
choking on our inhibitions.
there are ten pills tucked
in the very back of your desk;
you love them but
they're about to become a
crutch, and you are frightened.
I don't **** with that
new ****
but it's not like you care.
I'm still the same *******
idiot, total trash, I
deleted your number
and I won't send you
snapchats,
I wonder if you
deleted my dickpics.
lost intimacy, windowsill
cacti, a Ziplock full of ******* stuffed
inside your pillowcase;
I went for a run, your
name traipsing about my
prefrontal cortex, smashing
memories, beheading roosters,
screaming incoherently about
subprime mortgages and
credit derivatives.
the government is lying about
9/11 but no one really cares;
the government is arming oppressive regimes in
Missouri but white people don't care;
would that I had such
willful ignorance, the right to
ignore the slaughter on our
front lawns.
my parents started from the
bottom, they survived in
America, decapitated birds on the doorstep.
I do not have their strength and I am
washing Xanax down with Gatorade and
refusing to apologize.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Late was the hour of becoming
those zigzagging cracks up the faded plaster watched like little snakes
calm witness a resurrection akin to biblical import
alone secondstory bedroom filled by distant company
heiroglyphs miraculous sudden translation speaking the sacred tongues of fire
our hearts beating the miles away shortened with every word
an offering blessed and given by minds touching fingers touching keys to invisible locks
turning turning rusty engines purring cats smug smile
yes and yes and yes lost islands bridged by joint effortless task
a torn off mask and a question asked
eternity snuck into momentary clouds parted with blooms of lightnings flash flood food for the spirit
children laughed where they couldn't be heard
the earth sang along with tropical birds
this welcome radiant gift in my chest cavity spreading quickening enlivening
a sturdy reminder recalling vigor not found in any common tonic
simple conversation a conversion of salt water to diamond sparkling fervor
rejoice drank its sweet juices staining the lips drips warming two hearts
a chance found true its mark
bullseye
it will be unstolen saboteurs tricked submitting their swords to strong hands arming guardian angels
this joy travels well past all hours
comforting dreams that sleep undersea in gold spiraling towers
wanderer heat old bones leave the cold leave all pains
pouring out poisons to make bows out of rain
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 3:26 AM UTC
He told his sister to feed the dogs,
His twin sister; Sophia Bogvoskya,
As he was to take out the herds
Of horses, sheep, donkeys and cows,
Out to the plains and hill land for grazing,
She never took a **** she locked herself,
Up in the ante chamber of the main house,
She took the mirror and began looking
At her beauty, Russian model beauty
She began picking her nails,
As the dogs were starving in the sheds
They whined but no succor came forth,
A fiat that coincided with arrival of ogres,
The great Western Ogres, the tongues wagging,
They had a plethora of eyes and mouths,
Noses and ears, limbs both hind and fore,
They ate all the young sheep,
They took away Putin’s young brothers
Crimea and Ukrainian, both were taken away,
By the ferocious NATO ogres they were taken
In a whelp and desperate kicking for freedom,
Dogs stood aloof as ogres thrashed Sophia
Into thin lacerations of red flesh,
They ate as they roared with laughter,
Then they went away with their loot,
Vladimir came back home, found nothing
No sister, no brothers no sheeplings,
Only two white sepulchers glared at him,
The graves of his mother and father;
The former cooks of Lenin Vladimir,
He mourned and mourned grievously,
Then he sang a dirge of his forefathers
From the herculean land of Bosnia,
And also Moscow, he dirged;
We were born in the wee of the night,
When the bear is whelping,
And we were suckled by the Tigre
When our mothers were taken slaves,
For no man or creature
Will ever make us victims
Nor subjects of fear,
He recovered from the moment
Trial some moment of loss and bereave,
Then he chose to go after the ogres
But with a strategum of no match,
He began arming himself first
Before he could set on,
His mobile armory full of deadly weapons;
A bunch of wasps, wild bees, black ants,
A thousand slings, spears and sickles,
Machetes, poisonous saps, and toxics,
Wild dogs, five hundred snakes and scorpions,
Bows and arrows as well as cudgels,
Clubs, stones and chains,
He also learned how to use the hands
In the most lethal manner,
Then he went for combat,
To rescue all that was taken,
Taken from him by the ogres….
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
In his address to Congress,
The Donald brazenly
revealed plans to spread fear through
a brand new agency.
It will report and list all crimes
by each new immigrant,
to heighten paranoia's spread
amongst the ignorant.
By fanning fiery flames of fear,
the bigots shall rejoice,
and they shall love the agency
that Trump is naming "VOICE".
Victims
Of
Immigration
Crime
Engagement
Now, I propose an agency
to give another choice,
that balances the propaganda
to be spread by VOICE...
An agency that recognizes
Donald's vile role
as chief hatemonger of the world.
It shall be named, *****
American
Sociopathic
Shooters
Harming
Others
Less
Entitled
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
They call the ship 'Burden,'
An indestructible vessel,
Rival to the monsters of the sea.
