.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard...  i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those *******(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.

it's sheryl crow
for ****'s sake...
it's not
           katty perry...
that debut:

was... pristine..
seminal...

sure... my feet stink...

what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...

a change?

***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
   who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...

it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...

no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?

       n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
              hand in my pocket...
right through you...

so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***?
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!

no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
            no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...

Disney princesses my ***.

head over feet...
         now... that's a song.

Tanka-ka
Or Not Tanka

American tanka: Japanese influenced poetry that ignores rigid syllable guidelines; typified by an individualist, nonconformist sentiment.

1.

You step so cautiously
That sometimes you forget
To take a step
And I am left waiting,
Running far ahead


2.

You don’t realize
That your body
Might just save this one
This body might,
Just **** me


3.

What does all this stuff mean?
What does this world mean?
Long after I am gone
This **** will still be here,
Forgotten by everyone


4.

Internet ****
Seduces mens’ hearts
And objectifies their desires


5.

The destruction of the self is intolerable,
Everyone tells me
To destroy myself is unacceptable,
Little round pills


- Kinney Ryan

That girl, she's loud,
Ignorant and proud
Liar, **** and nasty
Controlling and feisty
Unlike anything ever seen
She's a she and so obscene!
So instead support the man
******, homophobe, bigot
That's ok, I am still a fan
Why? Cause he says it like it is
Objectifies women, grabs *******
He might be ignorant, loud&prou;;
But he's a he so world, better watch out
He'll help all of us be great again
By flushing freedom down the drain
What can possibly be wrong with this plan
A bully building walls in disguise as a 'man'.

1) I still have not erased the imprints your hands left all over me. These days are numbered, just like the times you tried to ruin me. I've stopped counting on you to let me down again. I've stopped counting period.
2) I compare every single guy I meet to you, so far I'm doing my best at avoidance. So far none of them have made my stomach scream outside of my throat when they kiss me.
3) These pills are taken because I want to get better now, not because I don't. Milligrams don't always equate to death. I'm learning the language of recovery and self-discovery from a bottle and a progress book.
4) I can't see your face behind me when I'm naked inside the mirror, or under the sheets of ****** desire, I do not find you there anymore.
5) You do not control me- the reigns have loosened and your voice no longer lingers upon my tongue. I am no longer afraid of big crowds without alcohol. I am my own form of stability and sobriety.
6) This face does not need to be masked by propaganda in order to leave my bedroom, confidence has accumulated into my conscious now and there is no room for criticism.
7) You have left me for dead, just weeds upon an empty field- you made me feel as if my existence was a nuisance, like it was too minute to even recognize fully. But I will not let you be my deforestation, I have spent too much time growing these roots in a place where I will flourish- you will not be my wildfire, landslide or any form of natural disaster. You are a single raindrop at best.
8) *******.
9) *******.
10) You don't even deserve to know I'm better than what you did to me. But you need to know that when my father objectifies women, it cuts a knife deep into my spine that makes me slouch a little more and when other men do the same- it makes me stand up straight again. We are not a product of those who make us, we are just a result. But with repetition those results can change. All of us are theories, not to be proven. Always changing, collecting new data. Ready to be disproven. So test yourself, push your own boundaries and don't be afraid of change.

I got out of the box someone else put my innocence in- I found my way back to it time and time again but I realized it was only to get back what I had lost. Only to find that the box was empty, only to realize they never really had a hold on me. It was just a theory, you are just a theory.

talking to ritchie (a scaffolder on the Whitechapel project of the cross-rail) and his girlfriend nicholle, the smurf who i told about gargamel... while almost begged the sri lankans to buy a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of diet pepsi, past the allowance for the shop's opening hours and catching the last bus from chasing the cross... me and ritchie got talking randomly... hugged and shook hands by the end of the encounter, i don't know why; ritchie was a scaffolder... i told him i was once a roofer... i don't know why i have a healthy affiliation with scaffolders;
nicholle the chihuahua walking in front of us reminded us of drug testing on the building site, i said a day off, she said a day without pay and randomised crap like curtains... now i remember why i didn't join the crew with girlfriends, i'd be in a mental asylum by now, should they exist, otherwise with the failure of community care projects... maybe that's why women look amazing in *****, but cats look better in real life; i'm not even trying to be sexist, it's just too much reality.

i have only a few words
for her:
why won't she touch me?
why am i to resolve
my objections like this,
ah, i see, because they are
objections to that
subjections that are of man
succumbing to woman
and the ordeal of chore;
that are, man objectifies woman
with all that *******,
while woman makes countless
subjects from him to appease her,
while the world around sees no
appeasement...
indeed in the crusader's song to
later show, as a psychosis
(elevation of soul via the body's
non-existence, a funny atheism)
i'll show you a levitated stone,
that doesn't require stones or loafs of
bread for proof of alchemy;
cup my hands in tears to capture
tears like rainwater...
make my eyes a convent....
i say a convent not a covenant!
da pacem domine* -
and i see the mother nuns ushering the flock
into carcass of obedience,
a volume of body as tall as the pyramids;
why are we the defending?
what pleading would craft an altar
if not to compare
idle prayer crafted as a larger spectacle
to allow marriage in its eyes
permitted...
   when i'm the sparrow of sorrow
i sound like my mother, because of you,
it's what i see that's to come
that makes me disbelieve the magic of
the advert, and embrace the advent of the saints
in petulant prayer.

THE* objectifies ALL;
OR disavows ALL.
They beget OTHER, politicizer of ALL.
There is war.

AN marginalizes ALL.
THEM dismembers ALL.
The ANTHEM nationalizes ALL.
There is war.

MY manipulates ALL.
ONE misconstrues ALL.
They beget MONEY, commodifying ALL.
There is war.

From misunderstanding
arises *sorrow;
from ignorance,
conception.

Double standards
Fluctuate the mind.
Double standards
Keep us confined.
They tell us don’t cross the line.
They tell us everything is fine.
But we all know it’s a lie.
But conform, because society defines these supposed grey lines.
Making Carbon copies.
With plastered make-up.
It’s all about mr and ms dress up.
After all.
But it doesn’t fully hide what’s truly going on.
As it’s just a band aid to cover scars.
To cover up our pain.
To cover up our shame.
And these standards have truly distorted what a women should be.
Crooked ballerina’s,
All thinking they’re too broken to ever be repaired.
Thinking that they aren’t worth it.
But yet still chasing after that,
Diluted American Dream.
Where silver and gold can make everything ok.
Yet those who have it know that is a lie.
But yet still climb ladders,
Just to fall on one’s face.
Is it pride?
Or desperation?
Beauty standards sure defeat one’s confidence.
And fixed systems separate genders.
Not just in monetary terms but also sexist ones.
Don’t play with cars that’s for boys.
Stick to dolls.
Stick to house work.
Stick to...
You know what?
**** that *******!
For without women, men couldn’t keep being born.
For without women empathy would be dead.
And dictatorship would reign.
Without women,
I would be a orphan.
Because a woman raised this man.
And yes sometimes I fail to always see my privilege.
To not worry walking home at night.
To not worry about going out for drinks.
And I’m sorry for not listening your side of the story.
And I’m sorry that my gender objectifies you.
But I’ll stand by you.
Defend you and support you.
For untied we stand and divided we fall.

The lens a baby looks through with his new born eyes is something magical.
Every color, object, tree is perceived as fascination.
Never before have they seen those shades of blue, felt the summer breeze on their face, or the sun’s warm hugs around their body.
Everything in this world is beautiful, is wonderful, is something they never believed that could be real.

They love the purest, smile the sincerest, they are as innocent as a soul could be.

But,
It makes me wonder what happened.
How everything so beautiful in this world is second to everything ugly.

A boy plans to cheat on his girlfriend because he's in a frat.
A girl decides to leave with another guy because he was more attractive while her sorority sisters call out to her “ You go girl”.
A man objectifies a women's body,
A woman objectifies a man's body.

****
****
******
Jealousy
Abuse
Suicide
Greed
Adultery

So many ugly things that destroy people, that lead them to destroy others.  
At what age do we fail to see the beauty on earth?
When did we start losing that lens we once had as a baby?
That human beings are incredible beings; that life itself is a gift that we were given to witness all the incredible miracles and to simply sit back and watch gives us pure joy.

When did it all change?

I've been lost for awhile. Trying to figure out where I fit, and with whom I fit in with.
Drinking, partying, being around people who lose themselves in these types of environments has changed me.

It's made me sadder.
Less hopeful.
Angrier.
Lost.
Stuck.

Maybe I haven't found the people I'm meant to be with.
Maybe I need to find people who see the world through a different lens, who see people as something more than just objects.

Perhaps my journey starts with this realization.

For the first time
In a long time
I step foot through the door.

To the exercise class I did so much before.

The room covered in mirrors,
Used to induce my greatest fears.

But now, things are different.

I look in the mirror, don't love what I see.
But know for a fact that super thin isn't me.

Just before the class is about to start,
A sight entering the room makes my eyes dart

The sight of a girl, thin as a rail, frail, ailing.

To others she may look thin,
But I'm able to see the disorder within.

It brings to mind a different kind of mirror.
How I used to look, sick and scared.

My heart cries for her because I know the pain
What it feels like to believe you deserve to wane

Our society glorifies fullness in bank accounts and objects,
Yet objectifies thinness, imperfections are faults.

Yet another emotion emerges from me,
I'm glad I'm no longer sick like her,

Will she seek recovery?

Gay guy: objectifies straight person to the point of them being uncomfortable

Straight guy: .....

Gay: nOwO you knOwO what it's like to be a woman.  high fives his GURL  

Gay:  I'm Gay btw

Srt. Guy: Message Delivery - Message blocked

Gay BOi: YAeH NoT SooSOOSo FunnNy NoWo.