"obtaining" poems
Perfection
Is constant.
It’s everywhere
And in everything.
But our perception of it is not.
For us,
Perfection is fleeting.
It comes in small doses
Like a shot of tequila.
It shocks on impact
Then warms from within.
Perfection lingers
For as long as the good feeling stays.
The problem?
We know that shortly
The liquor will wear off
And the world will again be *****
Smelly
Ugly
Imperfect.
But you…
You stay.
You stay past the buzz
Past the next-morning feeling
Past the hangover
Past the fog.
You’re still here.
You’re still perfect.
Because what people don’t get is that since nothing is perfect,
Everything
Is perfect.
Perfection isn’t a shot of tequila
But a long
Tall
Drink
Of water.
Perfection is a breath of fresh air,
Or maybe even stagnant,
Because perfection
Is everywhere.
Perfection is that tree over here
That lake over there
The crazy blue streak
In that girl’s light brown hair.
Perfection
Is constant.
It’s the waves crashing
The river flowing
The clock ticking away every moment we spend together,
Glowing.
Perfection
Is your mother telling you it’s time to come home.
My father telling me to hang up the phone.
Your best friend taking a year long vacation
My history suddenly obtaining clarification.
Perfection is learning
From stupid mistakes.
Perfection is holding hands
Through all the heartaches.
Perfection is black rivers flowing down your gorgeous perfect face
And perfection is knowing there’s nothing we can’t shake.
Because perfection is there
In every code-name fight
And perfection is there
Through every sleepless night.
Perfection is present
On the drives along winding lanes
And perfection is present
When we hide from cars in vain.
Perfection is you
And perfection is me
Because through all our flaws
We’re as perfect as perfect can be.
Yet the world still doesn’t understand that
Nothing is perfection
So perfection
Is everything.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Never will I be covered in tattoos
My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.
I’ll never paint or carry a tune
Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.
I won’t dye my hair pink or blue
My piercings will stay as the simple two
Nails cut short and hair in a bun
In ballet, this must be done.
Pink tights by the mound
Bobby pins all around
Leotards on the floor
Pointe shoes by the door.
Toes taped so tightly
Smiling big and brightly
Red lipstick adding to her beauty
The dancer moves so smoothly.
Turned out from my hips
No words coming from my lips
I dance sweetly to the sound
Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.
Full of grace, never haste
Filling perfectly my costume of lace
Ever so sweet, my dancing feet
Step after step, I repeat and repeat.
Obtaining perfection is my key
It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me
Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal
It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.
My toes may bleed
And my knees, grow weak
But I’ll never stop dancing…
Not until I reach my peak.
Pirouette, Pirouette
Dancer’s silhouette
Practicing at dusk
Dedication is a must.
Stretching my limbs
Choreographing on a whim
Alway aiming to be stronger
To hold my arabesque longer.
When I do finally reach that triple pirouette
and all is done and all is set
I put myself back into class
Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.
This is the life of a dancer en point
Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints
Just for that one perfect moment on stage
Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Passing out love
Eyes closed
Seeing the world
In a view of Red
Waking up dead
Eyes opened
Seeing the world
In a view of Blues
The way these people
Belittle the energy
That can bring peace
They have mixed feelings
Seeing the world
In view of Purple
Stripped of caring and worrying
Exchanged for depression and disguises
Running from a red loved past
To obtaining blues of the present mind
The world viewing in purple
But my eyes can no longer
Hold a hue
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
My god is love
Your god is God
I know it sounds odd
I wish to be cod
That swim through your veins
Until I go insane
Invading your mind
So I may know your kind
I have to tip my hat
When you say the world is flat
And I shift into a stiffer constitution
When you say you don't believe in evolution
My love is strictly fundamental
Our differences infinitesimal
I cannot deny
This temptation inside
This inflation of mine
I want to walk with you like Jesus
If in that moment you could freeze us
I'd believe forever
Through any endeavor
That two gods were merged
And true odds were purged
My life would be surged
Into perfection
By a reception
Love is a fabled fraud on the scene
Until I find a god in the machine
You heretically hide in between
Fields of green and wet dreams
Your smile takes me there
To realize we're no pair
So I become Cthulhu
In order to fool you
When you're the giant squid
And I'm just a kid
If I want to be caught in your tendrils
I'll have to work on my fundamentals
I dream of Athena
After you make Cupid look stupid
While holding a noose
