Hypocracy Mandatory.
Gullibility Mandatory.
Insensitivity Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Immaturity Mandatory.
Childishness Mandatory.
Monarchy Mandatory.
Capitalism Mandatory.
Conservatism Mandatory.
Terrorism Mandatory.
Corruption Mandatory.
Incompetence Mandatory.
Socialism Mandatory.
Dictatorship Mandatory.
Militarism Mandatory.
Liberalism Mandatory.
Bhuddism Mandatory.
Islam Mandatory.
Christianity Mandatory.
Judaism Mandatory.
Hinduism Mandatory.
Vedism Mandatory.
Hatred Mandatory.
Anarchy Mandatory.
Jealousy Mandatory.
Nationalism Mandatory.
Fascism Mandatory.
Racism Mandatory.
Lies Mandatory.
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Heart Disease Mandatory.
Cancer Mandatory.
Idiocy Mandatory.
Eco-****** Mandatory.
All of us Humans.
Of all Five Colours.
Wherever we be.
Whatever we do.
However we "see" ourselves.
What do we call ourselves now?.
How about shallow nitpickers?.
Or celebrity obsessed morons?.
Or religious hypocrits?.
Or Democrats?.
Or Socialists?.
Or Revolutionaries.
Or just plain "nice folks"?.
Or supporters of oligarchy  policies?.
Or immature backpackers?.
Or government assassins of integrity?.
Or juicy *******?.
Or swift tongued ******* ticklers?.
no matter how many lie dead or injured as a result
of our obfuscation and avoidance.
As if poets have the explanation to life
except in strings of meaningless associated
but fine sounding words.
When "poets" are the voluntary slaves of Mind
and Conditioned Identity..
As if poets had the ***** to go beyond all these things.
As if .
Scrape the Moons suface and you will find a delicate Castello Blue Cream Cheese.

We are the Misfits, the underdogs
We are the uncomfortable silence being sprinkled like salt around the dinner table
for we’d rather drink the tap water
We are the influx of doctor’s bills drowning mother’s in shame confusion and debt-
our father’s were confused too but then they learned to forget.
We are the daddy’s little girls who used easy bake ovens and had barbies by the dozens
Those childrens toy’s turned into drugs and boys
so now we undress like Barbie and get baked
like the sweet potato my momma left for me in her human sized oven
All of a sudden
We are the little boys playing with power rangers
pretending that curfew was our only danger
But don’t you love it when they call you big Poppa?
From poppin a slam dunk to poppin a cap in your homeboy’s head
Because you’d rather be a gangster than listen to what momma said

We are the young men getting less than, five hours of rest in
a week because there’s a mermaid who stole his heart and hid it so deep
the **** boy’s trying to grow gills
We are the mermaids falling for sea monsters
who knew of the danger but didn’t give a ****.

( She’d do anything for you you know that? If you went to jail I swear to God she’s rob a bank just so you could both be incarcerated.)

We are the youngest girl and boy in the emergency room at 1 in the morning
I can hear my mom’s boyfriend in the corner there snoring
We are the youth with confidence like sinking ships
We live off of prayers for the oncoming apocalypse

Welcome to Misfit Island
the fog on the lake at 2 in the morning looks like a sheet of glass
separating a goblet of moonlight and a mug of dark fright
We jump on the beach like astronauts and forget everything our grandparents taught us
We are the lovers loving with the strength of every particle beam or lazer
because if it wasn’t love it’d sure as hell be a razor

We choose moonlight and philosophy over structured life hypocracy
because we are the misfits.
We are the listeners, the observers
We are the panic attacks written between your math quiz and midnight purge
We are the bipolar, manic, ridden with panic, schizophrenic, depressed, never not stressed
Eating disordered, Addicted, and every other diagnosis written 2013’s edition of DSM
We are the soldiers going to war with our own country day in and day out
there’s no voter’s booth in the universe that can make us put our weapons down.

But we are the misfits, plural
we come to this beach to laugh and to cry, giving every answer a capital WHY  
because our insides differ
we are not the same
Welcome to Misfit Island, we are young and insane
Do not be fooled by our high school transcripts or unshaven faces and hairy armpits
We hold more gold within each and every one of our souls
than you could ever dream to sell or bend to fit the mold
our screams will dance in song and with every breath we take
we learn to forgive our past and how to learn from our mistakes

Ladle Guilt, blame, and regret into me
Someone should convict me and restrict me from emotion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

I tormented time with a turbulent fallacy
Condemn my illicit distribution of preconceived notion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me

I can’t recall tasting stories without choking on hypocracy
For all that makes peace & love stems from chaotic commotion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

But too long my eyes merely saw until the day I learned to see
Not importance placed like a trophy case but in honest raw devotion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me

Promises sink like anchors, for their nightmare’s being free
We struggled finding solace and settled for continuous motion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

If only I could do things differently
Cast a spell, think before I speak, perhaps produce a potion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

Tricky whimsical mistress calling cards in effort to ******* all the trades, did you make her hit list? Missed me, you cynical simple hypocrites the dodge got me the **** out of the way and struck mayday with swiftness. Quick kick me out of the prisons for shifty self lifting over barbara’s wired fences, I’m relentless and restless so lets just end this and forget this, I’m angry and after much less friendship than forensics. Automated autopsy for the auto industry, the death of a sales clerk who outta be the enemy but instead we celebrate his tendency to sell his soul for our ovendulgances, Over seven seas of wishy washy tidal waves, all for city crushing some for finding wives, most for breaking levis and I believe all for soaking your leviathan levi’s. Its cool, it only makes them look more vintage. Pay homage to home owners with gun holsters with loose ammo aimed at the abdomen who work there ***** off, to pay for rockets and not blasting off, the thinking cap is off and my gut instinct is locked and loaded up to the pistol pulling motion that my emotions are exploring. Pardon the Patron in my person, I’m all for derooting for the home team version of the underdog under pressure to understand the burden of playing for a chance to play again. Mission accomplished there’s nothing to accomplish, we’ve done it mr. president, now tell me when we can stop it. We’ve lost it, and got not a lot to show for it except some sweet, sea-foam green graffiti on top of your “vote for me” posters. Pose for the camera angle wrangle up your strangle-holds to warm you up, November’s getting cold. And not to be so impolitely impolitical its just unusual how much better I feel with I dissect the system and then die right there with em.
Tricky whimsical mistress distressed she heard from a witness  that some future mother died tonight he stayed inside she took to the SKIES and DOVE, depressed mode impressed himself when he’s alone, he voted for gravity to be the casualty as long as her light was shown. Sown into his baby blanket baby blank face wont take it as well as she did, and she did well. Nah, she did good. Its understood that understatements under estimate the estimated when thrown into a ratio of how far we have and backslash or can go. Oh ego in my hand hold, let go and eat ****, drop far below a parachute and pray for your landing to be tragic. Prisoners, prepare to loot the loose change when theres no more defenses, Cuz when Barbara goes down, as to do her wired fences. The noose hangs delicately on malevolence street across the corner from the coroners office where someone is staring at me, brutally. I pay homage to my hostage holding home-owner hiding the hypocracy of hissing out a nice try. and roll over on the notion of note worthy nihilism he’s a nice guy but we don’t necessarily see eye to eye. Adrenaline you win again you sin sipping sack of lack of sobriety, Don’t cry to me when irony takes out the fight in me, I’ve got my synopsis, its so chaotic that everybody wins.

Keep on letting us know how bad the break up was.
Some of us are just as bad as you mite think.
Anxiety, helplesness, *******, all *******,
Fill this website with garbage.
Becuase I am as bad as you are.

You need a porcelain mixing bowl and a wooden stirring spoon
a cup and a measuring jug.
Add one teaspoon of ripe inconsequentiality.
then add two teaspoons of innate stupidity.
Pour in one cupfull of political lack of integrity
preferably nurtured in hot smelly air.
Add 4 cupsfull of facile celebrity  chatter,
preferably with the volume turned down..
Add 2 cupsfull of shallow religious nonsense
full of obsequious morality.
Add 2 cupsfull of vain "god" chatter
and sacrificial demands.
Pour in 1/4 cup of nonsensical "goddess" humbug
and fatuous posturing.
Sift untold millions of youthfull soldiers dried
and powdered bones until finely ground in the crucible
of never ending wars.
Take up the wooden spoon of societal hypocracy
and stir slowly with gossipy backstabbing.
When all these ingredients are blended as smoothly as a shaven young girls **** put to one side covered with a bloodstained cloth for a millennia to rise to the occasion.


Back in an hour

Honesty,
I demand so much,
Too much truthfullness,
Yet this hypocracy is inevitable,
If it had been anything else,
But this inquisition,
I wouldn't be so hesitant,
To reveal myself,
But I can't take,
Another letdown,
So here's a lie,
The first,
The last,
*"No"

Poetry whirls down drains,
cruises down highway lanes..
toll free.

Poetry is a clear potion,
a natural motion.

Poetry is the bird gliding high,
and of course, the sky.

Poetry is thundering elk
through forests and glades,
and the wolves that keep pace.

Poetry is the ****.

Poetry is democracy,
and its unfortunate hypocracy.

Poetry is eternity vanished in an instant.

Poetry is a slaughterhouse,
a vegetable garden.

Poetry is cat and mouse.

Poetry ascends to descend,
breaks to repair,
it's uncommonly rare.

Poetry is the longest minute
and the shortest hour.

Poetry lives when it is dead.
Poetry comes from the body,
thought by the head.

Allow me to be a better mother than my own
Allow me to be trustworthy when my children confide in me
Allow me to be reasonable when my children make mistakes
Allow me to see my children through eyes of wisdom, not judgement
Allow me to be genuine in m support, not condescending
Allow me to never be selfish, self-involved, self-centered in any decisions regarding my children
Allow me to show sincerity in my actions as a mother, not hypocracy
Allow me to say 'I'm sorry'
A human being will never be perfect, but in a child's eyes, a mother can be

There exsists people
who live on the bread of
Inequality
Injustice
Hypocracy
Prejudice
Dear those people
I must say
you are really poor

A girl is borned
tangled in so many boundations
and these restrictions
are right from where
their lifecycle begins
to their deaths

Belive me these chains
which grab them
weigh them more than
anything
Some die
Some struggle
Some protest

These activities
are all variant
but why only girls
need to do all of that
why they have to beg for their
FREEDOM
why they are so desperate
for education

There is only one life
to live in this
beautiful world
let us not waste that
lets unleash those chains
lets break those cages
lets remove that handcuffs
and make this world more beautiful

I used to think if you were writing for a past lover, you were an imbosol
How could you be so lost to be stuck on one person, stuck in the past
But now I am that imbosol
That terrified gut wrenching individual
That you can't feel bad for
Because I chose to give my love away in hopes that one day it would return to me

All these whinging intellectual poetic wankers,
scribbling Conditional Love "poems"that boringly
lament why they are such obvious  failures
at the game of life and self realisation.
Spewing out weasel words of poetic hypocracy while
wrapped in navel gazing infantile emotions.
Writing degenerate untruthful words about a love
they'll never know or never have known,
as if unconditional love can be bought
at the local Walmart.
Voluntarily assisting the machinations of mind and groupmind,
since their birth into a lifetime of Conditioned Identity,
in the servitude of the Amerikan Oligarchy .
Strings of meaningless associated words,
lines of lies about life and love that are ever popular with "poets".
Starting with every one of the so-called "holy" books
from millennia past--calling for suicide bombers
and child killers to strut the world stage
spewing  religious racism and sexism like enlightened beings..
After all words have NO SHAME
nor have poets..
Sin Verguensa.
Words have NO GUILT
nor have poets.
Words have NO EMBARASSMENT
nor have poets.
You cannot hide  behind your lies from me.
I see you--I have nous.
Your beard is transparent.
Your unceasing lies deny to others information
to which they are entitled,
"poets" are the worst LIARS of all,
so easily spottable .
Read these pages--see for yourself,
through my eyes .
See the silly ****-fed children of the Amerikan Oligarchy,
wrapped in spangles and colours --posturing like super-heroes.
Vomiting verbal diahorea in lifes gutters,
appealing for just one more chance
to play at love and humiliation.
People with low IQs and lower morals
pretending ,as always, to be mature and human,
characters moulded like products of talk show hosts .
No integrity.
No truthfulness.
No honour.
No decency.
No morals except those learned from Readers Digest.
No to these escapees from the gallows of decency,
torture instruments dangling round their necks,
their prophet validated by being nailed and denied.

Tara is a little girl…she does pinwheels and cartwheels on crowded  traffic signals and yeah …she has a small baby monkey who helps her…*


Tara
Little Tara
Tonight I leave my
Pen to sniff
hunger ghosts
Rumbling in your belly…


Yes..
sniff from
Miles and miles apart
From your own
Ragged world
Of pin wheels
And cartwheels
Emaciated monkey babes


Ah ! In this hollow
Poetic world
Is it only rhythm
I seek …

Even as cold winds
Enter those  gaps
Expanding forever
In your innocent
malnourished psyche…


Tara..
little Tara
tell me ..
how to give
a closure
to this verse…


Do I ask
You how
Your new year
Had been

Or..

Do I
Fish that
Rusted coin
From the bottom
Of my purse and
Toss it on
To your eager
Waiting palm


Tara..
Little Tara
Tell me


Helpless as I am  
Shrouded
In my opulent hypocracy
…

As you are

…shivering
In your humble poverty

preforming for a crowd
does not make you the hero you play
you are the reason
I find so much darkness in humanity
while you preach openly of blasphemous ignorance-
you’re sheltered in your own
the reason we perceive you as such a wonder
is not of your goodness
but of your bold ignorance in your ways
the reflection must show you
so what’s wrong with your eyes?

In beautiful waves of
Reds
Old cartoons
Stupid jokes
Laughter ringing in my ear like sunshine
Tangurines
Purples
A mother's hypocracy
A lovely woman, sleeping softly
Rainy Days
Sadness
Bird songs
A beautiful spring dress wore to a morbid event
Greens
The sounds of a young adolecent trying to prove her point
Teals
A child's stubborn nature
Black
The nostalgia comes
To a weary heart
And suddenly I need an asprin

She said he was wealthy,
owned several properties,
endowed several churches
and sired seven children,
all of whom he disowned.

For her, evidence that wealth
doesn't always trickle down.
He left it to foreign missions,
teachers of intolerance.

Tattered black and white photo,
his eyes glare from crackled glaze,
severe stare, pefected
through lifelong practice,
or simply hypocracy.

Malevolence sparked her old, blue,
hooded eyes as she told me of his death.
He claimed he did not suffer
because of his righteousness.

She bore her story as a curse,
relieved to pass it on to me.
Now I pass the burden on.

Deceits and lies that people tell
I’ve grown to know them oh so well
They tell you they love you and that they care
When you find in your back a knife sticking there.
While they are with you , they’ll talk and joke
Then with others at you they poke.
Is it that they need to be the center attraction?
When everyone gathers around
Then they abuse the friends they have found.
Unfortunately this prevails in many women I meet
Where they’re good at their lies and deceits.
They’ll start off with: “I LOVE YOUR BLOUSE”
And “YOU’RE LOOKING SO GREAT”
But in their minds your blouse they hate.
They’ll criticize you to no end
Then turn around and say they’re your friend.
Many times we’ll judge people at first glance
But we’ve got to learn to know them
And give them a chance.
But these are people with insecurities
Their own faults they just don’t see.
Then they fall in love and say that others
Are out to get their man, and start to create
Their devious plan.
Now the lies and deceits begin
With people like this you just can’t win.
We have to stop them in their tracks
Otherwise they’ll be no turning back.
We must tell them about their hypocracy
Just so they’ll stay away from you and me.

when you are gone,
i take long naps to pass the time and dream of your return,
smoke aimlessly until i time travel, feel this unwhole feeling, that i want to forget and try hopelessly to fill when you aint here, the struggle becomes real, a cruel, cruel world in which i struggle to fit in, a burden that arises again and again.. making my own decisions without your consent...
         i often find myself into some ****.
*** reality always finds its way in, just like a creeping shadow
         when you are gone
i learn of hypocracy, i know scrupulosity
intrusive thoughts are always blinding, a confusion that is binding.
sometimes i cant tell the good from the bad so thats when i sit alone and
         get high, get ******
yes pride keeps this inside but in my mind im never too proud to beg you "come back home to me babe, come home."
come home! come homeeee :(

To the great brothers and great sisters of Her womb
To the great Mother and great Father, shifting through and through
Calling upon them for the great wisdom of our age
To bridge the gap between science and the sacred

This land has no boundaries, all conventions are made believe
and we are made to believe that politicians have our backs
while the preasts of a false language preach hypocracy to our faces
This is not our Shangrala, we have lost our grasp of Eden

Turning our garden into a guard, lost, we have turned a paradise
to a prison; old men casting aspersions of disrespect to a newborn,
blaming a victim of an obsolete tradition, casting salt onto the soil,
and calling it a blessing.

The prophets throughout the ages have seen a brighter world,
one that had, at its core, the truth; we are all one spirit, inhabiting these many forms.
This illusion of form and distance, made to be overcome, has illuded many, but not them;
They gave us the wisdom to escape the eternal womb of the mind,
and grow gracefully in the warmth of the Father Sun.

Trained to be beaten and broken, our new prophets have been beld and misled.
We call this machine, cold and calculating, Education; beaten and broken from the inside, our prophets are internally bleading: rose red ink on term papers with F wrote large!  

*******! The first words of resistance cries. I am my own authority,
I seek the truth, not your lies!
Tearing down the walls, and begining to tell a new story, we new prophets challenge "the way things are," because nothing is certain;
Our conscious evolution transcends to the stars, and starts in the grasses slowly showing their infinite patience and strangth, like a soft blade breaking the solid ground of traditions floor.

Be the evolution, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, be the change, and the change becomes you!

Agape and Appreciation

~M

I wanna express my gratitude... to the few of you who didn't think I was too young or naieve to give advice. As a person with my analytical mindset, I love problem solving. I told my uncle that I have a weird affinity for broken women. I love people with stories to tell. Love the way legs can still stand despite the struggle. Love watching people break away from their own tragerdies.  I love the thought you can dilute a great concentration of pain with just a little bit of kindness. Like liting candles in pitch black spaces, it only takes something small. My uncle says it's because people like me are wired to seek out things that need solutions. That's not to say they can't find their own solutions. I just like to see if I can play a part. So like tatoo artists on surgey wards.  We sketch our art over people scars. Inject colour into their dark sides. Extend ourselves into their life lines.
We wanna fill what feels hollow.
Inscribe instrustions on how to smile and see if you'll follow.

And to anyone who thought what I said was good enough to act upon... thank you... and sorry.

Because hypocracy is a crime I practice all too often. Putting my own advice into application is extceedingly uncommon.
I would never take my own advice.

Because honesty with my loved ones would cause too much heart ache, I can not simply "just be open and real with her"
I cannot wear this skin with genuine pride because I would never "just be yourself man".
And despite the words falling falling out my mouth as we speak, why the **** would I understand "you are your own worst enemy.  If you'd just believe in yourself you'd be surprised with what you can achieve".
To the many or the few who took my advice.
Who rolled the dice, who paid the price.
A penny for my thoughts  and whether every thing changed or if all was for naught.

Maybe we just need to hear someone else say it. We so often are expected too try and stand tall in a world with ceilings that are too small. All some of us need, is to know that we're saying the right things.

So for everytime I was never told, I'm telling you. Let our voices be glitter and our ears be glue. Let people sparkle! Entice their shine so brlightly that they startle. Tell people all things you wanted to hear.

Im lonely,
everyone else is better than me-
Staying true to myself isn't my cup of tea,
Oh Love help me see where i'm supposed to be.

My mood swings are occasional,
Feeling lonesome leaves me dysfunctional,
if im all alone, im a hypocritical radical.

Love? check.
Friends got my back,
Heart? black.
Exterior in check.

Pitch black blasphemy,
in my thoughts-its all me.
Smiles tears,
Occasional fears,
Hypocracy at its finest- Yes that's me!

Im a jack of all trades,
hands holding a thousand blades,
Brain filled with varying spades-
Putting emotions into compact crates.

My mind's a mess,
My thoughts ablazed.
Happiness is gone,
Hello my true self- begone.

Dissapating clarity
An invoiced heartache
A handpicked flower, lost
To gullible hypocracy

Dreary, windy, however bright
Mute songbirds terrified
Of the silence after the storm
They have wings, why do they fear height?

The life ending natural cause
Who you thought would give warmth
Left your eyes hungry for more,
For just a little bit more applause

The benefit of circumstance
Keep the leaves hanging on
Wanting to fall, needing to fall
They will learn the meaning of distance

No... I don't believe in God....(Gods)
Hypocracy, I attend church, Friday prayers!!!
That makes me better than you
do you really believe that?
The bible, the quran, books that speak of love and peace,
of humility.
But still the atrocities go on
in the name of the various religions.
Oh dear I'm now offending some of you
but I'm not going to apologise.
Take a long hard look at yourselves
are you the one who called that person a vicious animal
when he/she murdered that child?
What an insult to animals. Animals dont ******.
More people have died in the name of our various religions
than for any other reason.
Yeah, lets go to our churches, mosques and temples,
lets listen to the hypocritical preaching of love and peace
THEN go home and **** the neighbours because they
dont believe in your religion.
Oh dear, who is this terrible man with his blasphemous writing?
I hope my god strikes him down and sends him to hell.
Well that's ok because hell cant be any worse
than than the hell that man has caused
In the name of religion

Why is it that,
every time I do something
that you once did,
I get yelled at?
I get judged?
I get thrown into a hypocracy circle?
Why is it that,
every time I try to liven up the scene,
and joke around,
I get told that I'm so "annoying" and "bothersome"?
Meanwhile in the same way,
you're talking about yourself,
but the words that linger on your lips,
are words embedded in my head.
In a secret folder,
of all the words I never once said.
Why is it that,
I'm always thee bad guy.
Not just a bad guy,
but the bad guy that always get caught in the circle,
and constantly gets fingers pointed at them,
**for portraying the same actions you once did.

I was wrong from the start
to look upon you with good will
to keep the harsh words
you left to dig into my flesh
reminding me of how cruel
the world can be
You
speaking of respect and virtue
while tearing down others
simply out of personal spite

I wonder
besides the hypocracy of it all
if now that time has passed
if you sit alone with pride
for what you do

I can guarantee the scars you left
I will carry to the grave
and one day
you will be able to tell the story
of how you killed another
on the inside
because that
is what you caused
so that must be
what you wanted.

Cause this world
hates me
hear me for
they aren't
near

Take me cause
they can't stand me
they don't
understand
they can't
even comprehend

The nightmares
false prophecies
being friendless
and the
hypocracy
is just too much

Please take me
I promise I'll do
good
I'll follow your
will
I won't be
rude

If you lead
I'll be out of need
Plaese just take me
with you...

In Washington I smell a rat
It’s Donald Trump, Trump is that
With hair like that he should wear a hat
Or feed his head to a junk yard cat.

The smell’s the stench of hypocracy
It’s the end of our democracy
What’s in store is hard to see
I hope it’s not kleptocracy.

Can’t you smell that putrid stink
each time you see him in printer’s ink?
He’s taking us right to the brink
of what it is, I hate to think.

His are not very pleasant odors
(he lost by several million voters)
and when he speaks, we need decoders
for him and his band of vile freeloaders.

It’s not so pleasant, is his pungence
that fills our airwaves in such abundance
and drives us to such vile repugnance;
can’t we lock him in some dungeons?

But by next year I sense the aroma
of voters’ rejection of this melanoma.
We’ll all come out of this our coma
from Maine to far off Oklahoma.

I appreciate your worship
Until you are a hypocrite about it
I cannot understand why humankind
Has been such a failure
At religion
We fill it with hypocracy
Probably because we are
Unwilling to make
Sacrifice