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I asked my inner writer,
Is your prose poetic?
Or your poetry prosaic?
And my inner writer asked me,
Are you traditional with modern values?
Or are you modern with traditional values?
Are you an introvert who loves to express?
Or an extravert who loves silences?
Are you an optimist who sees the clouds?
Or a pessimist who sees rainbows?
Are you thoughtful with some light-hearted ways?
Or humourous with some sober ways?
And on and on and on and on
And on and on it went.
I'll never ask my inner writer
About writing
Again.
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
24.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
The original poem : http://allpoetry.com/poem/8538761-Zebra_Question-by-Shel_Silverstein
Alizay Jul 2019
Admirable, Blissful, Bewildered, Curious, Capable, Compassionate, Determined, Daring, Delighted, Dazzling, Eagar, Edgy, Enlightening Enthusiastic, Elegant, Fabulous, Fantastic, Forgiving, Fictitious, Fancy, Feminist, Glamourous, Gorgeous, Glowing, Guarded, Greatful, Generous, Gloomy, Happy, Honest, Hopeful, Humourous, Humble, Humane, Heartiest, Heavenly, Imaginative, Interesting, Inspiring, Intellegent, Incredible, Impressive, Important, Indecisive, Invisible, Jinxed, Joyous, Judicious, Justified, Jobless, Jiggish, Jimp, Jittery, Jazzy, Jaunty, Kindhearted, Keen, Knowledgable, Kiddish, Knavish, Knockout, Kempt, Kween, Kin, Kittens, Kinder, Lazy, Luxurious, Lively, Loyal, Limit, Laminated, Lawless, Lightning, Lushious, Luminous, Lovesick, Logical, Modest, Marvelous, Motivated, Music, Momentous, Mindful, Magical, Memories, Merciful, Mellow, Mesmerizing, Malicious, Mannered, Noble, Nervous, Night, Naive, Noted, Natural, Nifty, Nurturing, Never-ending, Noteworthy, Neglected, Narnia, Native, Number 1, ***, Openhearted, O Canada, Obviously, Obidient, Obsessions, Open-minded, Oriented, O.K., Observing, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD, Omnicient, Outshining, Obliged, Obsticles, Passionate, Personally, Poetry, Picture-Perfect, Positivity, Pulse, Painful, Physic, Power, Protagnist, People-Person, Pros, and Cons, Purity, Purpose, Pleasant, Pieces, Quiet, Quality, Quick, Quoted, Queen, Quirky, Quintessentially, Quest, Quick-Minded, Questionable, Quarter, Quiver, Quiddity, Quiescent, Qui vive, Quip, Quantity, Ravishing, Rapport, Reliving, Reassuring, Rebal, Rainbows, Reckless, Relaxing, Respect, Remedy, Regrets, Right, Relatable, Reliable, Rad, Ready, Responsible, Rainy days, Sagacious, Salutary, Sassy, Secure, Self-assured, Self-reliant, Self-confident, Self-disciplined, Selfless, Sensational, Sensitive, Stars, Shawn Mendes, Sénorita, Sentimental, Set, Serene, Seamless, Significant, Sightly, Trustworthy, Talented, Tender-hearted, Thriving, Thankful, Titanic, Touché, Touchy, Transparent, True, True-blue, Traveller, Transpicuous, Titillating, Timeless,Tidy, Teasing, Tender, Terrific, Thorough, Thrilling, Unarguable, Ultimate, Undefining, Under-the-weather, Unalloyed, Unassuming, Uncommon, Understandable, Undivided, Unique, Unlimited, Unstoppable, Uplifting, Upbeat, Uber, Unconvensional, Uhuh, Unbelieveable, Under control, Unquestionable, Utter amazment, Valiant, Valuable, Valid, Veridical, Valiant, Vibrant, Vigorous, Vigilant, Victorious, Visions, Vivid, Voluptuous, Vulnerary, Vulnerable, Venust, Veracious, Vestal, Violen, Vroom Vroom, Victory, Vows, Wake me up, Wise, Welsome, Well-behaved, Welcoming, Well-grounded, Woke, Whimsical, Whistler, Wholesome, Wired, Witty, Wondrous, Whilst, Winter, Wonderful, Wide-Awake, Walk it like I take it, ****-bang, Wishful, Wellness, Worth it, World-Class, Xo, Yolo, Zero
Any feedback? go for it
Yenson Dec 2018
Listen you nice genteel ladies out there
We know you'll adore a charming, intelligent
smart, humourous, caring, loving and sensitive
charismatic man

We know you'll absolutely love a decent, wholesome
capable, balanced, brave, courageous Alpha male
we know you'll really like a versatile, poetic,
gentleman, able to do nearly everything and do it well
Even animals and children love him too

We know you'll just melt for this man who is an amazing lover
Wonderfully equipped, experienced, unselfish, rhythmic
hard yet gentle, graceful motion in hot ocean
Slow hands and arousingly hot touches, a great lover
who just adores women

Well forget it Ladies
We do not like this Elitist, well rounded intelligent lovely man
He is banned, banned, banned banned
How can we rogues, coarse, uncouth, insensitive semi-illiterates
compete with Mr Wonderful, who leaves ladies buckling in
rampant throes of multiple *******
Who makes love to your fine senses as well as your bodies

How can we, under endowed minutemen
with no grace, style or starmina, much less a romantic nuance
compete with our Mr Amazing with the mostest

We are flat bottomed pale skinned, weedy looking lot
we have little manners, we can hardly hold intelligent conversation
we don't do charming and all that *******
We are not keen on personal hygiene, that's for poofs
Forget looking groomed and polished, that's for poofs too
when drunk and we can just about manage to get it up
It's slam, bang, no thank you ma'am, nothing
poor gals left unsatisfied, unappreciated, any wonder most are turning to each other these days
Us loutish men, just reach for another pint, see you later, get your *** out...

We are working-class dumbos and proud of it
we are pirates and Robin Hoods, we take from the Decent Upscales
we fight them and harass and hound them, torment their *****
we destroy their reputation, degrade them
we can't do better, why should they have an easy life
And all the fun of the ****** fair

Look at the toffee nosed Emmanuel Macron in France
Rich background, privileged, he gets into power and start
messing with the working people, we are now dealing with him
That's what they do if you give them room
They diss the ordinary people and tell us its living intelligently
while they wine and dine and make love in Champagne
Well, not anymore, they don't, we've got there numbers now

The same with our charismatic intelligent Mr Wonderful here
We are sorting him out good and proper, we are on his case
So any ladies go near him or seen befriending him
is a class traitor and would be dealt with accordingly
We have put a *** and relationship ban on Mr Amazing
Let him see what doing without means, lets see him suffer
deprivation and hunger and hopelessness, we have been for years

I dare any of you ladies go near him and see what will happen
we will shave all your hair and put you to public shame
like those collaborators ladies in France after the 2nd WW
We will ostracise you like we have Mr Wonderful
we will smear and degrade you and  your life will be made
impossible.

This is Class war and you Ladies have been WARNED
Can you imagine it, not only rich, privileged, brilliant, capable
confident, self-assured, smooth, suave, charming, articulate,
presentable, wise and balanced, He's also gifted with a big ****,
and from all accounts he really does know how to use it
Jezz...how ******* fortunate can an elitist get!

Well you ladies are sure missing a good thing going
but we don't mind cutting off our long noses to spite our faces
Granted some nice girl could found happiness and the most amazing man and both could do a lot of good in the society and bring happiness to others
but we don't think rationally, that's for the elitists

We are mindless yobbos, thugs, hooligans, no-good, immature,little dicked ruffians and malcontents
We are anarchist, tall and proud
We are crazies, sad and pathetic and we do not care

So you ladies stick with your class and make **** sure
it's a No dice to Mr Wonderful  

NO NO NO it's a RESOUNDING NO from all working people
  ESPECIALLY YOU LADIES, just better know that YES from you
and it's the guillotine and not only your hair will be for the chop!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!
This is a PEOPLE'S ROYAL COMMAND
why can't I help always seeing the funny side of life. wake up laughing, go to bed laughing, life really can be so absurd, funny and interesting.
Raj Arumugam Jan 2013
This poem based on a joke on eggs (!) is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I  was reminded of that joke about eggs  by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.  
Timothy:  “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” …
Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…



Dad, the Kid, and the Girl Next Door

(1)
“Dad,”* says 6-year-old Tim
back from the neighbour’s
“Sandra next door and I’ve decided
to get married”


Dad laughs…What do these kids know? he thinks…
I’ll humour him, just kid along
with this precocious child of mine



(2)
“But you’re too young, Tim,”
says Dad

“That’s OK,” says Tim
“Sandra doesn’t mind I’m a year
younger than she”



“Oh,” says Dad
“but marriage is such
a huge responsibility”


“Yeah,” says Tim quick and sharp
“Haven’t you seen my school reports?
Teacher always says I’m hugely responsible;
it’s the same on Sandra’s card”



Dad’s smile weakens
“Well, what will the two of you
do for money?”


“Oh, we’ve worked that one out
We get $20 a week in pocket money
between us and we reckon we’ll take
on extra jobs:
I can mow our lawn;
and she’ll wash dishes at her home
Beside we’ll save a lot of money
since we don’t at all eat out
and lodging is free -
a week here and the next at Sandra’s”



(3)
Now Dad has lost his smile
These kids have thought of everything,
he thinks.  I’ve got to do better –
come up with an objection that’ll  strike fear



“Have you thought, Tim,” says wise old Dad
“about babies? Married people make babies –
what you going to do about that?”


“Simple,” says Tim the kid, cool and unperturbed
“We’ve googled all that:
Every time Sandra lays an egg
I’ll crush it under foot!”


Dad sighs with relief…
This poem, based on a joke on eggs (!),  is dedicated to Timothy, a fellow-poet here at HP….I  was reminded of that joke about eggs  by Timothy’s comment on my recent poem: “Corax versus Tisias”.  Timothy:  “This is great, Raj, another humourous poem with a good meaning, if you are an Egg or a Crow, lol! Keep them coming!!!!~<3<3:):)☺♂♀♥♠♣♦◘☻◙•○.O♫” … Well, here’s another humorous poem, Timothy – and dedicated to you…
Profanity is a ******* Tool.
Profanity is Subjective.
Profanity doesn't necessarily show intellectual or moral paucity.
Profanity is a form of emphasis; a form of ******* catharsis, an aspect of humour.
******* humour:
A goldmine rooted in Shadow,
  excavated by Logic
and which seems,
for the most part,
wasted on the irrefutably
illogical, or at least bi-polar
(if not higher-multi-polar)
masses.

"Anyone who relies on any one given tool is a fool, as
anyone who denounces a given tool for how it has been used by others is outright stupid."


A carpenter who can only use a hammer is quite restricted,
A musician who can only play alone is no good in a band,
A poet who only writes can't show the world how it's meant to be read (if at all),
A comedian who only swears has little else to offer,
A person who only speaks but doesn't act on it is a liar.

A carpenter who won't use a hammer is self-sabotaging.
A musician who can only play with others has no personal skill.
A poet who refuses to write starves oneself of potential.
A comedian who won't swear better have a good point.
A person who only acts but reuses to speak had better be a monk or mime!
(The last two were perhaps failed, even vein attempts at humour..
I shall leave that up to you to decide!)


