"entitle" poems
☮ ☮ ☮
**Society needs more Social Justice.
Humanity needs peaceworkers.**
Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice.
We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders – through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE. IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE !
WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE !
LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE!
WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE
FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE & EMPOWERMENT !
**POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻
STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻
CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻
SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻
PEACE BRINGS WAR☻
WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻**
(SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
in track
of attire
that my
grudge require
a witch
so blue
with idol
now witch
with hers
will entitle
our country
was permanent
waves in
Hatboro that
I'll always
gander with
a yarl
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
my woman, she's a
snuggler and spooner.
burying herself on my,
no, in my
double barreled chest,
her blonde hair,
my field of gold.^
she landscapes my life,
paralyzing me with the
simplest of gestures.
she sleeps holding my thumbs.
locks me up.
locks me down.
so I cannot transcribe
the lines of poetry mindful,
landlines shut,
land-mines of verse
unexploded,
till these now,
hours later.
a few notes ago,
a few days ago,
heard an octet,
eight voices singing of
five letters, five vowels,
a e i o u.
you can hear what I heard too.
after you listen,
better understand
vowels are the butter of language.
the anointing oil of connectivity.
more than a line of code,
they are the keys to the code,
that make words and life musical.
I suppose we could mange without them if we had to.
spsz v cd mng wthot thm ff v hd t.
but not so well.
I suppose we could manage
without opposing thumbs.
learn to type with my nose,
paint with my toes.
but not so well.
here is how it comes all together.
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
never give them more than a
never thought, passing over, assumed.
oh yeah, on some tv show,
you can buy a vowel.
these glues are the things that
give me the chance to tell this:
this poem it is a bit about me.
this poem it is a bit about her.
this poem is really about you.
I could live without
a e i o u and opposing thumbs.
but I could not live
without her landscaping my chest.
but
when I share this knowledge
with you friend, it becomes a
verified, realized, acknowledged truth.
So you see this poem is about
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
but really about you.
In fact, I am thinking,
that if I did not love the title
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
so much,
would entitle it instead,
a wholesome democracy of love.
you, a registered voter,
vote then with both all the
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
at your disposal.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
I have Scratched your name
into my Calendar
Your name sits on the lined of my diary
poised for consistent use
At what point did you become
so natural to me
So that when I said your name,
it tasted like nostalgia and hope
and the Cool Fire of our words
warms me to contentment
It wasn't until you spoke and
I smiled
That I knew I missed you when you
were gone
But how can I miss you
When you're only an hour away
Still
I'm regretting the wasted July Mornings
When my nerves swallowed up the sentiments that said
that I think of you sometime, even when you aren't around
It sounds frivolous to say that I'd hope for events
that would draw your lens near
But now I'm budgeting you into my time
and Just hope that it's not wasted
The effort it takes to write these sentiments down is
Nearly incomparable to that effort which must be taken
to Remind the heart on my Sleeve to stay put
and not seep into that vein that will Surely carry dreams across my body
The word that I could entitle
Perfect
And since that word is unattainable here
I'll only say all the others
You're that feeling right after a pull
And you feel yourself slip under the friendly drowse
You're that feeling when you feel a set of eyes on your
blushing cheeks
You're the laughter of
a clever retort
You're a Melody thats gives spirit to my word
You're that fire that burns with
a bravery that you cannot see
You're that ticking clock, there to remind me
that Time is Precious
and Soon I hate that circled square on the
Calendar
&
I pray that that circle does not act as a deadline
for when your heart can be
mine
Because I like the sweetness of our fresh beginnings
And I do hope I may call it a beginning
Instead of a short story.
I'm all over the clock,
Yearning for more firsts with you
But even still, hoping for a second or 12.
And some first that could count
in a way that didn't get chalked up to
Naive Sentiments
Meaning I want you too much
And My head is rushing
Hours into this Instant.
Fast Forwarding to our Next Kiss
Sending me on a Clockwise Whirlwind
to times that may not even exist
But I still hope and Gamble
for More hours to play
Procrastinating the Seconds into convincing us all
That It's Casual
It is not Casual, to me.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
with bodies relaxed,
but eyes observant,
they sell
five dollar bags of
***** weedy poetry
mixed clientele,
there is no age or gender or ****** preference
discrimination,
certainly none requiring critical taste,
in the buying and selling of
***** weedy poetry
commercial savants,
organized by topic,
available for purchase
love, depressing, rants and whines,
discounts for pre-owned
anti boyfriend rhymes
in his day, they say,
Whitman partook,
ferried up from his Brooklyn nook,
William Carlos Williams too,
from New Jersey came,
better to understand
the most common patois
they'll do custom stuff,
the suppliers,
mix and blend all
kinds of ****
their database exponential,
give them the
requisite hashtags,
and within it,
in it,
thirty minutes,
no more,
they'll requisition,
providing an acquisition -
you'll get your
name-your-own-hash,
Freedom
to entitle your own
***** weedy poetry
or you could grow you own
on the window sill
in the earth of your discarded
despair
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
To be love and respected.
Means to respect yourself.
Which falls in behind loving yourself.
Those that you would feel the most secure soul.
Seem to be the ones that have the most.
But once the books are written and the picture becomes clear.
You realize, they were on putting on an image.
To be love and respected.
Only means you earned that right.
Yes, you're entitle to be honor.
You don't hold yourself higher than others.
You just enhances that you deserve recognition.
For you carry yourself pretty well.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
If you are able to authorize or To entitle to do what you like ,then Remember that God is over there ... Man is a weak creature ,but Sometimes he goes beyond his abilities To authorize himself to do what he likes ... It's better for everyone To control oneself anytime ... Everyone and everything have limits ...
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
Am I intended to be jealous?
Should I have such contradicting emotions?
You confuse me, dear love.
“I love you”, is your claim,
But I am tangled, twisted, feeling tiny-
Like a bump on a twig, grown out of a branch
Among all the branches of your large tree called concerns.
It is not pleasant;
It is not right to be this way.
You are hurtful, my love.
Why are you not the happy thing they say you should be?
I have longed to find in us what I believe is joy.
So I try my best.
But your actions cut my confidence;
Your words burn my hope.
And still I stay close,
As though on a chain.
It’s a leash you’ve created with your manipulation,
Your way of leaving me without self esteem
And your false cadences of affection.
So this is how you wound me.
And now I resist.
I hold my shaking hand up and finally declare,
“You can not make me feel this way.”
Did God give you this right?
Did He entitle you to my heart,
And along with it present to you authority to do as you will?
I dare say no;
I dare say he gave to me that place.
So at last, I will not let you do as you have any longer.
I refuse to be so small.
I end this.
And I dare say I am allowed to find real happiness now.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
In your house that is so
Twee
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
YOU
are
NO
more different than
ME
Just because
You have a car
Just because
Your old man works
YOU
think that these entitle
YOU
To all those extra perks!
WELL
**** YOU ALL
**** YOUR WAYS
THE TIME HAS COME TO RE-APPRAISE
~
I am angry you were nasty
I am angry you were cruel
Surprised
YOU
didn’t march us
to the
***** Ducking Stool
And what exactly was the crime?
In the safety of your home?
Were there far too many children?
With a natural freedom born to roam?
Did not one of you ever stop to think?
What went on behind
Closed doors?
Or were
YOU
Indignantly repulsed?
Fervently abhorred?
Well … Let me tell you for nothing
My father was a ****
Yet
YOU
hid
behind your curtains
Surely
WE
were
WORTH A PUNT?
I even fulfilled your small town prophecy
When I learnt to rob and steal
It was never about the money
It was only ever about the thrill
Seven little vagabonds
Seven little ***** of sin
“Be careful where you step my sweet”
“For, they do not hold our Lord within”
Mr Roberts …
“How dare you walk these streets?
Glowing with civic pride
Did you not know your
wife’s back home with her pumpkin leg’s spread open wide!
Oh…. Yes … your brother was often a frequent guest
While you brown nosed
on your
Monetary quest”
Mrs Philips …
“Hubby … taking the boys to camp again?
He sure likes to drill them hard
Does he make you take it up the ****
Does he leave
YOU
His
CALLING CARD?
