"kablaam" poems
I see a hooded man walk into my neighborhood
Dressed up in black, from the boots to the hood
He prowls the street like a cat in the middle of the night
Walks around hands in his pocket until he reaches his target
Kablaam kablaam kablaam
Gunshots ring in the air
The people disappear
Only to reappear with fear to find their star lying dead
What's his crime? They all asked...
Who's the killer? They all wonder...
Yet nobody knows but the sender
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 7:12 PM UTC
Hot ****
The Bluebird wants out again!
I am tough enough for it.
But only just.
He wants out, but can't.
Meanwhile, his beak tears a hole.
Sears into my flesh.
Bleeds a little, but thats OK.
It reminds me that I'm not.
It reminds me I gotta run.
Pump my legs out of this place!
To chase the dreams they sold me
"You'd be a leader, just you wait to get your degree.
BAM! ZAAM! KABLAAM!
Labs and companies will be groveling at your feet!"
What ********
They spoon-fed me, like a child off the ****
For FOUR. AND. A. HALF. YEARS!!!
I swallowed the lies like a baby lamb
With a glint on my eye, wasting my time
I believed they'd make me a man
No need to go and try, they'll take charge on that.
But the world is a cold, brick, wall.
And you crash into it as soon as you cross the door.
You break your nose, bleed a touch.
Now it's time to crack it back into form!
Ouch! Ow! It hurts! It smarts!
But it's good for ya kid!
It'll do ya right!
You can't look forward with that crooked thing blocking your sight!
So yank it straight! Get off off your ****!
Dreams ain't something you'll find on a market stall.
You can't buy them, they ain't sold.
But you can make them on a workshop.
A table, a shed, behind garage doors.
Behind a computer, even a phone!
They are made with sweat and blood.
And time...
Better spend that chasing them
Than to waste it
listening to someone pump them into head.
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 12:28 PM UTC