Profanity is a Tool:*
I believe that no matter the profanity, a message can still be well received
by those who care enough to receive it.
Better still are those who can interpret the profanity
as humourous accentuation, emphasis, catharsis
and not necessarily as overly-abrasive and immature.

That said, some people are just totally ******* immature about it.
If you can't stand the profanity, get the ******* the internet. 4srs.
Better yet, shut yourself away from the world
lest you ever deal with that which you find unsettling.
So ist das Leben.
Telle est la vie.
Así es la vida.
Such is life.
Steven Fortune May 2014
Soft shelter
I urge your preternatural
brigades of perspective
to ground my resignation
in some hypothetical
formation of inclined leisure
If I'm treading mere chance
in my hope then I urge you
not to simply humour me with
sly tomorrows assuring
optimism in the brittle molts
of days shrinking to reveal
solar aspirations
I'll turn my back
to the broken weather like
a naked sibling
There is nothing humourous
in humouring
though I've taken it
in self-destructive perpetuity
Tie me to the rack of realism
like Odysseus before the Sirens
I'll sigh and swallow
yet another new medication
one for soft shelter
in compounded sleep
where perspectives hide
and the chemicals of moods
long dismantled
congregate behind blindfolds of
destiny's clumsy executioners
05 24 14
Star Gazer May 2016
You are the kindest girl I have met.
Your smile shines brighter than any stars
And if I could I would give you a million roses
And each one would definitely worth it.
You are coated in a petal of sweetness
And though every rose stands
You are a rose that stands out.
Pretty petals of a perfect pretty rose
is a metaphor that doesn't cover enough.
Your sense of humour is fantastic,
The things you say aren't sarcastic
It's humourous and adorable.
You are a precious little rose.
Spirited soul's bluest hood
covers your greeting smile;

We recognize our aspiring
wishes to gaze near the source

core, the centers of playful galaxies
arisen in one swift loving gesture

You said you're hitchhiking
toward my theater of dreams

I affirmed, smiling, as I stumbled
a bit; wanting to sit by your side

You, willing to recognize our
sweet holly humourous deeds

Even when the presence is murky
you shine green jades and gems

Flamboyant friend from along
Unexpected academic creatio

Having a premonitive chance
that next time we will coalesce

More than we ever expected. . .
Written For the One my Spirit loves. . .Unconditionally!
Across the plateau
The old fountain is
Quite new
In fact
Up
There is a better beat
A map of a jade lake
Reminded her of
Canues and free
Hiking rides,
Parachute
Glidings
Skis and skies
Playing with contours
Of trees around the
Shore, cracklings
Of tiny pebbles
Under her
Feet
Music in Jars
Shaking them
Vigorously happy
My laughter ! is a
Proof of your
Affection
Break me
With
Humourous  
Tripple cascades
Enable cool
Water to  
Vividly
Jump as
Mischievous
Children when
They dance The owls
Silent dance into the
First tinted night
A Waterfall
A tremendous
Magnetizing
Showering
Stares
Inner
Thoughts
She was a walking
Contemplation
Expecting her
Beloved to
Be there

She
Noticed
The Bycicle
Was not parked
At the bar's walls
Spirited eyes staring
At her steps and figure
He thinks he knows me
Then I am struck in awe
I know this wide fairness
Glowing across his forehead
He knows about the bluest
Seas yearning to touch the
Moon and the Stars on
Every woman he had
Loved. Passionately
Uncompromising
Determination

Speaking
Softly about his
Desire Wanting. . .
His poignant soul
Drowned in it's self
Familiar
With Self
Absorbed
Exploration
Solitude
Company. . . .
Even lovlier ***
Harmonic beats
Black trousers
*******
Black
On white
Yearnings
Loves rising
Loves
Falling
As a
Fragrant
Memory
As a Mirage
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic love
Knowledge
is a term for trivia; information.

Humourless. Dark.
Static. Solid. Literal.
Earth.


Wisdom,* then,
is a sort-of *Martial Art of applied Trivia.


Humourous. Light.
Dynamic. Fluid. Symbolic.
Water.


Almost as if Yin and Yang!
-
Y'know, I gotta say: these patterns-
they're rather strangely.. *familiar..*
..are they not?

-
#suffermyhashtags
SG Holter Apr 2014
I learned from boxing to keep my eyes on the chest of
My opponent; center focused; seeing all.
It also keeps your chin down.

It works when we argue, too. Defusing the situation
With humourous female disbelief.
Her anger drops with my jaw-

And we seem to be saved by some bell.
Then we laugh like during those very first months,
When all we did was
Anything but
Fight.
Lexie Aug 2019
Plead guilty
For my innocence
When I am mute
I have a bad habit
Of forgetting where I am
Map of skin
Freckle islands sinking
In a pool of sweat
Salty oceans
I have no way to cross
Bridges of arms
Crumbling in uncharted waters
Mast of spine
Scoliosis of will
Tethered ligaments of indifference
Rails made of keratin
Clinging together with
Iceberg cold hands
Tearing apart
A home built
In this cave
A hollow cavern of chest
All that is left
Climbing Incan temple steps
With leviathan limbs
Up the ribcage of my back
A tower with two windows
One doorway in
I have never found a way out
Pulling vines down
Over my ears
I don't want to hear
Music anymore
A trap door tongue
Under the floorboards of my teeth
Lips nailed in submission
Captive, it won't let me out
I have no leverage
Against myself
No femur to pry
Into an iron heart
Veins and arteries wrapping themselves
Around my humourous
Metacarpal judges
Presiding over a court of ligaments
There is no connection
Cartilage sentences, unspecified
How harsh, how long
I tell you
I am innocent
Guilt tears me apart
The gavel falls
Greeting the back of my hand
Bones break
Calcium powder
Mixing with marrow
I am innocent
I am broken
I will heal
Feeling Real Jan 2014
Yet
I was warned against the continuation
and the ever-growing fantasies that result in obsession
because mine and his, together, would ignite and explode
I was washed against a mirror image
wherein I only saw futures imagined
I was sure to earn only those I could let burn
How unfortunate for me, I live and bleed
because to extinguish one would warrant the other useless
and, in turn, to obtain a purpose, to draw a line
two things I can not do while tied in twine,
are all I can imagine would redeem the wretch
of thoughts I cater to for actions I now can not do
I am repeatedly told I idolize the ways of old
By smart and dumb alike, I’m told I am humourous
I am intelligent, an idol to mold into if they could
To the untrained eye I am nothing but joyous
though my final trap crept up, noiseless
and slowly, creeping, silent, I accepted this deed
wherein I allow myself to die by forgetting to feed
This end takes time and is my greed and guilt
because nobody would sympathize with a flower who chose to wilt
I was once light, the Earth’s true child
who hoped and wished for relief for a being higher
but that was once, a very long time ago
before I had dedicated years to feeling only my woe

My selfish end will come, and be just that

because no matter my weight, I am always fat.
Isobel G Dec 2010
For a newer blue,
Of a different shade,
Warmer blue,
Like the summer-day's sky,
Gentler blue,
Like the backdrop of the moon,
Calmer blue,
Like the lapping waves of the ocean,
Caressing the lonely shore,
A charming, humourous blue,
A blue I haven't seen,
Brighter than any other, regardless
©Nicola-Isobel H.     30.12.2010

For Charles,
Whose eyes are also blue
Mia Mehnaz Mar 2019
There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning
Breathing self-doubt,
Inhaling self-loathing,
Exhaling fumes of venomous disappointment.
“Who am I now?”
It plays and plays and plays in my head,
A broken record,
An anthem of ugly truth.
“Who am I now?”
It lives in my shadows,
Stalking me at day,
And it fuels itself with my sleep,
Plaguing my nights.
This burden of a question,
Yet sickeningly,
It is where I find solace.
“Who am I now?”

I could be like her,
Kind, compassionate,
Charismatic and defiant.
I could.
Yet I can't.
“Who am I now?”
Because I am all but what she was,
I have this awful habit you see,
Of making every aspect of me,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.

There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning.

Blanching,
at how I **** everything up.
I should be better,
I must be.
But in my wake,
In the wake of your death,
All that remains is chaos.
Carnage.
Anarchy.
Inside,
All is lost,
There is no hope.
I have no hope.

My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
Everything I saw to be my future
And the happiness of the past
Is going up in flames,
Roaring flames of burning sunset
And I am sat by the fire
Warming my icy fingers,
The blood drained from each one-
And I watch my life go up in a hazy smoke of blackness
Why?
At least now,
I can bask in the glory,
In the self-doubt.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know who I am.

I want to make you proud.
I want to stop,
Stop hurting,
And still-
I will not let the pain go. In the pain lives,
Your truest memories,
Your purest form.
I will not let go,
I promise.
This **** question,
Will not let me go.
“Who am I now?”

Inside all is lost.
I am groping and grasping,
Clasping and scratching,
At thin air,
Making a humourous, feeble attempt,
At finding,
Peace. Maybe?
Real happiness.
My hands turn up empty,
Tired of trying so hard,
To just be alright.
It's alright.
The happiness stays
At a safe distance
Knowing if it comes too near,
I will pounce.
And I will crush it in my palm,
Because a voice inside screams
I don't deserve it
And I listen
Drunk on painting myself to be,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.

“Who am I now?”
I know,
I know now.

My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
I am the child.
I am the charcoal,
I am the fire,
That is devouring everything I love,
And that includes my sanity,

I am she,
Who pulls the first brick in the wall,
The wall labelled me,
Watching myself crumble,
Basking in the anguish-
I am she.
The enemy avowed,
The snatcher of my peace.
I know who I am now,
I know,
I know.
I think this reflects the confusion aspect of my journey through grief, and how it has been damaging
Lora Lee Oct 2017
He: I am not feeling very talkative tonight.
She: Oh, shut up.

-a humourous collaboration with zebra :)
humor
Nicole Joanne Jan 2015
You wore a wrinkled white shirt and distressed jeans,
your bed-head blonde hair and pink eyes screamed exhaustion;
your eyes as hazy from last nights liquor as the hanging morning dew.
but there I was stumbling over speed bumps
while you effortlessly lit a cigarette and walked on by without a problem.

Each time I stumbled, you laughed
- would you continue to if you knew it was because I was nervous?
Or did you find it humourous
that I was tripping over something stable
(you're not stable, but by god, you could fool anybody.)

There we were.
a slightly drunk, lazily dressed boy -looking gorgeous and collected
and a completely sober, lazily dressed girl -a mess on feet
walking together over speed bumps
- maybe I should run.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)
***** words on colourful cards
Sausages and fruit with a **** core
Humourous lines and ****** remarks
That your parents enjoyed even more
Fathers would stand and laugh out loud
Mothers would smirk and tut
Kids would try to see the joke
That the makers had saucily put
In seaside towns on twisted racks
Rude and crude and funny
Sent back home to the family
At the expense of a little bit of money
Hilarious designs to shock
****** jokes for a laugh
Postcards that men wanted
Amusing but equally just naff
Denis Barter Jul 2018
A Rhyming Acrostic.

Thirteen on a Friday is a day some hate,
Rendering believers to an anxious state.
I’m not going outside, for it’s an evil day,
Say those who sincerely think this way.
Know something untoward will take place,
And I do not intend to show my face,
In case a catastrophic event does occur!
Devotees of superstitions always prefer
Exercising caution on this auspicious day.
Keeping out of sight, is their chosen way
At times when Friday and Thirteen coincide,
People with abnormal fears frequently decide,
Having such strong beliefs, they cannot explain,
Often finds them subject to humourous disdain!
But remaining silently at home, and out of sight,
Is a triskaidekaphobic’s given right!

Rhymer.  Friday July 13th, 2018.
Make sure you take your Garlic with you today!
Denis Barter Apr 2018
A man of words, with whom I can relate,
that plays guitar, so I’ve learned of late,
and writes poetry with a humourous trait!
His amusing comments - seldom  sedate,
are no stranger to others on the Internet.
He is a poet raconteur, I’ve never met,
whose comments are short and pithy, yet
never once have they offended other poets.
In truth the opposite is more likely true.
A staunch member of the Hello Poetry crew.
He writes on matters, which in my considered view
often evokes from this member, a chuckle or two!
Such is his way with words, that his observations,
enjoyed by others, are pertinent, without reservations.
Young, old or of an age in between, who knows?
He, with his input, keeps members on their toes.
That he has an eye, for poetry’s potential clearly shows.
This small poem is by way of tribute to a fellow Poet,
who has opinions and thoughts and intends to show it!
For my part - as my time is limited, and I seldom comment,
this is my way of expressing thanks for the compliment
he often pays me with his chosen words.  Ergo in appreciation
of his efforts, this paltry rhyme, must suffice. This dissertation
coming from my heart, was written as  a deserved  ovation!

Rhymer.  April 20th, 2018.
(Musics?  Name or pseudonym?  One has to wonder?  Lol!  Ciao Denis.)
Kaca2020 Dec 2017
Society calls me broken since i do not conform into the conditioning of fitting into their boxes of normality
Im pressured to change my human nature failing at every attempt causing me to see the dark side of my reality
Im left with feelings of inadequacy and a low self esteem from every word of condemnation  
I cannot help who i am but am made to feel as though my efforts are never good enough resulting in further frustration

My passion is confused for obsession and my perspective on life is seen as flawed
At this age i crave relationships and *** but only being in church has me bored
My interests in God at the moment isnt strong because everything now concerning him gets monotonous
I have evolved into a curious 20 year old and its misunderstood for being carnal when having a thrill is my only wish

When i do not take concerta im hyperactive and  humourous and its the one way i have fun despite my monotonous routine
If i speak my true mind and act out on every impulse in my body itll be seen as a profanity
To me my mind and soul runs deeper than all the oceans ever known
Another way i keep my peace is to stay engrossed in my world on my phone

Wearing masks all the time to please this judgemental society is quite exhausting
They remain happy while i slowly die screaming on the inside from all this pretending
The truth is that im open to love from man or woman and i want to help the helpless people in society
I love adventure and to me anything unique trait in someone i admire attracts me

I am an inquisitive person and i wonder why people blame the devil for evil when God made the devil
God is the creater of evil and good so shouldnt he be responsible for all thats awful
He had knowledge prior to the devils creation that the devil would have betrayed him and then he regretted his own creation
If i knew that would have happened i would have never invented a work of art to bring devastation

God has never recompensed the African race for years of torture from slavery
He has inflicted curses on innocent children and has called missionaries to have their lives cruelly snatched for their acts of bravery
Yet the devil is blamed but i hold the creator of the devil
responsible
The other injustices in life angers me because i cant do anything about it which is incredibly painful

I honestly walk around with the weight of the injustices of this world upon my shoulder
Every time i see more corruption and innocent people paying for the guilty my heart breaks further
I see so many unanswered questions to life just being shoved under the carpet
I prefer to remain oblivious to it so i can keep the little peace and sanity i have left so i wont live full of regret

I want to live my life to the fullest by travelling the world and having new experiences
I desire independence so i can remove the mask of normality and pretense
I want to die with a smile on my face because ive fulfilled my  life's purpose
I want to leave a legacy of greatness and accomplishment for future generations before humanity can get a chance to get worse

— The End —