I could go on … with tales of pain
I could go on … with tales of woe
But
That is
NOT
MY PURPOSE
For it was so very long ago
I just want to make you realise the pain left in those children’s hearts
They really were so much more
Than
the
Sum of all their parts
So next time you cast aspersions
With
your
Judgemental eyes
Remember
Each time the knife’s stuck in
**A
Little piece of that child dies …**
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
Baptized in death incarnate, shown the worlds reality at a age of inspiration, with dreams dance upon the wings of butterflies in fields of daisy's, ******* the nectar of life, to sustain the biological imperative, that everything is connected beyond life and death.
Merge pen and ink, upon the fallen trees, show the world, the vulnerabilities of a soul lost in the shadows, were light fights the darkness to escape to another day, beyond the pages you write, beyond internal dialogue of devils and angels upon your shoulders.
Shower your soul, in the tears of angels, who have lost their wings and laid to rest upon the battleground, the lives of men, to stain sacred ground with life sustenance, every breath a battle you must tell now, so they are remembered in the pages of history
Purify this ground, with the ink within your veins, poet, rise from the ashes of reality, sprinkle the air with stardust, of fallen souls, in languid waves of desperation to live again, beyond the tragedy of death you've witnessed, here today. entitle, designate and cleanse this world a new, so every heart may know, deep within the recess of darkness within your eyes, incandescent flames burn the birth of a poet
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
I often wonder
How people would react
If they could hear
The thoughts that trickle through
My mind
How often I tell myself
It's my fault
Everything is my fault
You're not pretty enough
Not smart enough
Not talented enough
Not nice enough
Not skinny enough
But I cannot speak
These thoughts
So instead
I could write a novel
Entitle it
Nicotine and broken dreams
And fill it with all my thoughts
It'd be written in blood
And stained with tears
Pages upon pages
Filled with hatred
And self loathing
It will be considered
Tragic and poetic
When in reality
I'm just pathetic
I mean nothing
Not a single thing
I'm unimportant
Worthless
Pointless
Good for nothing
A monster
A monster who gives her love
To everyone else
And saves none
For herself
A monster who leaves
Herself empty
And the empty spaces
Are filled with negative thoughts
That I must write down
To release
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
Soma
a pharmaceutical usurpation
some subjunctive psychedelic
noxious decoction
of the capital kind
wrought by unoriginality
a conjuring elixir
to ignite the material mind
Maya
will have you
if you don't recognize
behind appearances
is always a disguise
beyond the superficial
over what eyes can surveil
may entitle you to what is
to be entailed
Yuga
beyond the ages
beyond the sages
epochs and eras
multiplied to infinity
expecting some recourse
exponential beyond sanity
gauges of the cyclical planetary
Akasha
ubiquitous aether
all pervading
all invading
revelations' recordings
substratum of
then and now
rife marshaler of how
Ishwara
great atman
ultimate overseer
transcending all time
cosmic conscience
consciousness sublime
beyond everything
sight unseen
Samadhi
reign over me
the be all and end all
of life's raisons d'être
superconsciousness
enlightenments
bestowal
of divine grace and mercy
Gunas
by knowledge of these moods
this will allow you
ambrosia of all roads
in your journey ahead
to navigate solely
without flag or fail
through equipoise unassailed
Ahimsa
through this your lips
can no longer trespass
over your welfare
or the welfare of any other
true liberation
from human inebriation
true love for one another
Siddhis
they will misunderstand you
not being like the same
eschewing commonality
for the perfected mindscape
a narrowed perspective
to focus more completely
upon the rarest of views
Om
what can be said
of this holiest sound
that permeates all ethers
the skies and the grounds
Brahman of this plane
and all that surrounds
now perish all that confounds
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
Saturday morning, well armed
coffee cup and newspapers,
from days past and miracle!
even future, Sunday news,
prematurely birthed.
Content to content.
Pandora supplies the music,
outside, clouds of steam tinge,
decorate a pale blue sky,
freshwater pearls from man,
a choker to grace
nature's blue purity.
All's well, a weekend day as
God meant it to be, labor free.
Then I am weeping.
Dan Fogelberg, poet songwriter,
cancer victim, longtime gone,
weeps me into a memorable mess.
Leader of the Band,
a tribute to his father,
shipwrecks me on his
river of souls.
So much more, needs adding.
But songs end, and so do I.
But the tears keep reforming,
falling freely as I acknowledge freely,
my father too, a good man,
a cancer victim,
who led his band,
his fellow patients in the
doctor's waiting room
in spontaneous uplifting song.
I have no idea why
I was so entitled.
I have no idea
what to entitle this.
As Dan wrote/sang,
cry when you have to,
it's part of the plan.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
No title
no title
words slither
in the mind subtold
like serpents to behold
No title
no title
a choice so unmade
no words in braids
not one word or two
not even just a few
No title
no title
no time to entitle
that title so futile
cast out the title
and leave it untold
but the ending--- contemplate
the insatiable ultimate
story must unfold.
No title
no title
Though no title surfice
the ending tis precise
like a run for the mice
the maze is the challenge
but--- the escape is the goal.
© Written by Linda Bates Terrell
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Splashes of ink
Scatter amidst the land
Harrowing it may seem,
All in a tremendous disarray.
Thou cannot strain
As substantial as the others,
But thy will strive
For thine destiny.
Thy purity had been lost
Innocence, stolen
Engrossed in war,
Several, forgotten
Innumerable lives had been adrift
In an inexorable execution.
How could this be?
Humanity has not yet been conceived.
Could not they concede,
Their ways were transgress
Thou say to thee,
You are solely mere grime.
Hope is still existing
Freedom will be the next
For thine liberty,
Captivity won't ever transpire.
I thank thee for the fortitude
All who ventured in lethal combat
As thou reminisce the occurrences
In what ye entitle now as "history."
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
The world doesn't owe you a **** thing. Hard work doesn't entitle you to a better life, neither does lineage, money or otherwise.
You aren't entitled to ANYthing.
Some people get more than they "deserve".
Other people get less.
"Deserving" is a manufactured concept to allow us to pity ourselves when we acquire less of a good thing or more of a bad thing than we expected.
When something bad happens to you, you didn't deserve it.
When something amazing happens to you, you didn't deserve it.
Our very existence is a gift, and saying we deserve anything more than to be alive is purely arrogant. Be thankful for every drop of water, every grain of sand, and every speck of dust you have because one day, you may not have those anymore. So cherish the ones who you love, because one day, they may no longer be there either.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 11:47 PM UTC
Have you ever seen the pockets ?
My thoughts sit inside my sockets.
I only see when i feel.
Only, feel is as heavy as steel.
So when i walk i put my hands inside them.
Pen searching the sky's.
For something deep.
Patience makes man wise.
So does defeat.
I see them all the time.
Its just Pockets full of nothing.
Every now and then its just Pockets full of money.
Full of fear, envy, and sloth, so they never see it sunny.
Pockets full of red-handed people i see you running.
Keep reaching, keep reaching, now it's hard to find it.
So used to throwing your trash in there, never never mind it.
Set yourself unconscious, welcome to the blinded.
Pockets used for hiding.
Take cover from the lightning.
Big pupil needs tightening.
Why is it important for us to have these ?
I want my surroundings to be a product of me, that's why i pick 'em good.
Mine capture your focus and entitle your attention.
I use my pockets wisely, hence the quantity of tactic.
Pockets full of holes. I've seen Pockets full of acid.
I keep notes to myself in there. Reminders and prayers.
Usually it's secrets and worldly thrills that make the pairs.
Stick my hand down in deep to grab and ****** whatever is left in their.
Other peoples Pockets.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
When in the Course of events, it becomes
necessary for a people to dissolve the political
bands which have connected them with another,
and to assume among the powers of the earth
the separate and equal station to which the Laws
of Nature and of Nature's Powers entitle them;
[a decent respect to the opinions of mankind
requires that they should declare the causes
which impel them to the separation, _or not_]:
We hold these truths to be self-evident,
that all animals are created equal, that they
are endowed by their Creator with certain
unalienable Rights, that among these are Life,
Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness;
That to secure these rights, Governments
are instituted among Men, deriving their
just powers from the consent of the governed;
_That whenever any Form of Government
becomes destructive of these ends it is the
Right of the People to alter or to abolish it
and to institute a new Government_, laying
its foundation on such principles and organizing
its powers in such form as to them shall
seem most likely to effect their Safety
and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate
that Governments long established should not
be changed for light and transient causes; and
accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind
are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable,
than to right themselves by abolishing the forms
to which they are accustomed. But when a long train
of abuses and usurpations pursuing invariably the same
Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute
Despotism, _it is their right, it is their duty,
to throw off such Government_,
and to provide new Guards
for their future security.
Such has been the patient sufferance
of the American citizen;
and such is now the necessity
which constrains them
to alter their System of Government:
The history of the present government of the united States
is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having
in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny.
To prove this, let the Facts be submitted to a candid world:
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
What is it about you that holds me smitten? Is it,
These hands,
These hands that send me to ecstasy.
These hands that entwine with mine.
These very hands that hold me close to you.
These lips,
These lips that caress my body, loving me, kissing me.
These lips that whisper "I love you".
These lips that entitle me as yours.
These eyes,
These eyes that look into my soul.
These eyes that hold promises of tomorrow.
These eyes that are drunk with love, love for me.
These eyes that see me and accept me for who I am.
This heart,
This heart that cares for me.
This heart that would chose me over and over again.
This heart that loves me.
This heart that belongs to me.
©waywardvarsha
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 5:58 AM UTC
Do you condemn me for my thoughts?
Hate me for my honesty?
Cast me out,
Tear me down,
For your idea of sanity?
Do my words frighten you?
Curse you to contemplate?
Bring your blood,
To a burning,
Bubbling broil?
Do my riddles evade you?
Ceasingly seamless?
The madness
Full of alliteration,
And complex metaphors?
Keep lying to yourself, with your heavy heart,
As I bleed words to this page and entitle it “Art”.
This is not about pain felt for what I went through.
It’s about who I am;
I am certainly not you.
So continue to read,
As I reveal how far you have fallen.
Don’t believe me?
Then how’d you end up on the bottom?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
It's not hard to love.
It's not hard to accept God.
It's just not hard.
When focus upon your goal in life.
You'll find brighter happenings in the end.
It's not hard to be kind.
It's not hard.
It's not hard to give.
It's just not that hard.
In this world of takers.
Who feels they entitle to priviledges not earned?
It makes you question's their abilities to achieve.
t's not hard to care.
It's not hard to share.
Why be selfish?
Just to feel you can.
When in the end you need assistance.
You begins to request it from anyone.
While realizing that the unselfish has taught a lesson to you.
Just keep in mind.
It's not hard to love.
We just think it is.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
That dare you bid Claim to Monopoly
Of Potent Spheres which Winged Beauty does fly
Ignite these Dames; Yet pampers their Fury
Of Somber Gentlemen their Choice deny
Yes, I know. Though your Genetics un-fault
For your Living God to birth you such Bless
He does so with Plans; And plans such Consult
Beyond which flexible Models impress
Friend. If by so still entitle you Friend
That sometimes for a quonce un-clog your ear
For at least a Moment; With un-due Percent
More than Prosed Merriments you beg to hear.
Of this I say; And say in Full Subscribe
Leave the Heroine be; And un-screw your Pride.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Title (optional)
could it really be that simple
to wake up one spring morning
with streaming golden sunlight
through a window pane
or to open our eyes
to a shower of cascading snowflakes
twinkling with delicacies
authentic like temperamental daises
the waft of lavender laughter
sweeping through the crack of a door
can we really decide one day
at a five o'clock traffic jam
or a forty five minute tram
even while listening to the pound of our hearts
as we jog along a stand of trees
or the comfort of one's warmth
have our breaths' taken away
at the sight of the mahogany sunlit
settling time of treacherous days
could it really be that easy
to decide what we would want to be
to entitle our own rightful marrow
and to know that even
as the second ticks on now
that there is that optional
and for one's life to be like a poem
there does not always have to be a title
there is no one else more qualified to give it
but by the heart of the individual
so give it second
or a day
or a lifetime
there doesn't have to be a label
one can have one
only if one wants to
it is not bad
nor is it good
it is what it truly is
wrought by simplicity and virtue
people do have chances
and people are not
categorized into laminated labels
we all think to be true
like the glossy illustrations
of pop magazines
contaminated by the idea
that people are
or aren't
people are, in fact
whoever
they want to be
and they can write their own poem
how ever they wish
help to ease
into modern hostility
just wait for their fingers
to reach for the pen
and to touch the precious ink
they have all been waiting
to see what they have
always known to be
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC