"pavlov" poems
The form in which we live our lives
Breeds in the midst of demon hives.
For dogs do bark in senseless fright
At shadows lurking in the night,
And souls shiver at that unseen;
Cathartic reasons not to dream.
Voices whisper ideas, faux truths,
That knowledge has no valid use.
And when we hear, we do obey
The voice that blocks the light of day.
Lamplight dances against cave walls
And childlike wonder slowly falls.
Pavlov shakes his head in sadness,
For we, indeed, are his madness.
And Plato weeps within his cage
For all his truths leave him in rage.
Is all that we can ever see
Vague words that tell us not to be?
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
I have not grown accustomed
to the sound of your messages.
Their presence did little to assure,
nor did their absence cause unsettling.
Today, however,
I must admit
that I have waited for that bell.
My heart salivated
at the sound of passing bicycles,
hoping finally it was you
remembering the love
you have left waiting.
I wonder:
How could you have conditioned me
to anticipate something
that has never been constant anyway?
for j.e.
013115
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Hip hop. Equals art stop. That crude **** stopped musical fusion
Right in its tracks.
When it first landed, it was still music with a lotta spittle flying.
Not naming names. I listened to a lot of it.
Then Gangsta rap hit. Oh ****
Cant accuse me of blind judgment, I still check it out from time to time
How do you say.Get diverse mud flappers. Know the history.
learn to play an instrument and read it so you can write it. Then come back an see me.
Who am I?.
John Q public.
Pavlov's dog.
Tin Pan Ali.
Long Tall sally.
Sachmo. Scratch less.
Yard-bird.
Donald Bird.
Stubborn ****
Stuff out there is weak as thrice used tea bags. And cost more to get unless you got
a peg leg and a parrot ******** on yer shoulder.
Lyrically, man my six year old says more about less with **** left over. What?
Flame out digitized No talent constructs that make me wanna hurl, url give a dog a bone.
Tin eared, tone def hoochies and synthetic cool cats. Not to mention the rough neks.
Looking like they pooped their pants six times and forgot how to belt up.
There are some real deal talents out there but it is like pickin peanuts out ****
After disco died. Yes I said disco. It has been a circle **** in the cemetery after dark. Naw mean.
But I digress.
.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
so greed took mankind
with genetics
decomposed from the inside
a sick thought, I thoughts.
... inhale your doom, I thought. change your ways, you ought, I thought.
choke the carcinoma cells.
knee swells, Capricorn.
better go later for assurance of;
Death.
talk to those doctors;feed your own lies,
only to discover
them being drunk off of disguise.
sick conditioned,
The words definition, domestication
of everything
Everything
gratitude gratitude to Pavlov, whose name capitalizes;
a way of nature
creature creator, part of the world's annihilator.
cousin to eugenics we have cosmetics, anesthetics for the mind.
a nice golden walkway for mankind.
inevitably so, We herd along, too dumb to fight what we refuse to know.
Ignorance, etiquette, silence; rhyme.
herbal healing humans; survive.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
As I close my laptop
and it snaps shut
my dog sits up
ears perked,
chest puffed, and
at the ready for
me to stand up
and grab a leash
and a plastic bag
for his ****
And he knows this routine
because it has been seared
into his brain with the white-hot
branding iron
of repetition.
A force of nature.
A category-five hurricane.
We laugh at them
for chasing their tails
when the microwave dings,
for salivating at bells,
but
I am no better than they are.
The same routines
are seared into my brain, too—
stimulus, response
stimulus, response
eat, sleep, **** walk, ****
love, reproduce, etc.
and I will continue to do so
aimlessly
just like Ivan Pavlov said I would.
One day I’ll find myself
like he’ll find himself—
lying on a cold slab
in a sterile room
only half alive
aghast at how quickly youth slipped away
but otherwise numb
as loved ones circle around,
hands over their mouths,
horrified
to press the button.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
The glass of wine spins on sins
Encircling the royal roulette
All rotating on a hamster wheel
Pinned on canvas and illusional walls
So tiny in errors and unbalanced books
Unaccounted annotated distributions
Twisting hands on colluded coils
Deeper projections from the heart
An eruption of the social notions
Extracted on the paradise of life
For no truth echoes authenticity
Eccentrically finding a lived reality
Plato symposiums and simulacrums
Pavlov trails of social conditioning
Sampled in tented objectifications
Functioning within the invisible rules
We sniffle as we expose the false actuality
Reactive explosions from robust heat
Unloaded rods dancing under the moon
In our tenderness rejecting the paradigm
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
They were two lovers who were destined to meet,
With a passion so hot you could feel the heat,
Lovers with feelings so hot and so strong,
They could not be contained for very long,
Feeling more from the groin than from the heart,
Nothing on Earth could keep them apart,
Taking their passions incredibly higher,
They burned out of control like wildfire,
She was playful like a little child,
But under the sheets she was wild,
Him, she thought, was ******* great,
No other lover could hope to rate,
On a regular basis these two would meet,
Taking great pains to keep it discreet,
Once they entered that downtown hotel,
It was like Pavlov's dogs at the sound of the bell,
In what was more of a ***** than a loving embrace,
Lips were soon locked as they stood face to face,
While pulling at their clothes until they were torn,
They were soon naked as the day they were born,
Once they were free of shirts and pants,
They began their famous lover's dance,
As they hit the bed they began to ball,
Like two animals hearing nature's call,
As their heated bodies started to mesh,
Soon naked flesh pounded naked flesh,
Grabbing her arms firmly in his grasp,
He worked her so hard she began to gasp,
Grunts and moans were all that was heard,
As neither of the two could utter a word,
Lovers who soared so very high,
They wrote their names upon the sky,
Lovers who heeded the call of the night,
Making hot love with all of their might,
In a blazing moment of sweat and glory,
It was another chapter in a lover's story.
07-02-10.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 12:59 AM UTC
Yesterday I was a school going kid
Always Hungry for knowledge
Always Thirsty for lessons of life
Obediently sitting in a large noisy class
Listening and recording every words preached
Hoping they were stored forever...
Or atleast before the exam day was over
Today I still go to school
Twice a week
with a bunch of happy people
We have fun learning!
embarassing ourselves mostly
In the most intellectual way!!
laughing at ourselves for being silly
Sometimes unsure
whether we are hungry or thirsty
But knowledge is like the sea...
Endless and wide.
Rather ...
We are desperate to digest it all
The ZPD, Scaffolding, Sociocultural and Constructivism?
Hey hey whose theory?
And Skinner, Pavlov, Vygotsky and Chomsky
Hope they are here to tell us a story.
To go or to let go
Hard .. dont you know?
Decided to go with the flow...
Determined that one day
We will stand tall
On that humble stage
Wearing that long pretty robe ...
in our hands a scroll...
There's nothing like having a PHD
With your sweat and tears...
and a whole lot of laughters too....
The feelings?
Of course... unexplainable
The experience?
PRICELESS!!!
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Ex's
I am a part of all of them
even the ones I hate.
Maybe especially the ones I hate.
They are transferred paint
after the fender ******
at the unfortunate intersection
of fate and bad timing.
Not enough damage to make a difference.
Not even enough impression that
you care to be bothered changing your schedule
to repair it.
But every time you leave the house,
and on every lap around the chariot,
you see a trespassing color screaming
of either their bad decision.........or yours.
Sometimes it seems there are more accidents
than pleasant Sunday drives.
I suppose most encounters must be accidents
until we find the uncluttered road to our destiny.
L.E. was life shift
and napkins.
I didn't even know I needed napkins
when I had paper towels in the house.
I Jones for napkins these days.
D.B. was college
and fashion.
Shiny shoes moved her to the soul of my feet.
Now Kiwi polish
smells like foreplay to me.
N.R. was forbidden
and my piano teacher.
I hated practice, she loved to kiss
The oral exam was one of my best finals.
I like tests more than most people today.
J.T. was a cougar
and Tchaikovsky connoisseur.
Maturity was uncovered, along with adult lessons
about carpet knap and fireplaces.
I am Pavlov's dog in the strings of Symphony #6.
L.J. was adventure
and abandon.
She is a grassy carpet over a live train tunnel
in a memory I should regret, but don't.
She is the crossbeam in my permanent smile.
I am an estrogen inspired creation
finding purpose in soft fleshy motivation.
I am who I am
because of their compunctions and compulsions.
They scraped off on me
in the kamikaze journey to fight loneliness.
But in the dive I learned -
grace is humbling when you don't deserve it,
toilet paper has a perfect delivery direction,
I get the right side of the bed,
you shouldn't say anything
you don't want to hear again,
it's my job to take out the trash,
shutting your mouth sooner than you think
is almost always the better choice,
you can never have enough closet space,
and some experiences are so good
that you should never try to repeat them again.
She may be gone forever.
And we may not be able to have
a decent conversation for the rest of our lives.
But God knows
I'll always have napkins.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
Euphoria! Climb, energetic and prostrate yourself!
Walking each graffiti hajj
Bleak signal from an indigo mountaintop.
Iraq memoir remains constant.
You, Pavlov knew,
Coax solitary jazz.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
Deep Mystique in calico coat
Stealthy Strut as if to gloat
*Diamond Eyes
to bend the world to her might
just enough to satisfy
her kitty curiosity*
She's mindful and sharing
playful and daring
by winking and staring,
she puts her prey under her spells,
like Pavlov's dogs to ringing bells.
Be careful if you are guided in to cuddle or to coo
If she decides to change her mind, there's nothing you can do!
A tricky personality and god-like gusto
Never underestimate or you'll say, "Uh-Oh!!"
She's definitely a different breed
Not like all the others
I love my feisty feline,
She's my Cat of many Colors.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
The streets are paved with garbage
and the air is thick with smog.
In a world of repetition,
ring my bell, I'm Pavlov's dog.
The beggars have no hands,
and the soldiers cannot see.
A flag hangs in my prison cell,
in the land of the free.
The children never cry out
and their footsteps never fall.
'Cause we define what's called a life,
and some are just too small.
Politicians map our future
in their picture perfect plan;
a world corrupt by power,
which in turn corrupts the man.
Our morals are immoral,
and our values have no worth.
It's nature versus nurture,
but we've known to lie since birth.
We're taught to love our neighbors,
but in turn neglect our own:
And so our "huddled masses",
huddle desperately alone.
We're serving in the kitchens,
while they're starving in the streets,
somewhere amidst the chaos formed
where sick and striving meets.
Leaders shout, "We have no money!",
from atop their golden hill.
While we, the workers down below,
just spin the workers' wheel.
Our rights are plainly written,
but we don't know how to read;
and so our every breath's abused
by those who choose to lead.
We're warned of other cultures
from our hole deep in the ground,
but if we stood up eye to eye
acceptance might be found.
They said that times were a-changing,
they say that times have CHANGEd.
Yet, still I see the bold outline
of social class arranged.
No hourglass turned sideways.
Time will not reach a halt,
but if we leave this world unchanged
it will be all our fault.
Instead, let's use our actions
like ripples in the sea
to build a world far better than
the one we've seen it be.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 4:53 AM UTC
The army brat has come back
He whistles a whirling tune
And speaks of charms and amulets
He gambles and always wins somehow
You can now tell he's feeling free
Hiding behind witty sarcasm
He couldn't care less
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
The ornament doesn't care much about her appearance
Just about her performance on the playing field
She rides her boards goofy-footed
Always making plans with Mary Jane
Building Rube Goldberg Machines
Cleaning up after Pavlov's dogs
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
They can't get out of their own way
Brushed hair, combed teeth with two different shoes on
Suffering from ADD
But demand perfection
Refuse to bend or break
Don't let them latch on and bring you down with them
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
We're flip-flop-waffle-minded people
Who can't make heads or tails of signs and labels
Who are aware of the bad blood between some
Unintentionally manipulating and deceiving one another
We're on the third pitch, let's not miss it
But even if we do, we look good doing it in style
When we make exclusive appearances
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
-Tommy Johnson
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?
I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?
How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,
or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?
Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.
Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.
Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.
Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.
Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.
Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,
Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.
Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,
And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Under the fists of steel
I wonder
If we’ll flutter
Like butterflies
Trapped under the steel thumb
Of the man who vowed to save us
Like Pavlov’s dog
Would the butterflies
Grow steel wings
Just so that they could survive?
Under the fists of steel
I wonder
If we’ll cower
Like an apprehended child
Afraid
Of a sin we did not commit
Would it be right
To call blind disobedience
Democracy?
A placebo effect
From our fears and doubts
The butterflies,
Despite the burden
Of the additional weight,
See the steel wings
As a cure
Because instead of
The scream-filled halls
We heard silence,
Ordered by the man
Who dared to say he’d save us,
And called it peace
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
He pulls a feather from her bodice
She laughs and turns a coy cheek.
The boa, all but bare, looks ragged.
Like her smile when she's feeling anxious.
She feels the heat of his eyes, feels his intensity.
Her fears belie her desires. She wishes she could see.
See what he sees. See this thing that he calls beautiful.
He seems to look to look right through her skin.
But all she can focus on is the curves and the scars.
The strange shape of her body. The embarrassment.
The awkward turn of her mouth. The knit in her brow.
Her conflicts with pleasure, her repulsion for needing to submit.
The memories that bite at the back of her moans.
The shadows of abuse crawling out of the seams.
Ugly, twisted devils that sought to steal her innocence.
Returning to feed again, to taint the morrows of adulthood.
All of these things color the love she makes.
Tar and feather it. Blacken it with shame.
He senses her discomfort. Internalizes it. Confuses it.
He shrinks back, recoiling from the slap of rejection.
But it isn't him at all. Him, she craves. Salivates for.
But like the ringing of Pavlov's bell, they've built a deeper path.
Men she never knew; Can't even remember. Faces obscured.
Yet she can trace the footprints they've left on her mind.
Tracks set with iron spikes running through the bedrock,
Through the deepest layers of her psyche. Below the surface.
To where thoughts exist without consciousness, without effort.
The symphony of tragedy continues to play on.
She has no words to express this to him.
She can only hope that he senses it.
Senses the murky bubbles of awakening as they arise.
Senses her need for him. Her need for his patience.
Senses her need for silence, for distance and recollection.
Senses her need for his quiet embrace. For understanding
For her troubled state of mind and damaged sense of self.
For a self that she has barely even begun to understand.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
notifications made me really and primitively love the color red >_<
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
I want you to dribble.
I want you to turn
From the matriarch past
To a subject to learn.
I want to state plainly.
I want you to see
What your vain, selfish givings
Have created in me:
Most lustful of torments,
Low pains from my knees,
A pattern for this mind's
Truly bittersweet disease.
Just twelve years of innocence,
Could've thanked you for that,
As you gouged in this monster
Within this boy on his back.
I often search for the key now,
That I might walk from this cell.
But I'm still Pavlov's pup,
With you holding the bell.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
My mouth waters at the thought of you.
Like some ***** in heat,
I am common and lewd.
I long to taste the shell of your ear
And bruise you in your most intimate places.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 1:59 AM UTC
1) It puts the peanut butter on its *****
2) Finna meat sum *******
3) Classical conditioner
4) Pavlov ain't russian in the bathroom
5) He would never steak his reputation upon his looks
6) He met his husband on meatgrindr
7) His creepy uncle
8) Pavlov rools dogs drool
9) He was tired of being confused with Sylvia Plath
10) He needed all the leverage he could get on Skinner
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
One two three four counting tiles on the wall
Do I do it in consciousness or subliminal
After all I put them there! I know how many already
We think the strangest thoughts, daydreams of simply bored
What if Shrodinger had a dog and Pavlov a cat
Would science be different for that?
Did man really walk on the moon or was it a desert soundstage?
Can air brushed looks ever replace a memory of another's face
Do dogs bark because they can? Or are we to thick to understand
I dont know I I don't speak dog or human sometimes for that matter
If I had religion with god I could natter
As I don't and never will I'll count more until I'm done
Five six seven eight
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Take a look at all of you down there
So sure of yourselves
So full of the hustle-bustle of life itself
Never stopping to see what could be
Potentially the greatest things of your lives
Jutting through the stream like hot knives
No all simply let life pass them by
Not seeing all the things
Looking you in the eye
And will watch even when you lie asleep
For the final time
You all think you’re hot ****
All hit and no miss
No questions
All answers
Obsess with self worth
Convinced that you’re dust with a value
Just because a god you’re not even sure exists told you so
When the urge to **** is gone
What’s the difference between you and the dirt you walk on
You all rise and fall like the waves in the oceans
Like a glissando of smoker coughs
New ideas are thrown against the scoffs and scrutiny
Of those obstinate practitioners of organized ignorance
You are the only one who should impose sanction on your life
Not some pretty news anchor
Who nods at the teleprompter with total belief
You all chase after superficiality like a poor animal
At the snap of some fat fingers
Call yourselves Pavlov’s pet
You fattened the hand that feeds you yourselves
Have you met the total of life’s offer
Have you looked at yourself in the mirror
And not seen cheap narcissism winking back
Self-imposed limits are acceptable to live by
A moratorium of thought is not
You have free speech
Now learn free thought
Explain the intricacies of a fast food drive through
To the children of Darfur
Explain how you didn’t want to learn how to finish your schoolwork
To the little girl who can’t afford to buy pencils for hers
She will tell you with chagrin how she aspires to be a writer and a poet
But can’t afford the books to help her help herself
You express yourself by exerting as little effort
While she isn’t able to put in the effort to express herself
It’s the ultimate irony
Religion ceased to be the ****** of the masses
When it got it reached one-million views
You all can ask where do I get off
And I will only smile and tell you how I am just like you
I watch the same TV
Eat the same food
Wear the same clothes
The only difference is you can be different
And by simply choosing to do so or not is a step in the right direction
You are your own Atlas
Carry your own world
Anyone else is just liable to drop it
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC