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Becca May 2014
I am sick and tired of you talking about other girls
Calling them weird and ugly and fake
When it is you who slathers on the makeup
Hiding behind false beauty

I am tired of overhearing you calling a girl fat
Because she is not a size two
When it is you who starved yourself
To look as you do today

I am done with you walking like you have a stick up your ***
Pretentiously scavenging the halls for your next target
When it is you who has been the target as of late
And you pay no mind

I am appalled by your arrogance
Telling professionals they have no right to tell you how to live
When they can see where you are heading
For you are not as original as you seem

I am sorry for how sad you must be
Constantly looking inward
When all you find is an empty abyss
Peering back at you

I am apologetic for what you have to go through
Constantly fighting battles that are far beyond your years
When they are far bigger then you
And anything you can do

Most of all
I am content
That we are not longer friends
No longer yearning for
When all you could tell me
Was how bad I was.
Yes the title spelling is purposeful
Flower Scent Nov 2010
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,

the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.

The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach,

a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.

The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet.

The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,

the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.

The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset,

the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to  dune drunk shore.

The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,

the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality.

The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this

demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic  concrete hypocratic world.

The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights,

Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts  in verse,bleedin fragranted words.

The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn.

A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.

The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration,

the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose.

He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.

He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant  of destined paths.

He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century.

The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday,

He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark  of tomorrow.


                      T  H  E        POET     IS       YOU    ! ! !
Young Al Mar 2017
Doctor, please, take me out of quarantine,
I need fresh air to breathe, the sun to feel,
Seems queasy in here, this room shrinks,
It stinks, but it's not me, it's the environment,
Let me out, please, it's not my fault,
These walls, pads, and bars are not for my health

Doctor, please, have some sympathy
For a young life yearning to leave, this place it thieves
Of all healing, listen, there's nothing wrong with me,
I'm not broken, I'm fine, I'm burning inside
With a fever your medicine cannot aleve,
Yes, I'm weak,
But its your fault, not mine, open the door,
I implore,
So the world can welcome me with open arms and intimacy.
Michael Marchese Mar 2017
Let's get this revolution
All my new world orderlies
Because we are the solution
To the bigger stick diplomacies
The shadow of plutocracies
Casted by the sons
Of the Titan kings inciting
The immortal chosen ones
To Prometheus igniting
From the mythic rebel guns
Of Zapata to Guevara
Bolivar in Venezuela
They provided the umbrella
To the reign of encomienda
Reconquista gunna meet ya'
In the jungle with the rumble
Of a Sandanista struggle
From the hovels of Aleppo
Diggin' rubble with a shovel
Wagin' Warsaw in the ghettoes
On the concentration Campos
Lazarettos, and the diamonds
That you smuggle to the kingdoms
Of the Leos in the Congo
But Lumumba, they remove ya'
Like guerillas in the mist if ya'
Resist em' in the system
Arab springin' into action
'Cuz the shah is a mirage
And the Contra-banded faction
Is another name for Raj
To convert the sacred hajj
Into cheaper camouflage
With didactic hypocratic
Neo-liberal art collage
To reeducate the masses
With a capital dogmatic
Lower-casing democratic
Are the over-ruling classes
Where the socialist fanatic
Anarchistic automatic
Never passes, spewin' gases
Of an open-****** fascist
But the tilting of this axis
Is the cashing-in assassin
Malcolm X'n MLK and then
Allende, Joao, and Mossadegh
The CIA, pieces in play
Objective's always Pinochet
When fair elections
Have their way
The pawns go first
The cheaters say
Game over Mr. JFK
And they don't shed
A tear for Ted
Without a bullet
To the head
Of another red dead scare
To hide the truth behind the D.A.R.E.
Grin and bare the propagand
Now it's Comey's Hoover Dam
And Putin's Agent Orange  
Is the latest Khmer stooge
On the trail of ** Chi Minh
Painting refugees in rouge
Making killing fields of stock exchange
His presidential recompense
No cents expense for Climate Change
To silence sense and dissidents
Within the firing range
Of this ****** hate crusade
Scorching Mother Earth campaign
So we gotta disengage the main
Brain drainin' inhumane
Tyrants always back again
To seal the gates and lock the cage
Vote us off the winners' stage
By droppin' bombs of martyrdoms
Crazy Horse was not insane
Brown said **** this ball and chain
With Henry Wallace all the wage
Ragin' fifty shades of Shay's
To free the press and then reclaim
Our history's white-washed front page
deanena tierney Mar 2010
I would rather walk a path of admitted ignorance,
Desiring of knowledge; than rest, in superior repose,
And seek out the "meaning of life" with exuberance,
Than hold company with one who claims he knows.

I would rather read lessons written by fools,
Who gained understanding in repeated mistakes.
Than listen to lectures from scholars in schools,
Who claim all -knowing, though no chances did take.

I would rather share some tea with a child,
Whose innocence inspires me to pray.
Than bread and wine with revered priest,
Whose hypocratic actions lead me astray.

I would rather discover beauty in a foe
And throw off my old regard,
Than unseemliness in a long time friend,
And assume new thoughts, marred.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
I'm a migrant, but I'm white.
what's it like to be black or
an Arab Gloria? and have you
ever drowned a litter of Kittens?

We know you believe in " Youth
In Asia " even in Italy, so long as
they are white.

Did you ever read the story of
Mirza, The Bridge, like the one
in Genoa?

So you wouldn't have minded if all
those killed were immigrants, how
convenient it would have been if
there was a river underneath, killed
and drowned, perfect Italian solution.

Did you take a Hypocratic Oath?

                       <>

The doctor, from the central Italian region of Umbria, shocked the public when she posted on the 40,000-strong Facebook page ‘Doctors Without Escape’ the incendiary comments. Her profile name appeared as ‘Gloria Burini’. She called for migrants landing on Italy’s coasts to be “drowned” as they do not have any “human rights.
Google her.
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2020
leaders of society
lies, lies, lies

hypocratic oaths
which I despise

but I'm no saint
just one who tries

to do one good thing
before I dies

— The End —