It's exactly what the people needed,
For you see,
In the depths lurked a beast.
Eighty tentacles, four trade ships tall and wide,
A hundred-thirty teeth when it's smile lied.
They called it, "Kraken."
It was nothing of the likes you've seen,
Emperor of the dark sea.
The Burden could hold fifteen hundred men,
Arming harpoons, cannons, muskets, wit.
The king ordered them to turn the seas red with gore,
Call forth the Kraken,
Strike it dead.
Then to the king,
They would drag back it's head.
So come high-noon,
The ship was in place,
Above the deepest of sea caves.
Letting forth crates of bait,
Staining the waters of the sea,
Until the sailors heard a rumble,
Shake the Burden's iron shell.
Up from the waters came long river's hell,
Tentacles like spires towering well beyond the sails.
But the crew held steady,
"Tighten the ropes, arm our cannons,"
Cried the captain,
"Then fire!"
The seas filled with blood,
The sky filled with gunpowder, fractured shells,
A shriek rang out from the deeps.
The cry of death,
From the Kraken itself.
Tentacles sinking away,
"The head!" Cried the captian,
So Lutenent Lucus dived after the creature.
Tied by a rope,
Pike in hand,
The creature's head,
He began to drag.
Though, glancing over his shoulder,
Through the murk he could see,
The form of a woman swimming away.
Some curse broken, he decided,
A soul freed from grim reality.
Peace.
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 10:53 AM UTC
Hey cold gray decrepit wall , paint me a pretty picture this morning because I'm too 'unstable' to be let out ..
Draw purple sunsets and seagulls flying away because I'm to'combative ' to be walking about ...
Good morning minimum wage , mad at the way the creek flows orderly , keeping the peace in the psychiatric world , strong arming sweet people to consume their numbing drugs , walking around like your in the WWE , NFL or something ...
Drink machine doctors , twenty second physicals for a thousand bucks , not even looking up with an apparent hundred percent hearing loss when your patients happen to speak up !
Good day Nurse Loser with zero patience , handed out drugs like your poisoning the hogs .. Now that I'm gone I wish you all the worst , I hope you find a Gaboon Viper hiding in your purse ..
Hello kitchen staff , how could I forget , how much sugar does it take to sweeten dog **** ? Trapped in a room with food a rat would refuse to eat .. Standing indignant by your slop like your a Food Channel cooking queen !!
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
the wind's whisper was
a romance of sound
satin sheets
shifting
softly
sliding
between her legs
with each gentle tug of his
her marble skin was the rapture
of his innocence
and the oarsmen
of his temptations
rowing him along
toward her
between her nubile legs
and he felt
for once
not like an invader
a Viking
a barbarian
trudging over the mountains
with lust arming his flesh
for the takings to
come
no
he felt
like a father
dutiful
yet also
like a son
respectful - obedient
yet truly, he was
her lover
who had mastered her platonic whims,
sacrifices, and conditions;
earned her trust
earned her surrender
and her, his
and her, his undying, unabashed love
devotion
humility
honor
reciprocal instincts
romantic intuitions
senses of guardianship and homage
faith...
for, he felt stronger
bedding her this day
than any woman before her
stronger
than any promise of affection
any kiss
any trust
for, she had conquered him
passionately
patiently
enduringly, with love
convincing him - resoundingly
that her heart was solely HIS
for that day,
with her inviting him into her womb
that was the start of their honeymoon
the firmament
the consummation
of their oath to love
and eternity
humanity
with no remorse for their matrimonial union...
no fear
no sorrow
no misery
no end
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 1:18 AM UTC
The spout
Of the battle
Shouting
In inconsiderate
Babble about bling
While i'm saddling
My steeds
Manning the machines
And breathing easy
Before i speak
Clearly to your dreams
Interjecting the theme
Of the losing team
Cheering in victory
Snickering in mockery
I remarkably sing
In drowned out tones
And zings
And i'm gonna be
Everything you been
In a week
And its weak
That i win
And you grin
With your arms up
Hooray!!
But you lost today
Too dumb to know it
But showin it
To everybody
Rhyming
Isn't about money
Its about diction
Metered rhymes
And harmony
Arming the
Alarmingly
Disarming memes
Of scattagoried kings
Euphorically
Seized
In the lean
Of delivery
Creativity key
The breezy
Sleezinous
Sheened
In the has beens
Gassed up
Gin drunks
Grunting whats
In response to love
Callin bluffs
On the tuffs
Of your huffs
And shrugs
Whatever punk
I got a foot on you
And your ****
On my side
Talking over you
Until you shut
Out the light
With your mouth
Over your eyes
And your house
Of flies sized up
In tough love
And shoved off the shores
To the unexplored oceans
In the notions
Of severed portions
Aborted with a snorkel
In the cortex
Of Oxygenated
Brains showing you
A thing or two
So ******* vein
Watching you strain
To speak
To breathe
To think
When your ready
Il be brief
A pat on the back
And declaration of king
Before you bend over to be
Blessed by the best
In this contest
Im tested
Only of my patience
In the vagrancy
Of your empty words
Freshly matured
In manure
Skewered
In the lured
Obscurity
Muraling
The masterpieces
Stealing thesis-es
With the soul content
Of cheeseless pizzas
Sauceless in the lossless
Belligerence
And im tempted
To kiss
My fists
And commence
To smash out the comments
To astonished onlookers
Booking for Brooklyn
When im shooting
Blood across the pavement
With fury of a patient
To fairfax and back
To break the bones
Of your home
Set your soul apart
From the heart
That pumps lumps
Of ********
From the start
Of your every sentence
Ill take two seconds
To count on your blemishes
To settle this
In nubbish
*******
Stumbling
From a kid
Im only kidding
In my giving a single ****
Get with it
The mic is yours
And ill freely admit
To being bored
Here you go
....
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 4:44 AM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Amidst a tenebrous hurricane of chaos,
I have hunted through the dark to find what I have lost,
And at last my path is laid out in front,
So I shall stay alert, always savoring the hunt,
I am ending my transformation as sovereign of the dark,
Arming myself with the confidence to finally make my mark,
I will help guide foreign spirits through the lurid mist,
Protecting them from horrors that most beings have thankfully missed,
I’m almost there, I don’t look back, I’ve come so very far,
Now my spirit is almost fully submerged into the Jaguar,
I move so stealthily through corners nobody can see,
I understand the chaos; no one’s ventured there but me,
I have made a choice to be the guardian of the night,
Some of you can sense me I’m the one who kills the fright,
My spots reflect the darkness, circles of a deep pitch black,
They help remind me of the things to which I’ll never go back
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
Apart a part
partnership apartment
in the armpit of
the army
Arms arming
apart a part
artfully
artlike
ark like
covenant:
partners partly
apart
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
.
What
did the ****
say to the ******
Don't make me ***
in there . What's
the difference be
tween your wife
and a bonus?Yo
ur wife will alw
ays blow your b
onus. What do y
ou call a woman
who likes small
***** Hopefully
your girlfriend.
The other day m
y girlfriend caug
ht me blow drying my ****
She asked what I was doing.
Apparent ly w arming u p
her dinner was not the
right answer.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
as soon as i turn onto the street,
my pulse picks up pace to make up
for the slack on the gas pedal
as my foot sides with a little part of my heart
in the war between it and my brain
and the part of me arming myself
with a litany of you are untouchable nows.
the house on the corner sits there
as it always has, square and solid and red -
red as southern dirt coating holy little arms and legs,
red as skinned knees and scraped palms,
red as the pickup truck outside,
red as a hunted girl in the woods, red as -
the other house is off-white.
it’s long and flat and once upon a time
a boy kissed me right there in the front yard
on my seven-year-old strawberry cheek.
the boy moved out and took even the cabinet doors
and soon after the nightmare moved in.
i always steal a glance in case it’s outside.
today it is, casually sunning itself on the porch.
i feel its eyes on me as i pull in across the road.
the little drummer boy housed in my chest is going to war.
i never know if we win.
i fumble with the keys, torn between hurryuphurryupit’sthereit’sthere** -
and i know, i know. it can smell fear.
i let the car door hang open before i’m ready to get out.
i’m open, it silently challenges. come and get me if you dare.
i check the mirror to make sure it doesn’t.
i slide out, fight the urge to pull myself in and instead grow larger.
i do not look over again.
every step to the red door i take thuds in my ears,
my own war drums. this fight i will win. i do not look behind me.
i knock on the door. i go in, feeling eyes burning me.
i’ve won.
until i walk back out -
then i do it all again.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Welcome to the age
of nightmare media
where you can find
the truth between
the lies they’ve
been feeding ya.
Welcome to your
internet prison
that splits your sanity
like a cracked prism.
Welcome to the age of you
cause you don’t care
what your violent leaders do.
No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do.
Pressure building
from the bottom up.
Cops keep shooting
our brothers up,
but when people
try to say
that their lives matter
you get ****** off
blame them
and not the system
that has been
intentionally broken
for as long as we
have been
our own nation.
No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do
You’ve been blaming,
the gays,
blaming the immigrants,
blaming the poor,
blaming innocent victims
for the problems you created.
I guess it is easier to hate
then to find the truth
and risk being hated.
So, you celebrate
how great it is
to live in a place
that keeps arming
our police with
military grade weapons
in case free citizens
give the rich grief.
No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do
Are we better together
or do we need to be separated
so that white privilege and power
can no longer discriminate?
I hope that you know that
I am still searching
for a better way
before America comes to
shoot me down to.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:30 AM UTC
Days of accepting the unacceptable, of awakening, of walking without returning to see, to go making stories, arming bridges, arming new ways of being, being the same, to change some incongruencies in life, to have others; return to begin, with out believing in destiny, rewriting each situation in a different way, being conscious of change, but without interpreting it, and only leaving oneself to be, unrepeatable, inconsistent, unrenouncable, ambiguously new, cool and clear, without fear, days of living my way.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC