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"indoctrinated" poems
Math is witnessed at everything It is behind infinite things Capable of solving problems From simple operations to Complicated theorems. Math possess a long history... Once taught by Physiologoi Improved by history's Philosophers Now being indoctrinated by Teachers. Heart of all academic disciplines, Bearer of intricate formulas, The key behind all creation Knowledge passed through generations. From past mathematicians To future problem solvers Math changed through millennia And so its problems and solutions. Math can never be removed It helped the world to improve All society won't be like this to date Math helped us all the way.
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Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Math is Everything
Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion. The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition. To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******** Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly  Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.
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Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
By All Means, Please Feel Free.
Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion. The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition. To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******** Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly  Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.
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3
The fundamentals of simplicity is not fathomed Entangled in the barbed wires of complexities Simple words sing no more to the yearning ears Heavy laden words and tedious conversations Gnawing away at the precious moments of life Disparity is making the divide in humanity Thoughts no more in one’s control, all indoctrinated Confusion and rage seems to be the new found ‘normal’ Wonder why simplicity is consigned to such a fate Let there be a new dawn of realization, to simply live Breathe in the fresh era of clarity, with no malice Simplicity, I pray to thee, turn your gaze towards humanity
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Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
Fundamentals of Simplicity
I was a shape in my cosy little shell, I stayed... I nestled. My cookie-cutter thoughts would occasionally rebel... And stray to the windows. But still they were imprisoned by the walls that surrounded. I would steal bashful peeks out a window. I'd let my senses take unrestricted flights, as I stared into the grandeur of the carnival that seemed to have sprouted overnight... Just beyond the confines of my home. "What a marvellous circus!" I'd think... I'd gawk with child-like adoration and never blink. The universe lay sprawled in a celebration of systematic chaos. It stretched far into the horizon... A delight to the senses, perceived through such young eyes. The world had told me stories. They were like fireworks that speared up to the sky. I wanted to be a part of the jubilee... I longed for the validation of my existence. I wished to claim the gift of life bestowed upon me. I'd resent being held hostage by my indoctrinated ignorance. I was a shape. I knew I was a square. I knew I had a home... But not within those four walls. Simply because... My heart wasn't there.
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Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
Heart wasn't Where the Home was...
Click “Lowes, you can do it we can help” Click “Dolly comes with everything you see here including stroller, bottle, and bib” Click “Destroy your enemy with NERF guns” Click “Play kitchen with real opening oven and microwave, learn to become a mommy just like you’ve always wanted” Click We live in a free society, one where we are independent and free to make our own choices....right We live in a country where anyone can become anything.....don’t we? Then every time I turn on the TV why am I flooded with heteronormative racist propaganda? Why is my future daughter forced to work in a kitchen and take care of the baby from age 5 and up? Why is my future sun told to fight against the evil invaders with nerf guns? Why are my future neighbors portrayed as white people with picket fences and perfect lawns I sit down click after click white after white, heterosexual after heterosexual, gender role after gender role. Pounded into our heads, indoctrinated by elegantly crafted hate speech. Rhetoric that has become so naturalized it fails to be seriously questioned Well I will question it! I will look for answers I will not sit by and watch our youth be molded into perfect Americans by the “free market” I WILL STAND UP, AND I WILL MAKE CHANGE!
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Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
Television
The blind Parisian has never seen the tower, or the lights that illuminate his city of birth The deaf Italian never heard the opera, or Core 'ngrato from a Tuscany street corner I never looked into your eyes and saw the cosmos I am distracted by the power of corporate America The unflinching pacifist still stands atop a suit of armour with his arms outstretched and Syria rejoices as the stench of liberty matches gun powder and familial genocide Oh western world, have you forgotten your past so soon? Explain to the deaf man how her voice sounds or Explain the colour spectrum to a blind child and then deny the tears that water your cheek Tell the dyslexic that words are meaningless for it gives him comfort and turn your back on the monetary religion of which we are indoctrinated Take your ******* industry and bring it to it's submissive knees Your weapons too, they are a disgrace Empathy is universal Love is blind [Cliche] [Cliche] End. A return, or a refrain, addendum to the ideas thenceforth It's enough to leave a man crying in his coffee, Starbucks specialty **** your poets, burn your books and gouge your eyes This world is not broken, we are.
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Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
Before the Dawn, Adorned, We Are Still Standing Here but Existence is No Longer Relevant
I feel for the children indoctrinated into religion. I feel for the kids that can't, won't question faith. I feel fortunate I wasn't brainwashed like that. I feel my thoughts are my own, I feel the theists have had that stolen from them. but I am intact. only when I realise I can't love a catholic girl with my everything and my chest seizes up when I hear them say grace, I see I'm not better off than they are. in the same way that they have been tricked to believe in a celestial monarchy, and see satan in me so have I been tricked to see satan in them. I hate the church. I thought I could still love the people. but you can't hate anything and still love the people. I and we all have been rendered incapable of fully accepting the implicit, fundamental unity that does not name. our parents didn't do it, their grandparents didn't do it. it started forever ago and it's never going away. we could of all loved each other but we ****** up the axiom. it's the greatest sin of all, and it's nobody's fault.
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Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
we ****** up the axiom
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me. With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day. Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take. I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag. Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave. Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath. Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future. At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex. And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze. I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner. At 7:00 am  I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.   7:30 am; I shower. 7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities. 7:50am; I  have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang. 8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold. With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush. 9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me.  Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner. 4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs. 7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again. 8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break. 9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same. 10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity. It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules. It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow. And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me . I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine. I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
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Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Timeless prison
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me. With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day. Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take. I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag. Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave. Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath. Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future. At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex. And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze. I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner. At 7:00 am  I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.   7:30 am; I shower. 7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities. 7:50am; I  have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang. 8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold. With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush. 9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me.  Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner. 4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs. 7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again. 8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break. 9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same. 10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity. It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules. It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow. And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me . I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine. I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
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27
Too long I've rested upon my throne. Ordained as ruler, I wield a sceptre imbued with old indoctrinated notions. Bound in aged, tired traditions. Obstinacy clasped tight within my fingers. Living by the foundations laid, imposed by predecessors before. I realise that I am but caged within my self enforced confines. I want what lays beyond... But I am afraid... And more... I must embrace the unknown. Be fearless... And take to the darkness. Because... One can only fly free into greatness if one is unafraid to take the leap into changing winds.
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Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
Fearless
Hands clawing outward from a mass grave Mouth gasping for air, Lungs filled with invisible smog Mind too indoctrinated to care Pressed in against the walking dead Face to face, toe to toe – Clammy fingers entwining by seeing Unseeing eyes staring into a blank void you well know Drifting with the metal cage Jerking back, coasting sideways, never flinch Some escape, more cram in – Nearing hellish Purgatory inch by inch A screeching halt, your turn to flee – Into the glass maze obediently file Skinner's rats – jolted by punishment Yet tomorrow you’ll do it again – another card on the pile.
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Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
Art on the Underground
It was never love, lust causes illusions. Pulls your heart deep into the sunken place, till all that you're in is a state of confusion. Building on nothing real, sacrificing how you feel for the sake of the happiness of someone else, with no reciprocity. As if they're ashamed of the real you, they try molding you into who they want you to be, just so others can be pleased. The westernized mind, microwaved and fried, indoctrinated till its living the "American dream," based off of lies. Always asking "What do you do?" so they know what level of respect to show, never concerned with your soul, and how bright it must glow. We need money to survive in this three dimensional life, always taught the ups and downs, left and rights, but never touch on the importance of what's inside. Always worried about how we look in other people's eyes, we hold onto nothing except a false reality and relationships built on lies. But I refuse to pretend to act like this is what life should look and feel like, so I reclaim my heart, climb out of the sunken place and live life with both eyes open wide. Guarding the heart and protecting my mind.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
Reclaiming the Heart
I am angry in my grave, Filled with disappointment, animosity, disbelief, and resentment, Blacks had no rights, Blacks had no freedom, Whites had the rights, and whites were the leaders, Until I chose not to abide by the regulations of inequality, And led the Civil Rights Movement, Fought conflicts with kindness, Opposed to Hatred and violence, And tolerance between the two ethnicities was born But why? For the non-colored and colored could equally cause treason? Or for racism to still apply in many communities? I fought for no discrimination. That doesn’t mean to enslave each other, cause disruption, unfairness, and deaths within the same race. Gangs committing murders because they feel certain things are out of place, Pilots flying planes into towers, 20 innocent children being massacred, Drug dealers smuggling crack in homes, All I see upon my grave is what I devoted my life to being destroyed. For that, I am angry in my Grave. “But Dr. King, things have changed. Blacks and whites can be friends, and we even have a BLACK PRESIDENT.” Yes, but you have to acknowledge the fact Obama agreed, And supported what I stood for. I was a pastor, A pastor who used the Bible as my Code of Conduct, A Bible in which Obama laid his right hand on And sworn on during his inauguration, While with his left hand, he’s supporting, Adam and Steve, and babies saying goodbye before they leave their mother’s Womb. For that, I am angry. “Martin Luther King will never be forgotten and his morals will be followed. He was a great leader and may he rest in peace.” How can I? Each day in my grave I mourn, I’m frustrated and disgusted, If I were still alive til this day, My tears would flood America, I would speak amongst the country and say, You have been indoctrinated by the wickedness of mankind, Propaganda is being embedded to get wrong points acrossed, For that, I will continue and forever be, Angry in my Grave.
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Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
I am Angry in my grave (Martin Luther King’s perspective)
I am angry in my grave, Filled with disappointment, animosity, disbelief, and resentment, Blacks had no rights, Blacks had no freedom, Whites had the rights, and whites were the leaders, Until I chose not to abide by the regulations of inequality, And led the Civil Rights Movement, Fought conflicts with kindness, Opposed to Hatred and violence, And tolerance between the two ethnicities was born But why? For the non-colored and colored could equally cause treason? Or for racism to still apply in many communities? I fought for no discrimination. That doesn’t mean to enslave each other, cause disruption, unfairness, and deaths within the same race. Gangs committing murders because they feel certain things are out of place, Pilots flying planes into towers, 20 innocent children being massacred, Drug dealers smuggling crack in homes, All I see upon my grave is what I devoted my life to being destroyed. For that, I am angry in my Grave. “But Dr. King, things have changed. Blacks and whites can be friends, and we even have a BLACK PRESIDENT.” Yes, but you have to acknowledge the fact Obama agreed, And supported what I stood for. I was a pastor, A pastor who used the Bible as my Code of Conduct, A Bible in which Obama laid his right hand on And sworn on during his inauguration, While with his left hand, he’s supporting, Adam and Steve, and babies saying goodbye before they leave their mother’s Womb. For that, I am angry. “Martin Luther King will never be forgotten and his morals will be followed. He was a great leader and may he rest in peace.” How can I? Each day in my grave I mourn, I’m frustrated and disgusted, If I were still alive til this day, My tears would flood America, I would speak amongst the country and say, You have been indoctrinated by the wickedness of mankind, Propaganda is being embedded to get wrong points acrossed, For that, I will continue and forever be, Angry in my Grave.
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43
only when i look through The Eyes of God am I at peace,otherwise nothing else makes sense,nothing else matters.why?there's nothing else Mathers,Marshall law we were all mislead by indoctrinated Fathers,who sought to turn us into martyrs,for entertainment only like the top five NBA starters,consumed with keeping up with the carters n catering to you haters simply by having goals that's greater,keeping faith til one glorious day Sandy comes and meets me standing in the breeze blowing trees , wind and rain set my mind at ease,caught in a storm lost in a whirlwind my head spins tilted in a dribble passing the days,still giving thanks "forever"until the day I'm carried over to the center of the suns rays...finally i see the light...yet i remain the same so many things on the brain lost,grounded,clueless;stuck like a bird in the rain.
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Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
souless
Other worlds have hopes, for plants, for trees and dogs walking by, panting soaking in humidity like carp above water. Not ours. Dead ends, parked cars supplanting serenity with passion, desire crammed into row upon row of heartless dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing **** suckers blocking their emptiness from the world with reverse blindfolds. I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at them. Walking, I walk past their barricaded kennels, under- construction housing impersonating natural climes with sushi and slushy shops. People like them have admiss- able drives, hankering after freedom; they're indoctrinated to believe admission is monthly cable bills wired in beneath concrete slabs maintained compliance through lines painted on grass where overlords can tell livestock what to do. Bus chutes form hillsides, beside lines of trees which perfume these feedlots we call cities. **** oozes below streets walked on, they stared at me like cows, watching a ranch-hand suspicion toward anything beyond bistro fences. "What the **** are you looking at, you filthy animal? Have you no idea which species your greed feeds? Do you know where this ends for you? Who's tazing your *** who's making you sit there?" Moo, mooo. Mooooooooooooooooooo. Receipts, a cudgel on each table, more cudgels ring from pockets telling them what time it is, where they're to be. Sunday's almost over, back to blocks of houses! Graze on painted grass, then die, but not before you stare at me with empty eyes, you pathetic, miserable creatures.
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Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Painted Grass
Other worlds have hopes, for plants, for trees and dogs walking by, panting soaking in humidity like carp above water. Not ours. Dead ends, parked cars supplanting serenity with passion, desire crammed into row upon row of heartless dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing **** suckers blocking their emptiness from the world with reverse blindfolds. I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at them. Walking, I walk past their barricaded kennels, under- construction housing impersonating natural climes with sushi and slushy shops. People like them have admiss- able drives, hankering after freedom; they're indoctrinated to believe admission is monthly cable bills wired in beneath concrete slabs maintained compliance through lines painted on grass where overlords can tell livestock what to do. Bus chutes form hillsides, beside lines of trees which perfume these feedlots we call cities. **** oozes below streets walked on, they stared at me like cows, watching a ranch-hand suspicion toward anything beyond bistro fences. "What the **** are you looking at, you filthy animal? Have you no idea which species your greed feeds? Do you know where this ends for you? Who's tazing your *** who's making you sit there?" Moo, mooo. Mooooooooooooooooooo. Receipts, a cudgel on each table, more cudgels ring from pockets telling them what time it is, where they're to be. Sunday's almost over, back to blocks of houses! Graze on painted grass, then die, but not before you stare at me with empty eyes, you pathetic, miserable creatures.
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65
how benevolent our government has been supporting immigrants with the taxpayer's generous Welfare scheme yet a percentage of these immigrants use the taxpayer's money for dubious means they travel abroad to places where radicalism is indoctrinated and the message they are inculcated with is one of killing they fly back into our country with their minds full of slogans and deadly propaganda one of these persons could be in any of our cities or towns freely walking the streets a radicalized individual maybe known to us he or she planning a terrorist attack inside our continent our taxpayer dollars exploited for ill intent our government has gathered intelligence on these persons of radical bent their Welfare payments are to be cut off which shall choke off their horrific lament
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Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Horrific Lament
By: Cedric McClester A Muslim goes to pray At any mosque on any day Which is not meant to convey The things their critics have to say I don’t know if you’re aware Despite the way it may appear A mosque is just a house of prayer You’re not indoctrinated there So wasted time is being spent Looking at which mosque a terrorist went That don’t give you the slightest hint As to why he became so bent You are more likely to find The source that captured his warped mind Somewhere down the dial on line That’s how he became so blind Nowhere in Qu’ranic teaching Will you find what they are preaching It’s a matter of them reaching Their own ends while they are breeching Everything that Islam stands for Which put simply they ignore Though that’s the badge they wore While acting in ways Muslims abhor They can bastardize the text And baffle some folk’s intellects By ignoring the balances and checks That the Islamic religion projects And it’s easy enough to fall If there’s no foundation at all You might answer anyone’s call Who can reinterpret and enthrall Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
A MUSLIM GOES TO PRAY
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are  Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........
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Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
To The Left...Quick March.....
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are  Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........
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32
There is a brisk  discountenance in an angry Mother's Moon for their bespoke Sons onwards, they snap their beaks, pea size humanity, resurface  buried adrenaline from hockey days, inwardly angry at their profligate fertility. Its enough to de merit the spirit, then store a prosaic promise that when older their *** is marked for attention, a discourteous tail chasing. A mark of a indoctrinated Son.
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Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
The casual Hen.
Expression. It’s all in how we look, How we act. Society. Limits our expression, Shows us what we can and can’t be. Women. We are told to be perfect, Told what to look like and how to act. Each day, something new is added whether it is something to be skinnier, Or something to change our face. We are roped into a battle, Being dragged by society's standards. The words used are like guns. Each hurtful phrase heard is like a bullet tearing through the heart. It hurts to hear society’s views, Society’s opinions. What do we follow? We are told to be ourselves, But who is that? Ourselves. Myself. Yourself. The people we are trying to figure out. The people who we want to find, But can’t. We are pressured and indoctrinated with styles, With trends, With things that are “normal.” Normal. What is Normal? Who came up with this silly term? Normal. Something everyone is striving to be, But lose themselves trying to find. Something everyone longs to be called, Even if it hurts their reality. Something everyone is forced into, With nobody knowing the true outcome. Weird. Is what people think when they see people who are not “normal.” People who do not fit society’s standards, Society’s expression. What people don’t see, is the happiness. The people who you deem “not normal,” Have found themselves. Have found who they truly are, Happiness. Is what you get when you finally find yourself, When you can express who you are freely, Without fear of being hurt, or judged. Happiness. Is what you get when everyone is equal, When everyone was the same rights, Without loopholes and sly backdoors. Happiness, is you. Who you are. Not society’s view, But your own expression. You. Who is Free. Who is Joyful. You, who is Happy.
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Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Society's Happiness
Expression. It’s all in how we look, How we act. Society. Limits our expression, Shows us what we can and can’t be. Women. We are told to be perfect, Told what to look like and how to act. Each day, something new is added whether it is something to be skinnier, Or something to change our face. We are roped into a battle, Being dragged by society's standards. The words used are like guns. Each hurtful phrase heard is like a bullet tearing through the heart. It hurts to hear society’s views, Society’s opinions. What do we follow? We are told to be ourselves, But who is that? Ourselves. Myself. Yourself. The people we are trying to figure out. The people who we want to find, But can’t. We are pressured and indoctrinated with styles, With trends, With things that are “normal.” Normal. What is Normal? Who came up with this silly term? Normal. Something everyone is striving to be, But lose themselves trying to find. Something everyone longs to be called, Even if it hurts their reality. Something everyone is forced into, With nobody knowing the true outcome. Weird. Is what people think when they see people who are not “normal.” People who do not fit society’s standards, Society’s expression. What people don’t see, is the happiness. The people who you deem “not normal,” Have found themselves. Have found who they truly are, Happiness. Is what you get when you finally find yourself, When you can express who you are freely, Without fear of being hurt, or judged. Happiness. Is what you get when everyone is equal, When everyone was the same rights, Without loopholes and sly backdoors. Happiness, is you. Who you are. Not society’s view, But your own expression. You. Who is Free. Who is Joyful. You, who is Happy.
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64
The saddest thing is state of this world In eerie indoctrinated paralyzation Beautiful globe that once triumphantly twirled Now in serious need of proper navigation
0
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 12:11 AM UTC
The Sad State Of The World
Twenty-three and coming from my teens I’ve developed along already categorized genes, By those who think they know me, When I’m only twenty-three with a molding mentality I was once vicariously raised through parentally guided means Socially slit by those that promised me prosperity if I was studious, Taught the importance of individuality, Yet forced to be obedient Then indoctrinated with an educator’s prescription, An addiction they picked up in a higher institution I’m finding it hard to follow your lead, when you found nourishment in my youthful innocence, Socially stitched through generationally fostered fixes Notions that you could promise me providence, I’ve been cradled in a crib riddled with termites Time shows little sympathy for those who have yet to comprehend the promise of a six foot end, Yet you trained me to believe you didn’t domesticate me Despite being conceived in a place I was not well received, You taught the importance of obedience Yet I’m finding it hard to accept your ancestral credence, When this place has been passed along bloodlines, When my generationally guided grandparents' felt the final close of their eyes, And left me a world pieced together by both atrocities and glimpses of humanity I’m finding it hard to speak in a world with such narcissistic sympathies of the traditionally raised Yet I’m socially sutured by the fact that I still breathe, While being born in a place that once found stability through a slave trade, A middle passage that led to a devious democracy I’m so grateful we can mend what barbarians once began, I’ve had time to age, enough to take the reins, Though before we build our shrines of this age, You can still pray for something beyond the grave, Yet never forget how we've been stranded, left here to continue, or to fray, To humanize a species that earth derived, Or to let the braids of life untwine and give way,   During our generations' stay.
0
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 9:25 AM UTC
Domesticate Me
Twenty-three and coming from my teens I’ve developed along already categorized genes, By those who think they know me, When I’m only twenty-three with a molding mentality I was once vicariously raised through parentally guided means Socially slit by those that promised me prosperity if I was studious, Taught the importance of individuality, Yet forced to be obedient Then indoctrinated with an educator’s prescription, An addiction they picked up in a higher institution I’m finding it hard to follow your lead, when you found nourishment in my youthful innocence, Socially stitched through generationally fostered fixes Notions that you could promise me providence, I’ve been cradled in a crib riddled with termites Time shows little sympathy for those who have yet to comprehend the promise of a six foot end, Yet you trained me to believe you didn’t domesticate me Despite being conceived in a place I was not well received, You taught the importance of obedience Yet I’m finding it hard to accept your ancestral credence, When this place has been passed along bloodlines, When my generationally guided grandparents' felt the final close of their eyes, And left me a world pieced together by both atrocities and glimpses of humanity I’m finding it hard to speak in a world with such narcissistic sympathies of the traditionally raised Yet I’m socially sutured by the fact that I still breathe, While being born in a place that once found stability through a slave trade, A middle passage that led to a devious democracy I’m so grateful we can mend what barbarians once began, I’ve had time to age, enough to take the reins, Though before we build our shrines of this age, You can still pray for something beyond the grave, Yet never forget how we've been stranded, left here to continue, or to fray, To humanize a species that earth derived, Or to let the braids of life untwine and give way,   During our generations' stay.
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34
It lurks at the back of your consciousness. It dwells in the pit of your stomach. It is strong. Strong enough to exist - behind the facade of calm demeanors. Strong enough to swim against the currents of indoctrinated beliefs of righteousness. Strong enough to be the wrong amidst all rights. It is the speaker for the voiceless. It is the doer for the incapable. It is the strength for the weak. It is sweet escape for the trapped. Listen... It's there in the lull. When all is quiet, you hear it. Whispering, inciting, winning you over. It will take you over. It will steer the wheel. But only if you want it just as much.
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May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Dark Passenger
Dammed, The vault of his mind was laid bare A barren stream with only fossils visible At the mouth, buried under silt he found unspoken words That he had left to the undercurrents of political correctness: "You do not own my mind It is mine and mine alone And with it I shatter Your rules and ties that bind" As if in response to the unearthing The dam began to crack Releasing a tiny rivulet that began to push downstream Splitting into two distinct eyes that have for too long been blind Where one stretched long and far into the past While the other ebbed and flowed in the whirlpool of the future Where endless possibilities competed for dominance Against any attempt to join the relative calm of memory The dam shuddered again and the gates flew open The river of life rushing back to fill the void Deafening the ears Which for so long had only heard the carefully curated lines Repeated and indoctrinated since his birth It was in this moment of flood that freedom came pouring forth His eyes were opened He saw the sight His ears could hear His tongue could fight His raging river returned to him Liberty in the light
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
Flooding Liberty
“...you don’t have to be indoctrinated by these loser teachers that are trying to sell you on socialism from birth.” - Donald Trump, Junior Have at it, little prince - I was called worse When I came home from Viet-Nam; I’m sure Your father could tell you about the pain And now A usage lesson follows my poor verse: The relative pronoun following “teachers” should be “who,” not “that.” I am at your service, your highness.
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Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
Enlighten Me, O Brave Little Princeling