With the power of Zeus
But I still want more
To hammer like Thor
Yet after all my plotting
I'm still frozen like Skadi
When I face a titanic task
I wear a panicked mask
Obtaining a reluctant martyr's luck
When my emotions run hot as ****
I face the wrath of god
Inside your cattle ****
So I wait like the Buddha
Wishing I never knew ya
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 5:09 AM UTC
A precious hummingbird, left rhythmic sounds, in sweet soft notes
Playing music, light and heavenly, as I waved adios
Soaring freely, upon Springs gentle breeze
With finesse and ease
With iridescent feathers
Flamboyantly taking flight, in this lovely weather
Graciously gazing through
Surely, dazzling too
Quickly resting on tree branches, in attune
Fearlessly humming, in romantic tunes
Dancing smoothly
And elegantly
Modeling beautifully, in its fine long beak
Very entertaining and chic
And casually stopping in the center of a flower
Obtaining nectar, in the morning hour
Placing a grin on my face
While engaging in an impressive, cozy space
Instilling a fulfilling and pleasant day
And quite excited, it came my way
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
After a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Which involved watching an animated science fiction thriller
Followed by a Football World Cup Final
Which turned out to be even more thrilling
I had to face the dreaded prospect
Of returning to work on a Monday
Yes, the notorious villain of the week
Which can ensure sleepless nights
Even for the strongest souls
Well, the day was actually not that bad
To begin with, at least
After a hot bath
Followed by an even hotter cup of filter coffee
Prepared by my dear mother, as ever
I had a simple breakfast
Consisting of a plate of chapatis
Mixed with some rather tangy marmalade
Thus, I was ready
To face the grind of work
Or at least, I thought I was
The reality turned out to be as different
As apples and oranges
It started with a few phone calls
However, the response was not flattering
Thus, I headed to lunch
In the hope of making some progress
In the second half of the day
However, I couldn't have been more wrong
The phone calls failed to achieve their purpose
As I was unable to obtain slots
For the interviews to be scheduled
Moreover, I was dealing with multiple stuff
At the same time
Which proved to be even more difficult
Than obtaining a seat in one of the IIMs
Time was playing a cat-and-mouse game with me
The closer I got to him
The more he would evade me
As the hours flew by
I kept meandering aimlessly
Without achieving anything tangible
By the time I finally got the hang of work
It was already well past 6 PM
And I felt as though I had wasted more time
Than a certain Sunil Gavaskar had done
In his infamous innings of 36 not out, off 175 *****
In the inaugural 1975 Cricket World Cup
Thus, I was thoroughly relieved
When the day finally ended
Returning to work on a Monday
Especially after a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Is never good
Full stop
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC
What's weird?
I don't understand the concept
I thought it was paramount to be yourself
I thought it would be normal to be your own creature
Even if doing that didn't necessarily equate to obtaining massive wealth
Please explain to me what being weird is?
I thought being an individual person was how we stopped being cookie cutter humans like we were put together on an assembly line
It's fine that we are different and split apart
So what's weird about that?
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
I could cry at any moment
tears pouring deep and wide
from the everlasting well of heart and soul
buried in the dark depths of my uneasy chest
I could smile at any instance
Joy spreading like butter
smoothly and easily from one side to another
as I remember the light rays of happiness who's shadows once graced my face
I could yell in a heartbeat
at the Fierce Ferocity gaining momentum
from the bottom of my toes obtaining speed as it overcomes my earthly being
I could laugh at the corny attempts of your mistaken humor
or at the twisted path you push yourself to follow
—hilariously distraught with comic ambition
I could dance in the silver sprays of moonlit grace
ignoring all but the life within myself
listening to the music of the rhythmic unknown
unsure of what song to play next
I could hide—
from fate, from love, from lust, from fear
Refusing to be powerless
Refusing to be broken
in a world made whole by imperfections
I could run
my body to the ground
the world to oblivion
Fueled by Passion
or none at all
but I don't
I just sit here
waiting.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
We were a beleaguered bard born,
a chief in chatoyant charms charged with
the principle petrichor of passionate paramours;
to drive the dainty dalliances
of incipient ingénues immured in
glamourous gossamer gowns;
lilting, lead lissome lads 'long labyrinthine love;
mischeiviously make mellifluous mondegreens;
sing of such serendipity: surreptitiously susurrous sessions
scintillas of Spring's sempiternal sentiments!
