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Diana Mendoza Aug 2014
I am not required to love you.
Let's get that straight.
Neither man nor woman
Is obligated to profess
And show their undying love for you,
Just as the sun doesn't revolve around the world,
The world doesn't revolve around you.
A series of acts showing your "kindness"
Is not a contract for a relationship.
The very fact that you have to shout
How you are a "nice guy"
Shows how you aren't;
Kindness doesn't need reassurance.
To be frank,
This whole delusion
Is getting a bit out of hand
(see: the "****** Killer",
a guy so sexually frustated
He killed people
for not giving him the right to get laid).
Maybe, hear me out here guys,
it's not because girls only look for "bad guys".
Maybe we look for soulmates,
Not Good Samaritans with hidden agendas.
This may come off as a shock for some of you,
But all-around goodness isn't equal
to treating girls nicely
Only because you might have a chance.
So if your mating dance
Consists of acting like you're an angel And simultaneously complaining
About the blindness
And insolence of women,
It's high time you should stop.
Put down the fedora while you're at it.
It's become a symbol for gentlemen for you,
But now it's a warning sign for us: "Beware the self-entitling guy!"
Honestly, we cringe every single time.
And darling,
Nice guys always finish last
because they whine
Instead of running.
Shae Sun James May 2010
There was a man who once lived in your very house. In fact, his own bedroom was the one you sleep in every night. He lived and breathed; he was very much real. But what does it mean to be "real"? He was an animate being, that much is true. He was alive, more or less, but he was dead. He lived day after day just to live; he lived for nothing. His schedule was strict and monotonous, and it could never be changed. It still hasn't been lost, after all these years. His schedule lives on; I suppose you can call it his legacy. It's still in his house, your house; it's drifting in the air, absorbed into the walls. He had no life; he breathed for no other purpose than to stay, so to speak, "alive." The man's identity you ask? Why, this man is you. You died many years ago, when you stopped living for a purpose.
© SSJ 2009.
Ariadna Parrales Aug 2013
The majesty of a clear sky
is what gets alive in front of my eyes.
Within the deepest darkness consumption
I encountered the path to beauty and seduction.

Your lips I see moving,
your metaphors I see diffusing.
Brilliant onyx magic covered this soul
entitling it to be finally whole.

And now fire feels cold,
no one can ever be so bold.
And all this Power in me
simply makes me be.

The brightness in my smile smolders.
Can you see how clear waters smother?
Can't you see how Light can also ****,
And how obscurity may help to live?

Inside your entangled tale and fail
I dug your own grave and pain.
You may believe the fortune teller
for your destiny to be even lesser.

Search for the Mother Moon,
but I promise it'll always be too soon,
because the Daughter of Night
will forever be on Her side.
Jane Doe Jun 2014
Snap, crackle, pop, *******, maybe one day our way of life will match up, maybe someday you’ll shake the sad and sick way you sound with your face buried in the ground, snap crackle and pop, snap, crackle and pop.
Snap, like snap dragon, like fire breathing flower beating pollen from bee stings, letting you insert your syringe in, snap, my neck to keep me stagnate, snap your tongue as I walk but, cackle and cat call, call me something derogative, like *****, snap, my negotiative nature has me nearly kneeling on my knees screaming at the stars, snap, because I’m snapping out of this phase, faking it until I’ve made it am I manly enough yet? Binding my breast, walking with my legs apart holding inside the pains of a broken heart until it leaks from my pores, shorter hair and it’ll seem like I don’t have a care in the world, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your say won’t matter, maybe someday I’ll shake off the need to impress you when all you’ve done is oppress me. Impressively I’m openly opinionated still, despite your
Crackle, like cackle, like a catapult of insults, like injury that has no bruises, like being lost and found and the sound of your voice, is crackling. Caressing my nape with knives, making the demons inside harder and harder to hide from when they hide inside your hide, your skin, which you stick to me like crackle, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your opinions will be shattered by someone who’s louder. Maybe someday someone will smother your power. Maybe someday your soap box will be lit on fire. Snap, crackle, pop.
Pop, like gun shots, like self-entitled macho misters, mysteriously gliding into plain sight, entitling themselves heros where the title terrorist is more fitting, letting themselves let loose and losing themselves in the blood bath created by a society which values machismo over women saying “no” pop, like people placing bets on how many lip stick rings they can get around their *****, pop, like men making markers holding us down with words which pop our ear drums and drum us silent, like silently held hand guns hidden in plain sight, like women lined up to be killed where men should be lined up to learn, where girls are hurled under the bus because our skirts are too short and our voices too shrill, where we **** ambition that grows like snap, like a snap dragon, a fire breathing flower found beautiful but dangerous, like crackle, the cackle of your cat calls and like pop, like gun shots sounding into the streets, like the silence of the women we never knew we needed to heed. Snap, crackle, pop. Stop, holding your tongue and stay your hand, take a silent stand.
Snap crackle and pop *******, because today I can’t afford to let your words matter.
Sam Anthony Jul 2017
What’s the harm in joining with a crowd of people
United around a rainbow and a passion for equality?

If it’s true that
God Hates ****
Then we’re in real trouble
Under the colours of His great judgment on the party of depravity
Entitling the parade as
Pride
Which goes before destruction

If it’s true that
God is Love
Then let’s not be offended
There is no need for
Straight Pride Day
Unless I missed the memo
Threatening the death penalty for love and marriage

Is it not the case that the driver for Gay Pride
Is that some are treated differently, judged by their inside
When the rest of humanity can step up and take Pride
In their efforts and achievements, and not what they confide
In their most trusted friends so as to dodge that stereotype?

So why has the parade become the world’s greatest collection
Of the loudest, brashest versions of the most extreme ideas
When almost every gay person I know is almost disappointingly…
Normal?

My Gay-Proudest moment was when I gave a job
To an LGBT chairman, who stood out from the crowd
Not because of his leaning and not because of pity
But for being the best fit and better-skilled than the rest

The Day on which we can be
Gayest and Proudest
Will be the day when there’s no need
For Gay Pride Day
Gay Pride Day has such a polarising effect on people, and the story told in the media seems to be either one of hatred against homosexuality or passionate love for the parade. I'm all for equality and I'm not convinced that perfectly normal men dressing up in the twinkliest ball gowns does much to help those filled with hate to realise that being gay doesn't have to be A Thing.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
pronunciation? the diacritic over the one o, as in the polish language, is intended to be pronounced as a          u - i.e.: hue hue coo yotl - and i mean it as a furthering into the question - no wonder dyslexia is pervasive in our orientation of the tongue, i mean, come on - hue and Hugh are chiral, but share the same pronunciation!

i know i live in a society that's also a nanny
to the fears of George Orwell -
i know i live in a society where
women wear the trousers and men the nappies,
or at least that's a stereotypical woman
talking about the "stupidity of men";
i'm fine with that - and i'm fine with
the excess surveillance, 9 c.c.t.v. cameras on
a single bus, the many c.c.t.v. cameras in
the supermarket - i get it, i don't
mind this out-in-the-open voyeurism,
because i've been going to the same supermarket
for the past month if not longer,
and they've switched the products i always
bought religiously...
that everyday value whiskey 70cl at £10.30
with that cheap cheap logo of packaging?
gone... replaced by the more eye-pleasing
70cl £10.80 called *scots club
,
and the beer also, it used to be £1.25 bottles
of sant migeul, the offer ended and the price
jumped up to £1.99 -
but then they replaced the choice of beer,
a downtrodden west ham fanatic (football team)
choosing a tasty bitter, a tasty ale
with two packets of crisps prior my revision
of the cooler's shelf -
now they nailed it... Amstel (i always had a fetish
for that beer when they sponsored the
champions league, don't ask me why)...
but today... ha ha... it was stacked on the shelf
so pretty... amigos - tequila flavoured beer
with a hint of lime... dedicated to... as the title
suggests... an ancient Aztec god...
the god of dance, of mischief... auspicious meaning
he was always successful at what he did,
there was no party if huehuecóyotl wasn't there,
a bit like the hindu god shiva -
shame the phonetic encoding of the Aztec people
didn't survive, if it did, like the phonetic encoding
of the greeks via α through to Ω -
still a shame that the poets had so much influence
on demoralising them, not entitling some of them
more than just a mirror, or a lighting bolt,
or the lava lamp of hades of perpetually fluxed remnants
of bodies encapsulated by a stream of souls
readied for reincarnation - no deus 'apiens -
shame it all became a grizzly ghoulish crucifixion
affair - but all i'm saying... take it or leave it,
but i'm sure chris rea says is much better:
you can go your own way -
doesn't matter what the others say -
'cos you can go your own way -
and yes, the fabulous thunderbirds'
                                                  ­               powerful stuff
revised for the cocktail soundtrack sounds, so so
much better than what they originally intended...
got to thank the producer of the revision.
Sabila Siddiqui Feb 2018
“I can’t  b  r  e  a  t  h  e.  You’re trying to sheathe me from the world. But I just want  to scream and flee. I want to leave, I want to escape. I don’t want to be bounded, I don’t want to be caged. But your muscles are possessive, hands like shackles and ribs encasing and engaging. Your scent clings to my finger and your embracement breaks my bones. Your words make decisions for me, exerting boundaries onto me. You’re stifling my breath and suffocating me. You want my blood to move at your accord. But I am drowning, choking and gasping. You’re pushing me away by entitling me. Your possessiveness knows no limits as you become invasive. You say it’s just because you love me, that you would go beyond any limit; but it’s obsessive. I feel like I am on a leash. I am no longer my own person, but a puppet to my master. A land to your dominian.”
Riot Sep 2014
My room has become a hell hole
A playground for the demons that nobody thinks exist
But I see them

Have you ever looked a demon in the eye?
It makes you see life differently

My room has become a loony bin
My bed
A straight jacket
Entitling me to break
I'm entitled to my broken bones

My room is a place for monsters
Ghosts aren't even on the A-list
Yggy Dec 2016
Buddy-buddy up to the riff-raff rat pack.
Those self-entitling, blind-as-a-bat Big Macs.
Get your free ride, legs spread valley-wide.
But don't give me your empty "hello"s and "goodbye"s.

I've broken my back to earn this measly stack
And I'll probably burn it up like I'm addicted to crack.
A dollar here, dollar there. Oh no, it's all gone.
It's about that time for you to hear the fat girl's song.

Do you. I'll do me. We're not compatible, see?
I just want to burn trees and make melodies.
I'm not sure what you want, I can't hear you clearly.
Perhaps remove from your mouth that gold-nugget D.

Leave me alone. You smell of regret and greed.
If you weren't so ******, this might be flattering.
I'm sure there's some good in you, some decency.
But I've learned my lesson following these "maybe"s.

If I've grown cold, I prefer to see it
Like I just appreciate the warmth all the more.
Bought and sold, bought and sold. I'll keep on believing
silver linings, disguised blessings. Hmm..

The window, or the door?
Might be a duplicate
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2020
oh no!

another fateful overlooked poem title,
ensconced in a message not initially gripped tight enough,
the entitling command, the wish, this commish-on,
angry for having been ignored, overlooked,
calls the poet out, what, a deadline missed again?  

again.

an inherent compliment contradiction,
the well wisher, wanting an enlarged heart, like mine,
is wise in the ways of double meanings,
knows full well, that the enlarged heart is burdensome,
that weight of those afflicted with enlarged hearts,
walk with the stooped bent of responsibility.

so I write and weep, weep and write,
what a thing to wish for, defer it, deter it,
and yet here, I affirm it!

for in my possess is a sure and certain knowledge,
that a new born girl, has surely already stretched the measurements
of Pradip’s own heart’s boundaries, no wishing necessary,
a natural occurring phenomenon, a first grandchild grasped,
raised up to the light on high, a chemical reaction, an eclipse so
when the body’s brain commands it minions,
ordering messengers, sent to every province, to every *****,
piercing every cell’s shell with a kingly commandment scroll:

heart! all body parts!
grow, enlarge, engorge, for a fearsome wonderful injection of love arrives, a new baby will heartily enlarge, make room for more.


the wonderful burden of love.



<>

a commission satisfied. perhaps I will sleep tonight...

Feb. 10, 2020
2:04 pm
Jyotirmoy Dec 2017
You were my intention
Metaphorically, you were my mean
To metaphor away,
Into the nth dimensional
Paralleling universe
Flowing right
Beneath your seamless smiles
Entitling
My own universe
And since I'm
Drunk beyond your scale of
Measure
Why would you anyway expect
Me to believe
I still have your smell of shampooed
Hair
manifested inside my head
Like, the old forgotten
Parlance.
jeffrey conyers Aug 2018
Here, we go?
For so long you have used your pigmentation to get through society.
Created laws to promote your agenda.
Oh, we not surprised you don't remember.

The truth hurts.

You go to other countries like you something
"special" and run a foul.
Then how you "American" like that means you more important them.

Now you find out your pigmentation isn't entitling you the way it uses too.

Don't worry?
I see the same problems in African American and even the Jewish people too.

But more centered upon you.
Mainly because your racism is more in the news.
Have you not visited it on Youtube?

Where cops harass?
Where managers showcase them racist views?
Except, unless you own the company?
You find unemployment heading to you.

Pigmentation has always worked for you in society.
Unless you are blind.
Then you just might be fooled.
In the Sunshine, Enlightenment,
that's a Blue Glimpse,
Once thy eyes open.

Your thalamus
A subjective piece of treble.
connected to the sun
The Objective is to gaze
in the sun.

Blazing in the Dawn,
Graze a sunset view,
one good inhale of
the source, one blunt.
Moist the Water,
Maure the Soil,
Mature the Flesh.

In the Dark,
A Regular Rich Man,
inhale a cigar, peace.
Entitling to thy struggle,
Of they poor, soaring in thy,
Ideal.
Business Magnet, Multibillionaire.
How rich, of thy sonnet dinner.
No Means in Sayings of no necessity,
In thy helpless Charity,
Growth in Flower.
Creation in Pollen.
Mystery in Religion.
So Bitter, in the arms of the world,
Sayeth the lost men...
Well this just comes from me being misunderstood, and born with the truth, unbelievable, but believable they sayeth, my truths tell stories of they lies.

— The End —