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Val Ajdari Nov 2013
Some fools are born, conditioned by fate,
And they, like all, still procreate.
All useful knowledge flee their minds;
Ignorance fulfill these swine.
And while they swing and cheat for joys,
The watchful eyes of their little boys
Take a glance at what they see,
And what they see is “a bigger me.”
Their little girls, in company of dolls,
On occasion foresee what befall
On them, too, as they soon explore --
An impending battle of love and war.
But then, there exists that little kid
Whose *** and gender shall remain amid
A cloud of quantum mystery;
Their wisdom calls more urgently.
And as this kid sees life unravel
Along Lacanian stages of travel,
Concerned are they with all fuss and mess,
To which most adults do not confess.
As one parent lacks all the care,
The other lives a life unfair.
In times of chaos and audacious cuss
Dear, vengeful killer, Oedipus
Consumes all facets of the mind
Of the little kid who must confine
All pain, and hatred, and all rage,
Enough to place one in a cage,
While free the bird whose wings to fly
Have been broken off, now left to die;
In part, by diabolical norms
That invade a home in all shapes and forms.
But the kid looks up at the two,
Then whispers quietly, “I’m neither of you;
Not the blinded one, on flight to reign,
Nor the indebted one, too tied to pain."
Nor does the kid ever dare to be
A product passed politically:
Ingrained in mind, in heart, and soul
A subordinate being in a bowl
That churns, and churns, and churns, and churns
While glutenous ******* more they yearn.
This ceaseless cycle leaves little choice
For the ill-fated screaming voice,
As a true language for them not made
Because demonic beings must place a shade
Over the stronger ones deprived
Appraisal for their stronger minds.
The kid, all this, can’t take to be
As what they see they wish not to see.
In this unbalanced Yin and Yang,
The kid’s perception hits a bang:
“The power lies within the one
Who mostly governs with a gun.
But, how can a human hurt their double,
When love and passion are lesser trouble?"
A fitting *** the kid cannot choose,
As in every win each *** will lose.
But slowly, as they come to be,
The kid, society directs to see
That to the right *** they must belong
As "genitalia proves feelings wrong."
This funny theory most credits Freud.
But by collective viewpoints the kid’s annoyed:
'No good is said, no good is done
For those who are all, but yet are none.'
Great gender points makes Butler, Judith,
While blind opponents seek to disprove her;
They ink 'she is wrong within her stance!'
That female unity will give rise to chance
To an inclusion of the female word,
And one that’s First...not second or third.
The opposite, still out to bend
The rules and laws, all to pretend
That the other *** does not exist
Because swollen egos must persist
In rule, in art, in build, and biz:
'Fields where opposites lack all wiz.'
The kid, in this silly world of theirs,
Looks at all these foolish heirs
Who bounce and shoot this gendered ball,
While the kid stands back and laughs at all.
Some budding minds of larvae
become slaves to indoctrination
holding ransom to their morals
with mundane anticipation.
Ants and Bees take to the streets
dragging dignity through the trip
while sharks above hound them
discipline at the crack of a whip.
The struggle of paying to work
catches the children by surprise
though the nature of nepotism
gives others meteoric rise.
Ragged, they stay warm
through the fires of finance killing
so that the glutenous worms
can feed off the standard of living.
And those who live in glass mansions
have their view clouded by rain
as they look down at the masses
with contempt and disdain.
Rezium Jun 2018
Honor your mother and Father
It's a hard constant thought
It's been taught
So many times yet I can never keep that locked

I honor her even though she's dead
I honor him yet he's gone too
Seeing him though is a pack of lies
All I see is a glutenous fool
So spare your "tries"
I'm not your misconcepted tool
It's not what a dad does

You can call him by a title yet his colors will show another .

Sugar coat it like I'm a naive child but after a while
I saw that smile become a...
Liar.
Trust me you say
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE THAT TODAY!"
s t o p  i t

I've had 3 and believe me they have names...
But they are set by me.
Grand
Liar
Tryer
And don't try buying tryer cause liar could never be the supplier like the grand who showed me I can go higher than all of...Cliars

But what does it matter when you're a brick wall who shuns me...
A holy Trinity but more earthly.
Grand if you can read this, thank you.
Liar, hope you're safe but buzz off
Tryer, test me and you'll be on the ground soon
Eoin J Griffin Sep 2014
A house of cards since torn apart
And spirits broke before restarting.
A crow, whose ****** circles fast
Smells decay now from afar.

The marrow picked, and bleed, once tasted,
Fills the guts of those who've stuffed.
And fumbled in a greasy til
And still want more.
Insatiable. Craven.

Now rats who race to break the bones
Do hurry and scurry to survey these heaps,
All corners kept
quietly
questioning Questioning,
Festering, Venturing
these treacherous tendencies.

What once caused irk
now drives berserk
in shadows lurk acquiescent clerks.
Whose duteous work,
Cloyed wolves 'mongst herds,
venerate without exertion.

Can't *** the plants to break enchantment.
Now rubble strews the once green pastures,
Serpentine, exiled from gardens,
This concrete tomb, once womb of Gaea.

How barren plains once bloomed; need rain.
Her balding dusty broken frame
Now chokes with hate for beast with brain
Who slash deep wounds in soft terrain
Contempt, with only glutenous gain.
They reign.
I still remember the first time, And I wish I could prolong the last, Savouring every precious moment, Attempting to satisfy this glutenous thirst, Even though I have forgotten my birth, I wonder if the light of this Earth, Burned my brand new eyes, Those instinctive gulps of cold air, Shocking my lungs, But I reckon it was the knowledge of what was to come, That bought those first tears, We mourn our own entries into this planet, And we fear our departure, Oh what sorrow our hearts know, That is why they constantly bleed, And our souls become derelict and empty, Yet we still convince ourselves, That this life is a blessed gift, Take a moment of silence, To revel in the irony, We throw our hands in the air, In an act of prayer, Please Almighty God, Take the pain of this life, And make it a currency, To pay to make the next one good, Clinging to this idea, We named it hope, We sought comfort in the knowledge of the unknown, And it was here on top of these ever shifting foundations, We built our homes, Raising our own families, Just searching for love, In this abyss of a planet, We raised daughters and gave them names, Such as Faith and Grace, Those qualities of which we had none, We bore sons and trained them, To be brave and strong, So we could put the weight of our world, Upon them, We pointed our fingers and blamed our forefathers, For each and every way, That we went wrong,
2015 Copyright Jasmin Amber Starr
Reaper Sep 2018
The beast is hungry
With an unrelenting appetite
Consuming without satisfaction
This glutenous swine gnashes and gnaws
Leaves no morsels
Only memories
Snatching the very youth from your face
And the minds from those who gave you yours
Extruding your very essence whilst you slumber
Feeds on good times
And takes exquisite pleasure
In dragging out moments of suffering
Yet this beast is desired by all
Pursued without hesitation
Those with wealth and power may never obtain
Those who need it never posses
Those who posses may not use

And in the end, leaves you, alone in a void
Nothing but a fleeting thought
In those who are still being devoured alive

-R
I still remember the first time, And I wish I could prolong the last, Savouring every precious moment, Attempting to satisfy this glutenous thirst, Even though I have forgotten my birth, I wonder if the light of this Earth, Burned my brand new eyes, Those instinctive gulps of cold air, Shocking my lungs, But I reckon it was the knowledge of what was to come, That bought those first tears, We mourn our own entries into this planet, And we fear our departure, Oh what sorrow our hearts know, That is why they constantly bleed, And our souls become derelict and empty, Yet we still convince ourselves, That this life is a blessed gift, Take a moment of silence, To revel in the irony, We throw our hands in the air, In an act of prayer, Please Almighty God, Take the pain of this life, And make it a currency, To pay to make the next one good, Clinging to this idea, We named it hope, We sought comfort in the knowledge of the unknown, And it was here on top of these ever shifting foundations, We built our homes, Raising our own families, Just searching for love, In this abyss of a planet, We raised daughters and gave them names, Such as Faith and Grace, Those qualities of which we had none, We bore sons and trained them, To be brave and strong, So we could put the weight of our world, Upon them, We pointed our fingers and blamed our forefathers, For each and every way, That we went wrong,
2015 Copyright Jasmin Amber Starr
A Poet May 2020
Tasted,
   dipped fingers into chocolate.
Figures;
  Glutenous Pig.
"Sorry";
    there goes the notion of trust. . .
Endless "hey cutie" inboxes;
   I picture doing it back.

yet I stay ,
   sick for your love,
I stay. . .

In this endless song.

-Stay
which ushered poetic reverberations across the universe.

Contrary to popular scientific
(regarding geologic phenomena)
and dished out according to plate tectonics
plate tectonics belief –
well... fork get about continental drift,
cuz tremendous convulsions arise,
when gods and goddesses
of the underworld experience good grief
courtesy **** sapiens
arrogant, haughty, ornery, vain, et cetera
running amuck atop planetary surface
laying waste and wreaking havoc
as an querulous, odious, murderous,
iniquitous, glutenous, excrementitious,
cancerous, atrocious, et cetera thief
the above communification,
and horrification, narration
predicated upon unpleasant dreams of mine.

A snippet of careering and careening
nocturnal cerebral manifestations
attributed to strong medicament
creating soundless clangorous din
ofttimes diabolical dreams
severely disrupt mine ability
to function throughout rest of day.

An adverse reaction
to one or more prescription medications
intended to combat anxiety, dysthymia, ocd,
and other psychological ills
(prescribed by Elizabeth Clark
Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner)
regularly, severely, and terribly
disrupts sleep of yours truly.

As a for instance recently,
I dreamt figments of mein kampf
fractured into a bajillion little pieces
when the final battle
between God and Satan
known as Armageddon occured (situated
within Megiddo Valley),
which I (a diehard skeptic) would not miss
Earth shattering event for the world!

A diabolical entity
(quaking with excitement)
accidently (perhaps purposely) let slip
the Apocalypse will strike
blank (redacted) days after today.

Yours truly along with bajillions
of other people held
captive upon oblate spheroid
will perish within blank (redacted) days.

Meanwhile,  I plod along
boulevard of broken dreams
**-hum fashion minding my p's and q's, oh
of course giving remaining twenty four letters
of English alphabet
their diligent due respect.

So much euphoria
suddenly bubbled forth,
where debilitating anxiety
would usually churn.

Though giddy with excitement,
(no more plaintive laments
about being dirt poor),
yet wincing back
concomitant sentiment also arose.

No matter both pseudo and real
contradictory reactions prevailed,
I did not experience anticipatory anxiety
that usually gets triggered regarding
some worrisome circumstance.
The aforementioned debacle
(impossible mission beset seismologists).

— The End —