But fetching fugues fade fast, felicity's fated to fly. For
penumbral poets, it portends a pyrrhic pay.
We wander woebegone, waiting wistfully.
Lovers leave lyricists to languish in lonely lassitude.
The halcyon heyday has harbingered
inbroglio in the inured inventor of infatuation.
Why? With what wherewithal?
Often our offerings off us, opposite of, obviously, obtaining, or,
lucidly: lyrical lacers of Love likewise lack its livening lagniappe.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Power of the cosmos runs through my veins
Burning me up..I become the pain
Help me!
I'm trapped in the flow
Swirling from within expanding my soul
My body...My mind
I become the sign
Spoken to me in ancient rhyme
Peace is gained only after a battle
Slaughtering humanity as if we were cattle
Pineal gland tingling
Thoughts start streaming obtaining meaning
Living in a vessel that can no longer contain
Evolving me to next level of my brain
Adam...Eve
Living in a tattoo sleeve
Is it Magic if you already believe?
My melodic riddles play like fiddles
Prophetic are my scribbles
Third eye sight keeps me living in the middle
Vibrations stimulate me as I continue to grow
From the infinite energy filling up my soul....
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Mental debates of moving on and
Leaving the past, she dreams
Of working things out to make
Them last, she’s all too familiar
With solitude, its wonders,
Its dedication to her companionship
They walk hand in hand
Looking, staring at silhouettes, still vivid
and bright as the day that she first opened
Her eyes to Dalia smirks, truly hurt
She watches in awe
As he carefully places
The pieces to the puzzle of
A black and white field
Strategies flow easily from behind
The dam that is a set of porcelain eyes
Sworn to secrecy only for self fulfillment
Along the checkered floor she explored
Boundaries she had never encountered
He leads her as his pawn of choice
Through torturous escapades against
Rookie creatures and staggering Horsemen
They wane on her chances of successfully
Obtaining the crown of glory
He pushes her forward with a touch
Soft and soothing, no reason
To doubt his reasoning
She gives up the greatest of gifts, trust
In his hands she quietly moves
With no complaints, forward
Out toward a troublesome mine field
With every space she’s placed in
She’s laced with waste traced with her Demise,
he plays the creator,
How humorous it seems
The slightest sense of secure attachment
Provides a false sense of security
The way he touches her persuades
Her he’ll never let her fall
In his embrace she doesn’t see
The smirk of disgust as his face
Twisted, wretched and gruesome
Grins at the only pleasure she provides him
Empty bliss he can only wish to fill
His grasp, once tender and warm
Clenches down on her with splintering pain
With silent screams of despair
She comes closer to her peril
Glimmering crown, in the scope of her sight
The only sense of hope left in her mind
The next move can be her last
With only hopes of a clear road
As he once again guides her
Calm and steady with the kindness
He once displayed when she
Naïvely dreamt of how her life
Truly should become
Her struggles slowly ease away
From the pain she once felt
Never showed it even in the
Biggest battles he lead her through
Now she lay motionless alongside her
Fallen obstacles in complete darkness
Six cold silent walls surround
Her in her slumber until another
Cruel puppeteer falls across
The coffin of demise and despair
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
What is perfection, for that which we crave?
We long, we desire?
Does this not cause envy, hate...
Division?
For don't we often embody this "perfection" in a person?
Our aspirations to hope
Similar fates.
Perfection is balance
And yet
We exchange morals for such a thing
Is there really such a thing as perfection?
Every means of obtaining as such
Does not immediately make you believe it
There will always be a compromise to this
Something that will continually obstruct it
For perfection is but a lie
Hidden beneath the mask
Of deceit and desire
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
It’s in newspaper ads, and on T.V,
Pasted everywhere for us to see.
A new entertainer in town, they say,
Giving a performance before going away.
Who is it this time, I wonder,
Who is it that people go to with a cheer?
It’s a ventriloquist, a puppet man,
He’s supposedly made everyone his fan.
And so it was to see the show I went,
It was a boring life’s escapade, godsent.
Robby Rob, was his name,
This name so engulfed in fame.
He was spectacular, and really good,
Now everyone’s excitement I understood.
There he was on stage,
About twenty five years of age.
He and his puppet, joking, laughing,
To everyone happiness he did bring.
Then the show was done,
He left with a smile on his face,
We had had our share of fun,
While he and his puppet left in grace.
How happy he looked, how content was he,
He seemed to be satisfied and filled with glee.
But, who knew what was really happening,
In his life from the beginning?
For in his room,
So full of gloom,
The ventriloquist was a different person,
One who looked glum and devoid of fun.
Who knew, that he was an abandoned orphan,
Who had struggled for obtaining a bun?
Who knew, the problems in his life,
His heart cancer, his huge bank debt, his eloped wife???
The lifeless puppet, his only friend,
The only one who’ll stay till the end.
As he sheds his tears,
One falls near his puppet’s eye,
And as he is filled with his ever growing fears.
Along with him his puppet does cry…
They hug each other, close and tight,
For them, nothing seems to be going right.
And yet, and yet, I walk home with envy
Thinking that the Ventriloquist’s life is happy and carefree…
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
The foundation of selfishness
Has much to do with wanting and desiring
And places a heavy focus on
Thoughts of obtaining and acquiring.
The instinctive ego takes control
And motivations become self-centered.
We're often heedless and unaware
Of the shadowy place that we have entered.
Naturally, self-centeredness
Colors what we think and do;
But NOT wanting and NOT desiring,
On the other hand, can be selfish, too.
Wanting: selfish? Not wanting: selfish?
How--we might ask--does that make sense?
NOT wanting may substantiate
Our way of life at others' expense:
Not wanting others to share the same freedoms;
Not wanting others to have the same rights;
Being silent when seeing injustice;
Ignoring people's struggles and plights;
Not acknowledging the efforts of others;
Not desiring to work toward peace;
Not wanting to know oneself;
Not caring if hatreds cease;
Being indifferent to the happiness of others;
Not allowing others to progress;
Not wanting to know how to fix
Our planet once we've made a huge mess.
NOT wanting in many ways
Speaks as loudly as word or deed,
And we become helpless victims
Of our sad and varying levels of greed.
What motivates us really?
Do we know, or do we care?
Is it safer NOT to know?
It might seem so, but beware.
- by Bob B
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC
*Your twilight moons
white irises, that flicker
within the nights confines
clasp at the velvet darkness
pulling the stars into orbit
obtaining galaxies of their own
feeding a universal luster
eclipsing at the sight of dawn*
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
My friend told me
When the spring wind blows.
We can see a witch.
“Does a witch really exist?”
“She does!”
“Because my mother is a witch.”
“You’re a liar.”
“It’s true.”
“it’s very easy
To fly through the sky.”
Someday,
About the huge moon night,
While we were looking at the moon
From the window,
We were standing the sand of Arizona spring.
We were standing on the sand that has nothing
And looking at the sand that has nothing
And looking at the moon.
We only found one.
We plucked a dry grass
And we came back immediately.
That grass we brought back
Has a warm smell
That I’ve never smelled.
The witch
Put it in a bottle
And kept it importantly.
“Is it very important?”
I asked.
“Next to you,
It’s my vision.”
She said.
I don’t understand.
The witch went somewhere
And hasn’t come back since.
So, I can’t ask.
My friend that told me so
Always shared her secrets.
We can’t make
Secrets by ourselves.
If there is a person
Who can hide each other’s secrets,
A secret will be born.
If we have the same secret,
I prefer a big one.
I’m tired of human talk.
Are you a witch, too?
You always visited from nowhere.
The magical words that you wrote
On the ground.
Please tell me again.
Having a secret is
Similar to obtaining treasures of the world.
She told me so.
My friend is no longer here.
The witch story that she flies in the spring wind.
The small witch story
That she walks playing tricks.
She punishes mean fellows.
She is always spiteful.
Talk to me about the wonderful witch story.
The magical song written on the inside of the hat.
That song I finally learned.
I can’t remember it anyway.
The mysterious song.
Sing with me.
And,
Let me keep a secret again.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
In the moment just before wake,
The last fragment of a dream eludes my grasp.
As I cannot distinguish thought from memory,
I am astounded that my imagination could conjure such bliss.
If only at will…
Not every night, but some,
I see what I am capable of.
Mind at ease and running free,
Latching on to these ideas
That exceed my perception.
And my attempts to recall or review,
Are but failed attempts, futile.
Deemed too beautiful for consciousness,
But from what I can remember-
I fight, I play,
I sight, I run from beasts.
I find, I make,
I lose, I have the world.
I live, I breathe,
I meet, I die sweet deaths.
I fly, I kiss,
I smile, I love it all.
The fluidity of instances, the current of time,
No-these do not exist in my mind.
Or are rather transcended,
Bent, broken, then mended.
Allowed in my altered state
To transform and create
A world where everything is designed to please me,
While, simultaneously, my fears run free.
Ah, but not too much to handle.
I have fragments, puzzle pieces, crumbs…so little.
Oh sleeping self! I beseech you
Spring alive and come and teach me
All the wonders you have known,
But sadly do always withhold.
Revise my mind, what poor creation.
Have mercy on my indignation.
Am I really to believe
That you are so wiser than me?
Smiling, sleeping beauty, I
Foresee the dangers of the eyes.
Masterfully handicap
My body to this nightly trap.
Thus looming possibilities
Of habitual retreats,
Delights in excess to relieve
Me of my duty to receive
Signals from reality,
Abundant sensory deceit,
Of forlorn mental interactions,
Of achieving distant affectations,
Obtaining hopes and admirations,
Beholding nonsensical perfection,
All this, too more, are so designed
That my mind can never wholly dine
On the enticingly addictive
Highly imaginative symptoms
Of the body’s hidden fluid source
That rarely tends to make its course.
But holds great power menacing,
As well as gently flowering.
I envy you, my resting mind,
My well worthy unconsciousness,
Whose power is tempted unconstricted,
Whose fascination’s limitless.
Who teases me, a window shop,
An ocean reduced to a drop.
The very inkling I most relish;
Waking memory’s a feather precious.
Delicate and dancing ‘round,
High hopes, in journey, treasure bound.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
"That caffeine will **** you!"
he said impatiently!
Drinking water is bad for your health,
the feds put fluorine in it
to **** you by stealth."
Paternally he whispered,
"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
the sucklings its made for
aren't close to our ilk.
The consumption of pigs and animals that ****
most certainly will keep you
from obtaining sweet bliss.
And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
their svelte tasty bodies are filled
with deadly mercury."
And then he looked aghast at my plate,
"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
"Do you really want to die...
from eating french fries?
Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
cooked in hydrogenated fats by
some woman named Janet?
Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
your cholesterol will rise,
that's no funny joke."
Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,
"Avoid plants grown in this country,
sprayed with pesticides and poisons
by corporate monkeys.
And stay away from foods grown in the East,
they're probably fertilized by
humans, dragons and beasts.
Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
that eats up your guts and
make you grow flaccid.
Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
making you go snaggle
right in your sleep."
With a superior air he ended his harangue,
"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
Can you think of anything that
will **** you quicker?
Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****
humping everything in sight
like a mad deer in rut.
Cakes, breads and cookies too,
contain sugars and flours that's
sooooo baaaaad for you.
~~~
I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
I want to eat something
but afraid to give it a chew.
Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
I'm closing the door and
doing as I pleasey!
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
Unspoken Wisdom Speaks
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** how to struggle, scrap, and scrape, as well as, tries as he may, in order to provide for his family; in time hopefully, he determines in life this may if not always will be necessary
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that society has a hefty, respect for a winner, yet it has a habit of closing as many doors as possible which limits the Negro’s ability to obtain this elusive and yes lofty goal in life
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that society expects a certain amount of personal initiative yet it attempts to discourage the ***** at every corner by forcing them to focus on the obstacles and roadblocks rather than the strategy necessary to overcome the difficult tasks at hand
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that it is possible to bootstrap your way to success, however, it fails to inform the ***** exactly where the bootstraps are kept
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that the American dream can be accomplished by anyone who truly has a desire to obtain it; however, it fails to inform the ***** that the dream has various levels of reward and some are quite egregious
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that failure is a natural course of life when one seeks to obtain a level of success; however, it failed to tell the ***** that the obstacles for some are not nearly as challenging as it is for others
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that we are offered an entry level position and we should be grateful for this success and if we seek more; then the challenge of being accepted is added to the challenges of preparing for the next level
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that mastering the skills of the next level can be a practice in futility if his behavior doesn’t fit in with what is considered the norm for American Negroes in the eyesight of greater society
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that obtaining the goal is only a part of the battle; praise from, recognition by, and acceptance of your supposed peers is the next challenge
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** to try as he may and he may be granted entry, providing that he has honestly tried as he might (SMILE)
What has Integration taught the American *****
On’ know
Exclusively and Originally Written By Elvan
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
I feel the breeze of purple skied nights
sirens fading out down the street
taxi horns blaring impatiently
tungsten, incandescent, fluorescent
lights bouncing off brick walls
bums curled up on stone ledges
with a waterfront, riverside, view
towers stand erect—giant *****
of steel and mortar penetrating
the sweet pink innocence of the
clouds reflecting the light below
tourists meandering with companions
obtaining a glimpse of the night
life pushed aside by hurried natives
young college students starting their
***** trips at vibrant, overpriced, clubs
bitter grizzled men starting their
***** trips at dull, weathered, local bars
both shaking off the buzz moving
onto complete drunkenness
the taste of food and sewage
mixed into the humid air
live music playing in Millennium Park
while children play and laugh in the
artistic structures unknowing of the
value and beauty attributed
looking for amusement
the city’s reflection vainly warped
by the curved polished metal surface
of the Bean, crowds mesmerized by
simple tricks of light reflecting the
twisted narcissism of those caught
up in the city’s hedonism
warm breezes roll into
the shore and marina
from the sea-like lake
well-to-do travelers
recording through the curved
lenses of expensive digital cameras
their trifling, yet
extravagant adventures
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
I am knees deep in a quick sand
designed for people like me
by a system that thrives
on a climate of fear
Obtaining knowledge while selling my soul
Profit driven suits,
splurging words about our rights
and our duties
Camouflaging their own self-interest
Playing monopoly on knowledge
Convincing us,
that chasing that silly piece of paper
is the only option
Concealing the true cost that
comes with knowledge
One most of us will never be able to afford
An ocean of debt,
one I will surely pay until I'm dead
Behold the loophole though,
silver spooned fed mouths
need not sink nor swim
That hollowed shaped silver
holding them high above ground
While the rest of us sink
limb by limb
into a quicksand that was designed for people like us
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
With this life
With this sorrow
With this anger
With this hatred
With this self-pity
Im done with it all
I dont want to live anymore
Nothing left to see
My aching bones
Rusty and crumbling now
Cant your god just let me die
And fade into the background of a fleeting memory
Im done with it all
Tired of trying to please
All these arrogant people
Who continue to think
They know anything about me
But they only know my name
Im done with it all
Trying to acccomplish something
Thats better off as a dream
But whats the point of giving up now
When Im so close to obtaining it
**** it Im done for the last time
You pushed and pushed
I was the one who fell
You werent the one
Trying to face their fears
Standing alone in the middle of a road
Wondering which direction to go
Im done with it all
Sick and tired of waking from nightmares
Wondering if everytime I wake
If its all just a never ending dream
Trying to find something to believe in
Only finding a finger given by the heavens
Im done with it all
Trying to find a place to call home
Only finding an empty house
With people souless and uncaring
Quick to turn thier back
Not even trying to embrace a son
Do you hear me world
Im done trying to please you
Trying to find my place
So Im going to dig my grave
And watch you beg me
Not to end all of this
Watch me now world
Take this dusty 45
And this rusty blade
Curl up at the bottom of a bottle
And live free one last time
Before I bleed this life out
Do you feel like
You would be better off without me
Im done asking unaswerable questions
You wouldnt tell me
Even if you had the answer
So I will say goodnight and goodbye
I wont miss it at all
Hear me now
Under the ringing off a 45
Im done straining my voice
Going horse from over worked muscles
One last time I will say IM DONE!!!!
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC