"discriminatory" poems
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.
...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I'd like to tell you a story
It begins in 1492
When dear old Christopher Columbus
Sailed the ocean blue
He landed on what he thought
To be the country of India
He stumbled upon a group of people
Who appeared to be indigenous
Because these native people
Happened to be where he thought he was
He called them all "Indians"
&& somehow that name stuck
They welcomed his group with open arms
Even offered them their feast
Unaware that deep inside
They were but wolves, dressed as sheep
Columbus && his crew
Soon ravaged the land
They took what they saw
Then they took full command
Of the people they found
On the land where they landed
They felt they should rule
So they stepped in, heavy handed
They murdered the people
Who had taken them in
Set fire to their villages
While the victims watched with their kin
Flash forward to the future
It's now 2016
It's been over 500 years
Since the overtaking by the regime
Future settlers decided
To let the survivors live on
They designated them small areas
Of what had not yet been robbed
These Native Americans,
Generally keep to themselves
They get by living off their land
But now they need your help
The Sioux of Standing Rock
Are being horribly mistreated
The state of North Dakota
Is poisoning them without reason
A pipeline has been built
That runs through this Native territory
When Bismarck residents didn't want it
It was rerouted, how discriminatory
People from all over the country
Are seeming to agree
They are making the commute
To protest peacefully
In defense of an oppressed people
Who only want to live
But the government is stepping in
Even blowing off some limbs
"Let them die, they're not like us"
the message the administration is sending
It seems that after all this time
The battle is never-ending
What exactly does it take
For people to see eye-to-eye?
In the end we're all just human
We kiss, we laugh, we cry
So if you have a heart at all
If you know that this is wrong
Please join the Sioux in their mission
By coming together, we can be strong
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Pretty is a six-letter word that can’t encompass your entire being in its arms. You were born to a mother who wore pain like trees wear their rings, as marks of fierce bravery and battle cries. You almost split her insides open coming out, wailing so hard the plaster cracked, but she grinned and bore it like a champion, even though the walls of her womb felt like one giant cigarette burn that no one cared enough to put out.
You are Icarus incarnate, with a body stitched from wings, flying toward the sun every day no matter how low the storm clouds hover. Pretty is not a synonym for learning how to put together a body that fights itself every day with pocket knives, like assembling letters to form words that flame in the mouth. That’s called survival. Pretty is an ugly word. It leaves behind a bitter residue that apologies cannot erase. Pretty is just an excuse for playing darts with a woman’s confidence.
When told you are not pretty, always remember how your body expanded to fit its widening cage, its blooming hips, how the growing pains were less like pain and more like cracking fault lines. How your body turned itself inside out and spilled over and over again. Getting emptied is not pretty. It is dark and wounding and it requires strength enough to move mountains.
On your worst days do not look in the mirror and call yourself pretty. Call yourself trying, call yourself surviving, call yourself learning how to get through a day, a week, a month or year. Call yourself still learning. Pretty is just six letters for lipstick, false eyelashes, combs for hair that never gets tangled, not for women who earn a victory every day just managing to exist.
When told you are not pretty, do not **** in your stomach. Pretty is a discriminatory word, but having a body that knows what it wants and gets what it wants is not a hate crime. It’s a healing hymn.
Don’t forget how trees shake their last leaves in winter like they’re shedding skin from the old year. Shed pretty. Shed it now. Teach yourself to replace it with heart-wrenching, brilliant, clever, artistic, unique, understanding, fighting. Always living.
When told you are not pretty, don’t fall in love with the ground. Get back up. This is not an apocalypse; this is not the end of the world. A six-letter word doesn’t have the power to burn down every building in site or freeze the entire world in epic proportions. Your body is not wreckage or refuse left over from a world on fire. Your body is just fine.
Look in the mirror. Tell yourself, Pretty is not me. Pretty is an ugly concept. I am more.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 6:59 AM UTC
my facebook block list is full to the brim with hatred
misogynists, racists, those who use terms like "feminazi" and "it's not **** if you tell surprise first"
my Facebook block list has family members who bad mouth my mother as if she (and I) can't see it
there is one aunt who keeps a tally of money spent on gifts not asked for
one uncle who sits (joblessly by choice) on a high horse
one cousin who wonders why his mixed bag family doesn't like his confederate flag tattoo
my Facebook block list started with a man who found my phone number and began sending me text messages at night despite my non-response
there are two R names- boys whose crimes send flashbacks up my spine
a good way to earn a spot on my Facebook block list is to be a white apologist
"white people should be allowed to say the n-word!"
"slavery was like a billion years ago"
"white privilege doesn't exist"
another way is to not recant your crimes after you're called out
"she was born a girl"
"who cares, it was just a joke"
"you're not some feminist hero"
my Facebook block list (unlike most of the people on it) is non discriminatory
all types of haters get on it
and once you're on you're probably not getting off
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation: a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; an extra-strength sleeping pill
pulling the masses into slumber,
and away from the awakened truth
that such supposed salvation
is an illusory ticket far too easy to obtain
for it to be real—
a discriminatory, fairy tale-damnation
that multiplies the divide
of "Us and Them."
Too many people hand out the easy tickets,
then cut and light the tree:
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into the mortar of temples designated as sacred,
while dogmatic shears amputate roots from the sky.
Too many people preach
about a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path
that leads towards the kingdom within,
and live the sacrifice because it feels right.
Again and again,
the ticket isn't so easy.
We must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs, until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.
For 27 years, 46664 was etched into the bark
of a branch in the road.
When forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then, the wood was made into crutches
for people to say,
*"M will fix it; M will do this, M will do that;
M will save us, just wait and see."*
M is finally free. Yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us;
he survives as spirit-seeds.
We must cease to lean upon crutches;
we must purge the pill from our blood
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our hearts,
before the vision withers completely,
and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans—
weakened hands and arms unable to lift their weight
held in our own hands all along,
held in our hands all along.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Let it be known~
Beyond the mere musings of tool bearing monkeys
Lies an ineffable essence which deflects archaic labeling.
This is the direct experience of non-discriminatory equalization
Of conceived notions.
All which may be considered good and true
Vaporizes in the blinding eye of this clarity.
Language is the battleground of ignorance and illiteracy
Of what begs not be named~
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
When you are told you are not pretty:
Pretty is a six-letter word that can’t encompass your entire being in its arms. You were born to a mother who wore pain like trees wear their rings, as marks of fierce bravery and battle cries. You almost split her insides open coming out, wailing so hard the plaster cracked, but she grinned and bore it like a champion, even though the walls of her womb felt like one giant cigarette burn that no one cared enough to put out.
You are Icarus incarnate, with a body stitched from wings, flying toward the sun every day no matter how low the storm clouds hover. Pretty is not a synonym for learning how to put together a body that fights itself every day with pocket knives, like assembling letters to form words that flame in the mouth. That’s called survival. Pretty is an ugly word. It leaves behind a bitter residue that apologies cannot erase. Pretty is just an excuse for playing darts with a woman’s confidence.
When told you are not pretty, always remember how your body expanded to fit its widening cage, its blooming hips, how the growing pains were less like pain and more like cracking fault lines. How your body turned itself inside out and spilled over and over again. Getting emptied is not pretty. It is dark and wounding and it requires strength enough to move mountains.
On your worst days do not look in the mirror and call yourself pretty. Call yourself trying, call yourself surviving, call yourself learning how to get through a day, a week, a month or year. Call yourself still learning. Pretty is just six letters for lipstick, false eyelashes, combs for hair that never gets tangled, not for women who earn a victory every day just managing to exist.
When told you are not pretty, do not **** in your stomach. Pretty is a discriminatory word, but having a body that knows what it wants and gets what it wants is not a hate crime. It’s a healing hymn.
Don’t forget how trees shake their last leaves in winter like they’re shedding skin from the old year. Shed pretty. Shed it now. Teach yourself to replace it with heart-wrenching, brilliant, clever, artistic, unique, understanding, fighting. Always living.
When told you are not pretty, don’t fall in love with the ground. Get back up. This is not an apocalypse; this is not the end of the world. A six-letter word doesn’t have the power to burn down every building in site or freeze the entire world in epic proportions. Your body is not wreckage or refuse left over from a world on fire. Your body is just fine.
Look in the mirror. Tell yourself, Pretty is not me. Pretty is an ugly concept. I am more.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
the most magical experience in life,
is being gifted
an unexpected epiphany.
epiphanies exist in many,
non-discriminatory
shapes an sizes.
and it just so happens that
this particular one
came to me in a time of
new awakening.
spring has sprung...
and so has my heart,
into your lap, that is.
just over a week ago,
I acquired a thick new layer of skin.
a soft, yet durable,
and pleasantly portable
safe space.
it has become my new happy place.
I now, cannot imagine
myself without
this undisclosed,
name-brand jacket.
and to me,
this is, a not-so peculiar notion.
because honestly
nothing has resonated with me more,
than this jacket of denim.
I feel like the blue guy
in that classic pop song
from the early 2000's.
my clothes are blue,
my hair is [cobalt] blue...
where is my **** corvette though?
I swear,
I need my own **** tv show.
however, I think there is something
that needs to be said,
beyond thank you.
I love this jacket
more than
the distance between
the earth and the moon
I have never felt so coddled
by an article of clothing,
than I do
right now.
in this instance,
I have recreated
my own new sense of style:
adorable queer alters reality
via jean jacket
and a black floral romper.
you can tell that I'm a "90's kid"
by the way I sport denim on denim
like it went out of style yesterday.
lovin' it like you got your arms around me.
oh darlin you did not
have to hand me your heart.
here, let me earn it.
let me work for your love.
I am gracious for YOU,
my beautiful gorgeous human being.
for it is you
who makes my heart swell.
my genderless Romeo,
my Sunday morning sweetheart.
push me up against the tree
in your front yard.
I want the whole neighborhood
to know
that my soul found solace in YOURS
and I want to shout if from
a ******* mountain.
making love with you
cleanses my mind.
leaving only room for
the notion of us riding off
into the sunset together
after spending an entire day
consuming the rays
like an all-you-can eat buffet.
and stashing them away,
like a chubby squirrel
during winter solstice.
this whole experience
has almost felt religious.
I pray this is something
I wouldn't part with, easily.
I want you to take me.
you've unlocked my aorta artery,
and I want to
make sure
that you are aware
that you are welcome,
to make this space
your home.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
There is a bridge across the raging river
Bridging the gap from between destinations
As if the river is conquered to submission
The thick pillars taking the onslaught
Of the strong undercurrents underneath
People from all walks of life, walk across
Creating bridge among people’s life
It’s an exchange of ideas and skills
Between the two separate destinations
As successfully bringing the society together
The bridge stands strong and allows a free passage
Bearing no discriminatory thoughts
Building bridges, to reach out to each other
Acting as the lifeline for so many people
In times of eventualities, happy or sad
The bridge is testimony to so many occurrences
Patiently serving the multitude
Cushioning them from the fury of the river
It’s concrete in its resolve to protect
To bridge the differences in people’s hearts
Build new bridges to reach out to everyone
Mend the cracks in time, to take care of the bridge
For, it will withstand all the fury and help bridge the gap
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest.
Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance.
Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference.
This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities.
It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier.
Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity.
It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend.
Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment.
Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom.
You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere.
Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures.
Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography.
Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy.
Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
fat-backed rat finks
roller rink
kitchen sink
thinking back to Corporal Klinger
and Klingons in small thongs
smoking star ship bongs
in a smelly pond
broken wand only sparks slightly
mightily I try to be
free from discriminatory flees
I sit on the floor and be
quiet as a church mouse
in the glass house built by my
light-skinned spouse,
the louse trounced
pouncing on the bouncing ball
falling into the dousing mall
desert grouse espousing rabble-rousers
in denim trousers
holding perennial flowers
while the gourd towers
bow their heads to the sunset
vetted Reds in beds of lead
break bread with the dead
instead of raking fall leaves
betting on getting let out
cloutless louts just about shout to be heard
and the herd moves forward
every methodically –
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
Touch -
The most significant insignificance.
Sight -
The slightest intention.
Hearing -
The loudest silence.
Taste -
The most complicated intricacy.
Smell -
The love of the non-discriminatory.
You -
The "when all else fails".
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 3:38 PM UTC
I'm not pro specific races...
White, black, red
Means nothing to me
I'm pro love, life, peace
Humanity
I'm done with the negativity
Standing up
Only to be what you claim
Your against
Coming off the same
Racist
Discriminatory
And simply
Unknowingly
Adding more fuel
To hate
And giving more power
To minority
Oppression
And poverty
No
Enough of this stupudity
Humanity is the majority
Embrace individuality
Fight positively
And bring up
Your enemies
Blood drips red
On every color concrete
Don't feed into
Media
Sheep, you claim not
To ever be
But look at you
Following the crowd
You against me
Same opportunity
Same hood
Same class
Same bowl
We used to eat
I was the minority
And yet cloaked eyes
You speak
Come further than where
Your expected to be
Take another look
Inside
And free
Your mind from the evils
Of a hyped up personality
We are all one
One religion
One race
One humanity....
I'm done ....
©MV (drops mic)
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Cry Freedom, the Lapland
It is not only Caledonia and the Flemish people
who are crying freedom, a new nation has been born
It stretches from Norway, Sweden and Finland.
The Swedes has accepted this new state as the female
activists said it would be discriminatory and racists to deny
The indigenous people their right.
Norway refused point blank, and as a retaliation has shut
shops selling oranges and bananas.
The Norwegian has seen through this ruse, if the new
country called “Lapland” is a state it will lay claim to untapped
oil in the Barents Sea. It is said that Exxon is behind this,
me, I blame Putin.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
Maya Akbar° feared going home
To her hometown in Pakistan.
The person whom she feared was her father--
Obviously, an intolerant man.
Staying with friends in the town of Peshawar,
She didn't trust her family's pleas
For her to return to her parents' home.
Her friends deeply felt her unease.
Maya's father assured the police
That his daughter wouldn't be harmed.
The 19-year old transgender daughter
Nevertheless remained alarmed.
Reluctantly, she went home.
Hours later her friends' hearts sank:
Maya's bullet-ridden body
Was found beside a riverbank.
Police arrested Maya's father.
Her uncle and brothers are also being sought.
All over the world transgender people
Die because of the hatred that's taught.
Some call it an "honor killing."
Honor? No, it's ****** truly.
When ignorance fans the fires of hatred,
Many people suffer unduly.
Efforts are made all over to fight
Laws that are discriminatory.
Laws can change, but changing hardened
Hearts? That’s a different story.
-by Bob B (7-3-19)
°Formerly known as Aftab Aurangzeb, from Nowshera, Pakistan
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
Is it discriminatory to hate
the fungus that can spread in the bodies of ants.
Creeping
through the nerves
infecting
until it scrapes through the cerebral nerve
driving them mad
climbing the heights of rainforest giants
which they can’t get back down from.
When it takes their mind,
Are they now the same?
Is it discrimination,
If I **** the select black pages of a book that tumble along the desert winds, their words cursing those
under the God.
For those in letterboxes, I have a message: do you want to be defined by your value as a possession?
Is it discrimination,
To wish us rid of those who will condemn our humour and joy,
for it is a sign of humanity.
On online forums that do not have to except a human flood and a culture crushed to single metal pieces,
Will not except a yellow glutton carnivore
as president,
Will not except the red and blue beams from the sun being darkened by a night-black swarm of red and yellow striped wasps,
the vibrant joy of star fruit now as constructing as imperial gold.
Speak,
Rid your bike,
Shine your light
For Tiananmen is abroad.
Location decided not by a treaty,
But by those who cling to a rising sun,
Not shineless stars.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
is social media the new form
of mirror?
see the profile picture for
answers;
it it it it it it it it...
it didn't make pronouns
discriminatory...
but, then, i, guess...
it it it it it it it it it it it...
and so on, and so forth,
or simply etc.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
Good is better than bad
- Always
Good is no better
- At times
Bad is better than worse
- A solace
Worse is better than the worst
- A consolation
Bad is the best of the worst
- A compromise
Good is bad to a few sometimes
Bad is good to some at times
What is good
What is bad
That fluctuates
With time, place and people
With a swing in degrees
Between extremities
The best and the worst
To circumvent circumstances
Good is never bad
Bad is never good
Says the dictum
Is it ethical or mythical?
Legal or logical
Religious or regulatory
Is it discretionary?
Or discriminatory
Or all combined?
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
you might think it discriminatory,
but i just don't understand trans-gender,
or meta-gender, or para-gender or
ortho-gender... there, the four winds...
but as a man i couldn't imagine
putting all that effort into adorning
myself like a woman, to look prettier...
an article about the 1971 music scene:
'acts were building careers, not eking
them out; they all looked fabulous without
help from make-up artists and stylists:
the elegantly wasted look, now expensively
emulated in fashion spread, could be
achieved by simple neglect.'
it's a discrimination from the stand-point
of: well... i'm not joining this St. Thomas Parade;
and i guess that's the reason for much
of Islam's hostility, it brewed up and boiled
in european women somehow...
Samantha said: 'what's happening?!
why aren't we dating, going to restaurants,
why is he using my make-up?!'
Abdul said: 'honey, bomb bomb bomb boom!'
Ahmed said: 'here's our opportunity to groom
the youngest disgruntled & confused!'
well it worked... but i still kinda
wished she / "she" / hmm made it into the final
of that karaoke show.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
Could you?
Could you bring yourself to tell me the truth?
Could you tell me what really happened all those years ago?
Could you tell me why you never loved me,
Like I did you, though you pretended to?
Could you tell me why you lied about why you had to shatter me?
Could you tell me why you even said yes in the first place?
Could you tell me why you kissed him,
In a bathroom, and told me you had to leave me,
Because your mother was discriminatory
Towards any being who loved more people than those of just the opposite ***
Could you tell me why you never openly told me the truth,
But told the whole story on a forum,
As a dedication to him?
Could you tell me why,
After you knew I was mostly healed,
You wrote all of that,
And put it up,
Where you knew I would see it?
Could you tell me why you never said a ****** thing,
When we started talking again?
Could you tell me why you lied?
Could you?
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
Coming from poverty by design, bloodline on the outside
Cold hearted world offers little in the way of placement
Home son, I was told is what you make it
I made a promise to myself early to better my living arrangements
Hostility in the homeland broke the best and huddled the rest
Is it really better?
What was then a haven has become the slums the government doesn't see the point in saving
Displacing everyone, non-discriminatory meaning they **** any and all races
The projects unfinished
Supposed to be stepping stone temporary digs though some never made it out
The image faded out
Cave em in,
Raze it, redevelopment
Resurrection is the aim of betterment
Hear the hatred in my cadences
There goes the neighborhood to micro brews and vape toting middle age
Dousche bags and ironic hat patronage
Grandmama left Brooklyn
Saying **** ain't been the same since the hipsters took it
Where's the history? Look at the back bay nothing ethnic left in the marketplace
Fairy tales are rarely destiny
Not every step leads to promenades some only bring you closer to misery
As for me
I'm no longer in need but the thought of the hunger is not escaping me
My sagest dreams faded in static clouded space
In other words
I'm losing sleep
My conscience is a ******* thief, crooked like the reason my gramma don't play her numbers
Unlucky heard in symphony
We took the scars with open arms with the promise of a fortune she most likely won't live to see
When I bought my humble home and hung a diploma carefully it meant more than blood
We sweat no tears, expectations fallen over the past years
I promised
It's all open pastures if we just make it past here
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
"Victims Of Hate"(c)-2017
Poetry By Michael D. Dowdy
Their building their racist walls
Their passing discriminatory laws
to strip away liberties & dignity
for racial, religious & ****** minorities
their spewing bigoted slurs & abusing people
in the name of their God & Religion
just like ISIS, Al Queda & The Taliban
This isn't real Christianity
This isn't true religious faith
This Is Un-American (It's morally wrong!)
Their yelling profanity (as they casting out)
their self-righteous stones- of bigotry
Their nailing sinners to an zealot's tree
screaming out in glee
loser, heretic, deviate ,creep
jew, **** queer , freak
as they begin to bleed
as their spirits are being burned
victims of hate
yearning for answers to their fate
in fighting for justice & equality
standing up for lady liberty
in this dark , cruel world
full of evil & dangerous places
victims of hate
clinging to faith & hanging on to hope
desperately searching for somewhere, to call home
a safe & compassionate place- to belong
searching for some understanding & love
victims of bigotry
looking for bridges of love
but only finding, ( more walls of exclusion & hate)
Their yelling profanity (as they casting out)
their self-righteous stones- of bigotry
Their nailing sinners to an zealot's tree
screaming out in glee
loser, heretic, deviate , creep
jew, **** queer , freak
as they begin to bleed
as their spirits are being burned
victims of hate
yearning for answers to their fate
in fighting for justice & equality
standing up for lady liberty
Victims Of Hate
Don't give up
Don't give in
Don't Run & Hide
Always show your pride
Cling to your faith, It'll carry you through
-whenever things go wrong
Fight for what's fair, just & right!
Always remember-your a Child of God
Stay Proud, Stay Strong
God Bless & Protect
Victims of Hate
Their yelling profanity (as they casting out)
their self-righteous stones- of bigotry
Their nailing sinners to an zealot's tree
screaming out in glee
loser, heretic, deviate , creep
jew, **** queer , freak
as they begin to bleed
as their spirits are being burned
victims of hate
yearning for answers to their fate
in fighting for justice & equality
standing up for lady liberty
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
I am what I am. I am a 17 year old girl, but you don’t have to tell me because I know that well enough, thank you. I am a young girl with her whole life ahead of her; no, I am a young girl with her whole life forced upon her. I am what I am.
I am a perfectionist who needs to create a 365-day planner, color coated with sticky notes and highlights – tonight. I am what I am. I am an enthusiast about books that make you cry harder than any movie ever could. I am the salty and buttery fingers that dive into the bowl during a movie. I am the guilty pleasure of indulging in foods and beverages unworthy of my submission. I am who I am. I am a lover of 5 a.m. coffee and sleepy eyes I have yet to see. I am a hopeless romantic who “don’t need no man” but yearns for a man to touch me in ways his hands cannot. I am what I am.
I am the byproduct of an unconditionally loving, but discriminatory and broken family. But you don’t need to know that. You don’t need to know that I am only who I am because of fear of becoming what they are. I am what I am. I am the mistakes I have made and I am the lessons I’ve learned. But listen closely and hear me clearly. I am NOT the gap in-between my teeth. I am not the acne on my face. I am not my 2 a.m. feelings. I am what I am.
I am the violent sobs that fall without permission on the alter. I am what they call a “bible-thumping, Jesus freak” Christian. Do you know anything about that? I am what I am. I am His piercing screams coming from the cross and I am His most dearly beloved. I am what I am. I am loved and I am cherished and I am His. I am blessed and I am forgiven and I am sanctified. I am the daughter of the one true King and He has called me by name. I am what I am.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC