"deployment" poems
Oh the enjoyment
of full deployment
in lines of unemployment.
No more paper,
To cut a caper,
Might as well go ride a tapir.
No more phone calls
driving me up the walls
Ringing dinging until my skin crawls.
Freedom is my new motto
Gonna drive down to the Grotto
And have me a margarita until I'm sotto.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:08 PM UTC
If you're OCD,
You're going to hate this poem.
Because it's not what you're used to
and it can be infuriating
I know where i'm going and i'm laughing in enjoyment.
I wish i could take some comedians out of sheer unemployment
And take damaged soldiers out of deployment
But you know that drill already
We're just trying to keep the Earth's rotation steady
But i'm up for going steady
If that's what you want
We're all about want
I'm all about yours
Trying to coordinate each constellation
Is like arguing with a woman
You won't get the result you were looking for
It's beautiful in the tension
And it has it's suspension
But it's infinite
Meaning it will go on forever
So just try not to.
I never liked arguing
I know i won't later on
Your passion and support is all i need
That's what i look for the most
Someone who doesn't see me as some sort of ghost
Or lifeless party host
But someone that means the air they breathe
I get tired of my mistakes
But to know someone will try to help me prevent them
Is what i like
There has been a couple of people who tried
But i pushed them off the deep end
And i'm terribly sorry for that
Zero fault on you and all for me
I say that with a smile
Because it feels good to be honest with myself
You think it would be a brain-dead thing to master
But it only seems that way
I know from experience
Trust me, I've been there.
My trails go in multiple angles
Just like my nature
But if you're crazy enough to stick around
You'll get a warm welcome
You'll know how to feel special
If you never have before, i'll be the first to show you
I mean every word
With full fledged honesty
I wouldn't say useless, empty words
That's inept and not worth it.
If you're confident in yourself
Girl, you should work it
I heavily value strong traits such as that
You're going to turn all my bumps in my chest flat
And make me enamored just like that
The flick of the switch
No more wishing i would with other male persons.
To get a chance
That's why most men do a celebration dance
Consistently catching me in a trance
I got more lovely words than France
Okay, maybe not
But the ambition doesn't vanish
I'll still try
To keep you mine
Time is precious
So are you
If Time was a woman she would be in disgust
That it's not her in your shoes
You brought your sparkly ones?
Just making all the check marks, are you?
Champions aren't limited to sports
I can assure you.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
Are migrants proud Australians?
Our nation based on immigration,
One polyglot meld of humanity,
To Australia show fidelity,
Our nation of peaceful tolerance,
People from Earth's shifting sands,
Living here in our Great Southern Land,
Deployment should not be our dance,
Nothing wrong with loyalty,
Patriotism our children's legacy,
---Great Southern Land,
All welcome to be Australians!
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
(your heartbeat loud in my ear)
You refused to removed
The small engraved dog tag.
And I didn’t mind
The soft, smooth silver
Cold against my cheek
As I rested my head
Over the top of your chest.
It wasn’t a distraction,
But more of a motivation.
I wasn't just sharing
The same bed with
My husband, but my hero.
I was safe in the protection
Of your arms
And the warmth of your
Body heat under our sheet.
And I was finally relaxed;
No longer tense,
Because you weren’t
Out on a deployment or tour
But safe with me.
(at least for a little while)
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
I wish I never met you. Not out of hate but out of love.
I wish you never showed me how it was to be happy.
Because now that you're not here... Alone to myself and my emptiness,
an absence so deep it crushes me breathless.
A love unfinished unappreciated undiscovered utterly uprooted.
Without you I'm unloved.
Without.
Just me.
Emptiness curbed by the hope you're still waiting for me.
Waiting upstairs - waiting,
calling for me to come to bed.
I long for that again.
The need for a connection ... to you, to myself.
A purpose to exist and care.
When its just me in a room within, there is too much space.
Just empty closets of your memories.
Loaded gun of emotion with no target.
Bound and compressed to dust.
A diamond will arise from the ashes but not for you.
Never again will I let you inside my expanse.
Just to hurt me and watch me bleed.
When you were in pain, my shoulder is where you lay.
When you were happy, my eyes were your gaze.
When you were in love, my chest your head fell.
When you were lost, my heart you stayed.
Now all that remains.
When you pushed me away, beside you I stayed.
Forever I could have been there, stepping through the mud.
No hope, no love, no mud, no longer.
Pain is double edged like your two faces.
With one comes the other.
One I never thought existed.
One I never thought I'd see.
One I can't let go of and dispel.
One - a memory that deforms my existence.
Understanding chaos is a never ending deployment.
Lonely and expressionless with
No muse for my fingers.
No figure of beauty to adore endlessly.
Trapped now within my prison of passion.
A vessel to pour my unbound passion.
An unlikely companion stifled immature and premature.
Incapable, incompatible - irresistible.
An unlikely companion clearly conceptual.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
His fingertips are doused in gasoline,
setting fire to everything he sees.
Each object he touches,
all the memories collected,
ash away and fall to crimes.
He's got eternal flames inside him,
and yet his eyes remain dimmed and submissive.
He's fragile and fractured,
and as his last heart string crackled,
you could see the hope unlit.
Fires and unsettling demons
are all he even seems to remember.
He might try and set his body ablaze,
to calmly dry off that crying pain,
sadly sticks and stones withhold his embers.
He won't die, but he can't learn,
the anguish manipulated to feed a burn.
His life was hanging in a balance of dry anger,
rather the deployment of washing hurt again,
he thought would dehydrate its annual return-*
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are leaders here to annoy ya?
Ghosts of government past,
We've had enough drivel to last!
Our systems need to improve,
Building bias, not a good groove.
Kids are born colour-blind,
They teach oldies their great minds,
We're ashamed of our politicians,
Any excuse today? Like superstition,
Then there's youth unemployment,
Disaffected youth for deployment,
Mendicants at charity, welfare dependents.
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are politicians sent to annoy ya!
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
I am filled with warmth when you say my name.
And I can't help a silly smile when you call me your "little one".
I get tears in my eyes when you find my eyes first.
And every time you make me laugh I want to cry tears of joy.
The most fulfilling thing however is when you hug me.
Because well, I love you big brother.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
I miss when Jane didn’t smoke.
She sneaks under morning’s cloak
Goes to class and laughs
With an empty head
At my empty joke.
Empty is the ***** flask
I pretend not to notice
Tucked into her lunchbox
So I stare at her sandwich instead
No crusts
A housewife’s handiwork
There's no use pretending anymore.
We are empty
We are fading
And she is faded
And I am waiting
In the food court of a failing mall
While she is debating
Whether or not to give it all
To another blue-eyed boy
Because he made her feeling something
Her father didn’t
After his deployment.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.
Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).
Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.
As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.
Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.
Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.
“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make ****** premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.
Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.
Besides, I smelled bacon.
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 9:19 AM UTC
How bad can it be?
"Wait until they're on deployment, then you'll see!"
Well, now he is going to leave...
What was it I was supposed to see?
I think I figured out what I would see.
The empty sheets next to me.
The missing keys and boots.
The honey-brown eyes that smiled at me.
The whispered "I love you"s and "goodnight"s.
His hand no longer clasped in my own.
And the painful realization that I have to spend my nights alone.
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
“You tell that man that I’ve no more desire to speak with him than I would the devil himself!”
“You tell that man that I am very upset that he would come in here and interrupt this afternoon’s bingo game!”
“I mean, honestly!”
The administrator of
the nursing home looked at me nervously.
I looked back,
apologetic,
but undaunted.
“I just need information.”
“I need to know if she has any plans to go back home.”
“I need to know that if she does go home, she’ll have the proper equipment and support system in place, waiting for her when she arrives.”
The administrator walked back
toward the facility’s dining hall,
where the bingo game was in full swing.
(The executive whispered into an ear.)
A pair of elderly, cataract-laden eyes rolled,
then glared at me with a hostility that I could feel,
even all the way over by the nurse's station.
“The lady says that she plans to stay with us.”
I nodded, said my thanks, and walked back out into the cold.
This part of the job is always a bit surreal.
It makes me think of my mother.
She was the director of several nursing homes over the course of my youth.
The smells of these facilities is assaultive.
(Industrial cleaning products,
boiled vegetables,
assorted liniments and balms,
the faintest twinge of ***** in the nostrils.)
To me these places smell like memories
that go for long periods,
unrecalled,
unrecounted.
(School-age summers
spent in supply rooms,
marking supplies,
stacking them neatly,
like troops ready for deployment.)
Often the nursing home
is thought to be a horrendous destination.
I can understand that.
But, she wanted to stay
and I had interrupted the bingo game,
hadn’t I?
Tonight’s supper was roasted chicken,
mashed potatoes,
pickled beets on the side.
(I’d read as I’d entered.)
Maybe her sons and daughters
didn’t want her anymore.
Maybe they’d visit every afternoon at 4.
There was no way I’d ever know again for sure.
But, I know why this afternoon’s task
made me smile,
stinging at the same time.
Because I’m Cynthia’s son.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2018
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
You are so much more than a uniform.
You are battered books,
creases filled with sand.
The kind so fine
you can't shake it out.
You are midnight Skype sessions
where we rant about
exes and poetry
and you show me
on google maps
where you were stationed in Afghanistan
and where there used to be a village
which was home to a little girl
whose body was never found.
You are a whiskey fueled conversation
about jumping from airplanes
and how much you love writing
on the the night I first met you.
You remember..
when we shared the bed
with your best friend
who passed out around 2 a.m.
because he drinks so much bourbon
trying to forget the things he has seen.
He's only twenty years old.
Soldier,
you are more than a college drop out
waiting for his next deployment.
You are a pair of brown eyes
that squint when you get too drunk
and a closet filled with 87 button-up shirts,
which I think is ridiculous,
but you like because it makes you look classy.
You are a mind filled with
articles from scientific journals
pictures from 9gag
and a mental list of the girls you've charmed
(wait, you hate that word..)
into your bed
because you're making up for
experiences you fear you'll never have
if you come back next year in a body bag.
You are more than government property,
a tag on a uniform
or a rank, soldier.
If only you could see yourself
the way
I see you.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
In our land of golden wattle,
I'll unstopper a bottle,
Uncork a magic genie,
Appearing cute and teeny,
She looks quite delicious,
Granting us three wishes
For Oz, quite ambitious,
What'll we wish for today?
In this magical genie way,
First, let's wish for full employment,
Then, an end for our youth deployment
In the Middle East, futile beast,
Last, we'll all wish for global peace,
Our wishes the genie does release,
I shall unstopper this magic bottle,
For our land of golden wattle!
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
This unresolved ambivalence
Contaminates a dubious sense
Of accents yet unknown
And of unbridled words yet unspoken
Where one becomes haunted by circumstances
Bequeathed to a virtuous iniquity of discourse
Whose fabrication of appearance binds deception
Yet transforms human misery by conscious and unconscious
Deployment of illusions were words are those energies
Given free rein and perform a fecundity of speech
Defying as it does so semantic predictability
And brings dissolution to normality
The first born UNICORN
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
What mists are these
That grow heavy in the palm
Making bruises weep
These mists that place themselves
By treaty or inheritance
With such ferocity
Embalm the soul with tears
Announcing their pleasure
To be resurrected
These mists that represent a tragedy
An imagination that beholds a bleeding
Yes, a bleeding from mine eyes
A conflagration of blood
That flares a collaboration of turmoils
With effortless deployment in the mind
Erratically as if impediment does not impose
Itself upon their mortal breach
An unresponsive pace that energizes
The tragedy of my great lament
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
“Humankind: be kind – be One!
I am appalled at what’s been done.
Benign intentions must restrain us.
Hate should never entertain us.”
The toad comedian Ban Ki-Moon
croaked a pitiful One-World tune
while gunmen paused, reloaded, armed
checked that they had no comrades harmed –
and then prepared for further battle
against the clueless kuffar cattle.
Ban stood upright to intervene;
surveyed the terrorific scene…
muezzins chanted, mullahs chuckled
swords were sharpened, bomb-vests buckled.
Dhimmi dim-wits went on shopping.
(Are heads in sand less prone to chopping ?)
Hesitating, he cleared his throat,
raised his pitch by a quarter note:
“These acts are most undemocratic
We are saddened; yet emphatic – “
(no one heard his discourse further
drowned by the sound of massive ******
So let’s consider what is meant
by rolling heads and bodies splattered…
time for Truth to represent
(as if such inconvenience mattered…)
Such events disturb our sleep
and force us to compose, on waking,
lullabies for drowsy sheep
as predators are overtaking.
Flags of doom and holy slaughter,
sons of Ishmael filled with rage
are coming for your wife and daughter
and yourself. You turn the page.
Rising now to storm your tower
(7th century back to bite you),
Allah brings satanic power
to convert you or to smite you.
****** dhimmis would have us think
such rage is due to unemployment;
pure confusion on the brink
of funding further troop deployment.
Meanwhile, mullahs sip their tea
while tenured academics prattle
watching MSNBC
as soldiers die in battle.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
There is change that is certain.
The earth slowly shifting,
The sky slowly shifting.
Seven billion universes
Rotating around each of us,
Each one of us an axis.
The recurring misalignment,
Collisions, and revisions of
Our orbiting bodies
Shape the illusion of stability
Hanging from our celestial ceiling.
I did not expect to come home
To an empty house,
My family's effects removed
Like the leftovers of an evicted tenant.
I am a stranger here,
In this room where I became a woman.
This room that exalted and imprisoned me
No longer offers solace.
Litter, that upon closer inspection
Reveals a mosaic of my childhood
Is spinning.
The pieces of my past
Are spinning
Out and away,
Gravitating towards a larger body.
The car I drove to a stranger's house
To get ****** instead of going
To dinner with my family
Now belongs to another.
The dresser that kept my underwear
In the top drawer
For twenty years
Discarded and lain in the gutter.
The walls which I painted
The most neon shade of green
In an act of adolescent rebellion
Are now covered over
In rental home white
To attract the widest audience
Of potential tenants.
The floor is slipping out from beneath me,
The ceiling lifting and floating away.
New additions to my orbital debris.
This place,
Disassembled.
Each part
Far more significant than the whole.
This house
Will never again be a home.
If I had stayed,
Would the gravity of my presence
Have been enough to keep it together?
Were any of these parts
Part of my universe in the first place?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
Deployment confirmed, Flight Leader at ready
Mission parameters locked in the pipe
Target subsystem structures, hold the course steady
The last thing I want is a wipe
Miles of shrapnel, anti-drone hail
My brave flight cut down by a half
Magnetics engaged, we land on her tail
Free at last from hot metal and chaff
There can be no defense for this aft rail dispenser
Plasma torches will have out her heart
A soft spot at last on the tactical sensor
One final call and this party can start
"Flight Leader here, subsystem disabled"
"Prophet tactical, fire at will"
A surge of blue plasma, the deadly beam arc
We andrones must die with our ****
No graves will be dug for this 'drone flight destroyed
Disabling that aft rail smoke-caster
But our sacrifice bought what the Prophet predicted
Elegiac ion disaster
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Should I roll back into nothing. A ghost into a house with many beds, and a large window with a large sill you once said you would make your writing nook. And read and drink hot cups of tea and coffee. I can still see you there, in my future. A wet, gray and fogged morning out there. And you're across the room at the window. I feel like maybe I shouldn't create this dream and hope. That one day, you'll pull down my driveway. Find me working on something outside, and sweating. Or riding. Or i see you through my front window in the cold with my fire burning. I feel like maybe I shouldn't create this a dream and a hope. But you know what? **** holding back.
I'll believe onward in you even though you might not ever pull down my driveway, one day.
I deserve nothing for my emotional abuse that was placed upon you by my doing. I get why you may never come down the drive.
I still want to hold onto that thought. Because that might keep me alive through these years, even though i don't really feel like livin' anymore. I'll be there. Off of that high way, i will be there if the dark doesn't take me away. If the need to pass on doesn't become to much. I would drop to my knees if you pulled down that drive some day. You would hear the gravel in my voice and see the struggle on my brow. I may roll back into that house, or a second deployment in the desert, or death. Death is easy, no last good fight left in giving up on myself. Even though it would hardly matter anyway. You would come down my drive. And i would drop, and i would cry. Because i do cry, because i've been crying, because i'm crying now.
That place out there, where I will reside, where i may hide. You're always welcome to venture out. Sometime. The future is always uncertain. Come and hug me, come and scream in my face, come and make me bleed, come and **** me lovingly, come and destroy me in every way you know possible. I'll be on my knees,
i'll be on my knees.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I think he stole my heart on the first date
I swear it was his smile, no.
It was fate.
So gentle, but a little rough
He was strong, he was cute, he was tough.
Nothing remarkable, nothing extraordinary.
Just his voice, his eyes, the way he was carried.
A gentleman to the core
I was happy ever more
At least...
Til the day he went away
Something changed and he just wouldn't stay.
I asked why
But never cried.
I accepted my fate, my burden to bear.
He never loved me, he just didn't care.
I assumed it was me; i was wrong
I was unfit, i wasn't right, i wasn't strong.
But he disappeared and i understood.
I didn't like it, and i knew i never would.
He took my heart with him on the ship
Deployment is hard enough, not a fun trip.
It's even worse knowing that he didn't give a ****
I missed him every day.
I watched the news and i prayed.
I didn't write, i didn't call.
I poured them strong and drank em tall.
I dreamt and i slept
I drank and i wept.
The day finally came when i would give in...
I just had to write him, i had to forgive.
We were friends, we were nice
But i knew that i would pay a price.
My heart torn in two
A half here, a half with his crew.
The feelings never left
My heart never grew
I was saving for him
I was paying my due.
He finally came home eight months to the day
He packed up his things, then he moved away.
The sailor took my heart, but left it at sea.
Not a half for him, not a half for me.
Not a day goes by that i don't dream of his name.
Every day every night, i miss him and his game.
Sailor jerry his *** sailor jerry my shame.
I never stopped drinking, i never stopped til night came.
I loved him and he cared nothing for me.
I miss him and wish i'd be free.
Nothing will change. Keep things as they are.
I'll drink to his name, I'll wish on every star.
A sailor took my heart. He took my soul.
I wish i had known it would take such a toll...
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
We **** by pushing a button.
WE DIE RUNNING FOR COVER.
We are fighting for our country.
WE ARE FIGHTING FOR A COUNTRY
Our sons fear deployment.
OUR CHILDREN FEAR BOMBARDMENT.
We bury our dead in the national cemetery.
WE DISCOVERED A MASS GRAVE.
Our war is raising the national deficit.
OUR MARKETS HAVE NO FOOD FOR SALE.
We proudly display our flag.
WE'VE BEEN ARRESTED FOR DISPLAYING OUR FLAG.
Our mothers grieve for their sons.
OUR PEOPLE GRIEVE FOR THEIR VILLAGES.
When will our soldiers return?
I WATCHED MY HOUSE BURN.
Our son came home in a coffin on a plane.
WE BURIED A PIECE OF FLESH THAT WE GAVE A NAME.
We saluted the soldiers marching in uniform.
OUR SOLDIERS DRESS LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE.
We carefully weighed the costs and benefits.
WE DECIDED THERE WAS NOTHING TO LOSE.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Thump. Thump. Thump.
While others flatline,
I live life on the front line.
People starve, and I eat attention.
I crave the spotlight,
You don't have a place to sleep at night.
Complain because I don't have a iPhone,
You cry because you have no home.
I say, "It's unlucky for them."
"Not my fuckin' problem."
I'm a punk kid, got no care.
Living in a world where all that matters is hair.
Music, *** drugs, and anarchy.
**** the government,
you think it's rough?
I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S TOUGH.
When your dad beats you,
When you aren't good enough,
You're only outlet is having ***
With every guy who has no reference complex.
**I'LL ******* TELL YOU WHAT'S ROUGH.**
Getting knocked up at way too young,
Living off the government you once hated so much.
Welfare, WIC, unemployment.
No husband, not back from deployment.
Think I'm wrong?
Write a song.
Punk rock band,
needed a hand,
So many ways to get ******* paid
To sit on your ***
And dwell in the life you made.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
I've heard it goes, "all is fair in love and war"
I'm not sure I agree
When localities become marginalized
Despite the lack of knowledge
That guerrilla warfare comes in waves
Like crashing tides against foreign beaches
The ones I've never seen
I'm not sure if he'll lose his life
Upon his first deployment
But there isn't much to lose when you've already sold your soul
Can you enlist half a person?
If that were the case, I'd sign up too
And **** the only part of me
That's still in love with you
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
It’s ******* Veterans Day
He said as my teeth turned into shrapnel on the street
He had the right to remain violent
I had the right to remain silent
Men have died for your right to speak
How dare you question the military?
Dissent squashed with brute force
Drone strikes on a straight course
Bang Bang! Like the pixels on a Playstation
His hands return ****** to the deployment station
PTSD on the brain
IUD as cremation
It’s ******* Veterans Day
Pay your respects
I’ll collect your debts
And turn them into fighter jets
You say you support the troops
Or do you really support Fox News
Or MSNBC
What ever you choose
It’s information that you lose
There’s no glory in ******
No matter what flag you use
Who’s this foreign invader your protecting us from?
The way I see it, is you’re the invader, son
Let’s hold a concert
Where the **** is Bruce Springsteen?
Let’s have a parade
Do people on the streets remind you of anything?
Oh yeah, that thing called protest.
How we talk about the things we detest.
Unless it’s about the troops.
Tie yellow ribbons instead.
Aren’t you glad Osama’s dead?
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC