"percentages" poems
I always wondered why people judged others for their sexuality. Shouldn't love be just the words like "love is love". People should be able to express themselves thru words and actions. Sexuality is something others take for granted or even advantage of. If a guy comes out gay woman usually always say "the pretty boys are always the gay ones" or how men always come up to woman who are lesbian say "I can turn that girl straight in just one night". Or even hearing still to this day people are protesting on the street against gays and gay marriage. Today's society rather care bout brands, religion, race, and someone's sexuality rather than someone's cultural background and getting to know someone deep within. Teens who hide in the closet due to their families being against their sons or daughters for being gay become suicidal and the suicide percentages go up. People take deaths more serious than those who are a live and trying to make some of their selves. Rumors that are spread round by high school students bout someone's sexuality turns into harmful beatings, but the school system is too into themselves and care bout their job title rather than to take care of harassment and bullying. Celebrities who hide their sexuality then later come out are the talk of the town, then there is always that one person from paparazzi who screws with the news headline and puts lies into everyone in society and everyone believes what they see rather than to think outside the box that not everything they see online or TV is true. Parents who are gay are looked upon as to "who wears the pants" in the relationship, or "whose top", or even whose the "daddy or the mommy". Then the children who have gay parents become victims and are always assumed they are also gay too or just not normal in today's society. A lot of countries for example Russia abuses their laws against gays and soon enough fights and killings close to murders happen every minute of every second of every day. Even presidents in a lot of states and countries are against gays and try to pass laws made by the government which by then a lot more people hide behind closets. The world is more ******* up than people may think, if we just stick together and except people as they are then there would be equality.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
The imaginers of now were children once,
each day they each imagined tomorrow.
Their daddies had just won the war
happy days were really here again, this time.
---
Now, we see what we see, it's not what we saw.
And this is better than I imagined.
My first oral book report was on 1984, in 1962.
Percentages and stats, the odds,
out of 8 billion…
I carry my weight, saltwise,
I'm light, too. Immaterial in fact.
I watched the internet take form
before my very eyes,
magi technic never seen since Darius the Mede.
Good job, geeks.
Reared on radio waves your
grandfathers never heard,
your signal receptors from mito-mom,
oh, what a plan. The promised ones.
Many sons.
hmmm 60 cycle white noise in the field,
the field of fields,
Future Farmers of America and stuff
Powers we imagined,
a color TV we could watch
in the backseat for days on Route 66,
a restaurant just for kids
Toys 'r' Us oh, wow,
those came and went
and our Grand kids
are imagining tomorrow,
doin' fine with less of what we thought was cool,
taking for granted all I
accepted as granted, in the "It is Finished"
Golden Parachute
Package deal,
Grace and Peace
that multiplies.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
hi
my name is
littlredwritinghood
and i am working a ****** job
so i can buy
an xbox this summer
so i can maybe smile
before august
what the hell
just trying to
up my chances
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
Bad things happen in clusters
One right after another.
But good things only come one at a time.
It is like a messed up fraction,
Percentages that just cannot compete.
And the bad things linger
just as long as they can...
Grabbing onto your skin,
scraping lines in deep.
Until you can only sink
farther into the dirt.
So why do good things not linger?
Instead, they are like a warm summer breeze.
And you have to shuffle hard
away the crap.
So the good memories have a way to compete
with the mounds and mounds
Of bad.
Because that is the only way to live:
Turn this fraction on its head.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
They used to ****** people that look like I do
They do ****** people that look like I do
They've taken away my freedom and put my mind in a cage
No use to fight the bloodshot eyes
Stained from the tears I cry
Our cries for justice and equality they are trying to hide behind bars
because they know that nobody dares to read between the lines of white lies
They are trying to silence us
Keeping an entire race from the ability to arise
When blackbirds die, why can't we ever hear their screams?
Maybe that's why they never hear our screams,
For black lives to actually matter
Injustice has grabbed us by the hand with a grip that we can barely withstand
We cannot break free from what our skin defines us as
They say be afraid,
I'm just another face in the crowd of a picture of silenced serenity
Because dark skin is really just a picture of crowded statistics and percentages
We stay in the shade because that's the only place we seem to fit in
Maybe that's why we seem to be walking in the dark like zombies
Killed by the sweetness of black suicide , genocide
I'm tired of trying to put my sorrows aside
Our children love to play in the rain
Dark hearts
Dark souls
Dark minds
Seem to come along with having dark skin
The rain finally gives it a companion
Our little boys can finally find a release
Cry the tears they always held back
Because they were taught that real men don’t cry
But the rain
Protects him from criticism
He asks
“If I cry alone,
Will heaven still accept me?”
Let us pray
‘Our father who hide in shadows
Humble be thy name
Thy love will never come
Thy affection is solely done
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
Life is beautiful
they tell the
generation born of
depression and
anxiety.
Life is beautiful
with higher percentages
of suicide than
highschool
drop outs
Life is beautiful
to the “me” generation
called self centered
because of
selfies
Life is beautiful
to the highest
price of living
in American
history
Life is beautiful
to the generation
that romanticizes
death.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
It was the end-of-year exam
to qualify for the prestigious
Top Class at school
and with his paper
spoiled brat Tommy
handed in a $100 note
to his teacher and winked with a whisper:
*“A dollar for each point, Sir;
I know all about percentages”*
The next day the teacher returned
the papers to the students
and marked bold on
spoiled brat Tommy’s paper
was: 40%
And the teacher pointed to a $60 note attached
and he said with a wink and whisper:
*“That’s the change, Tommy -
a dollar a point, yeah”*
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
You swore you'd **** me
if I smoked a cigarette,
but don't you see
they are doing it for you.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Sophisticated creations created in sophistication
Humbly stumble your rocket ship upon us
Show us the ways of wisdom
The gears to greatness
Greetings from above…
Indescribably intuitive taking part of our tuition
Relaxing everybody with your percentages
Because everybody loves your mathematical mysteries mingling with minds mistaking us monitoring the minutes of our total misguidance
You guide us through that too…
Tactically tyrannical, democratically demonizing our demands
Demanding our demons
Because without the demons dictating our lusts as districts for us to be in
You are but a simple voice
Maybe so inhumanly loud and annoying
But incompetent
Powerless…that freaks you out…
Notorious nuzzles nurturing our children
Not so new of an idea
Because were used to getting
Tips of our rights smuggled through the windows you chose to open
Then smile and wave from up there
Because being like us is too mainstream
Becoming like us is an impossibility possible only when you become wood
Stiff wood
Moving around on shoulders
Standing in line on
The borders
Of dirt and human form
Following your followers with flowers on top of you facilitating your families fascinations that yes, youre gonna be alright down under
Flashback to the fudemental moments of your life
And you’ll realize
It’s when you killed the father
Suffocated the mother
Ripped the brother apart
And told the son…hey let me help you
But this is when you die…
If we all **** you in our minds youre dead
And only then…would “up there” be nothing but a shameful figure
Rather than a worshiped emblem of total **********
And only then…would we gain life…
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
Laying here alone in my bed,
writing angsty teen poetry in my head
Because my words are generally misunderstood
and i want to spread,
a positive message
but i think i'm missing something
Now I open my individuality to the world
by writing interchangable verses
left open to interpretation
trying to impress her with my vague themes,
quick wit, and fasination with things
most would find less than semi-interesting
and so what if my self-confidence is tattered,
or if I only have an average sized ego,
contrary to what I'll tell other people
and even if it never makes any difference,
or if I never realize my potential
My chances with women with steadily decline
until I'm rendered undateable
I'll continue to seek solace in drugs
because I've never been partial to things like girls
and the act of reproduction
I embrace inadequacy
Its all the rage;
I'm the ******* cliche
And I lack social grace
All aboard the bandwaggon,
Because all my friends and I
have the same hair
and general outlook on life
Some people have real problems and some have lives,
I don't think I fit into either of those percentages
I'm bound to live without meaning
for the rest of my days
because I've ****** up everything
I've ever felt meant anything
you can see it in my face,
behind this facade I put on
Smile :)
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
we think we’re made of numbers. percentages on tests,
pounds on a scale,
likes on a photo,
price tags on clothes.
but we’re not.
we are made of love and happiness and they way we laugh.
we’re made of good memories and late nights and past-curfews.
we have more substance than numbers.
you’re not what you look like.
you’re the music you listen to,
the shows you watch,
the art you make,
the flowers in your hair,
your favorite blanket.
you’re not the pimple on your nose
or the pudge on your stomach.
You’re not your thighs or your teeth.
you’re the color of your hair,
you’re your favorite band,
you’re the mismatch socks you wear
You’re what you love, you’re not what you look like or the body you are in.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Laying here alone in my bed,
writing angsty teen poetry in my head
Because my words are generally misunderstood
and I want to spread,
a more positive message
but I feel like I'm missing something
Now I open my individuality to the world
by writing interchangeable verses
left open to interpretation
trying to impress her with my vague themes,
quick wit, and fascination with things
most would find less than semi-interesting
and so what if my self-confidence is tattered,
or if I only have an average sized ego,
contrary to what I'll tell other people
and even if it never makes any difference,
or if I never realize my potential
My chances with women with steadily decline
until I'm rendered undateable
I'll continue to seek solace in drugs
because I've never been partial to things like girls
and the act of reproduction
I embrace inadequacy
Its all the rage;
I'm the ******* cliche
And I lack social grace
All aboard the bandwaggon,
Because all my friends and I
have the same hair
and general outlook on life
Some people have real problems and some have lives,
I don't think I fit into either of those percentages
I'm bound to live without meaning
for the rest of my days
because I've ****** up everything
I've ever felt meant anything
you can see it in my face,
behind this facade I put on
Smile :)
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
I was yanked from my childish day dreams,
plunged into a cess-pool of evaluation and judgement
before my 15th birthday.
I have yet to venture outside my own country's borders,
yet to feel unconditional love from eyes unseen,
I can't even cook my own dinner.
They ****** me into the hot seat,
where are you going?
how will you get there?
Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Maybe eating olives on my balcony,
crying over wasted years and broken fingers.
And they tell me
'Study hard, your future depends on it.'
as if my future revolves around
letters on a piece of paper,
teaching me that percentages
and values
define my self-worth.
Subliminal messaging.
Grades before morals.
And now I look at the scale and the digits
line up
three men to be executed
by firing squad.
And I was taught from the age of six
that these numbers represent
my life.
I am numbers
on a scale
on a report card
a g.p.a
a percentage on a test.
Society looks upon me
as a resume.
A collection of fake numbers and symbols
and they decide,
based upon this ****** little game of
calculations,
what life you deserve.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
there are times when it feels that depression thrusts itself upon me
forcing its way into my nose and mouth, down my throat
seeping into every pore of my skin and filling me
more completely than anything else could
until i fear i am more of it
than i am of me
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Come.
Come to one of the greatest country on earth.
Italians came.
English came.
Irish came.
Africans came.
Spanish came.
Hispanics came.
Japaneses and Chinese and host of others came
We an open invitation to others to come.
Immigrates, we all are.
History has pointed out that certain power sectors complains.
Mainly because they can't continue on with their selfish ways.
Certain percentages was started by this group.
Way back in in the decades.
We accept them doing times of wars.
To join our forces and fight our wars.
That's life.
We seen the worst of America, at certain times.
Segregation, is a great case that comes to mind.
We place Asians groups within concentration camps.
And they was legal Americans.
No one group made this country great.
All races has something they know they contributed.
Some of our best scientists came from all races.
Some we read about within the papers.
And it was because of immigration.
As long as their live and dreams.
Let that soul seek America's to achieve those dreams.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Losing your mind
a molecule at a time ?
Or are we just part of the God brain
and maybe part maker
of his omnipotent thought .
Maybe we are partial sums
in a gigantic cosmic particle bank .
Maybe we are residuals
of a burned out atomic sun
on perpetual percentages
ever since we have begun .
We dare to dream dreams
that can never come true .
So we pick up the pieces of our dreams
and say ,"Oh well , reality will have to do ."
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Whats the hype
Whats the truth
I've heard alsorts
I just want to know the score
The bottom line
Why can't science be more clear
Come on stem cells let us know your secrets
With out all the percentages and ifs and buts
a timescale would help
Is your magic for now or the next generation
I wait in hope With my subscription to science
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Here are some facts that you may or may not know:
100% of Guy Clark's albums are great
The dumbest docder there is is smarterer than 100% of all nondocders
100% of black planes are black
98% of teenage girls are annoying
100% of the scenes in Kelly's Heroes are awesome
0% of movies recommended by teenage girls are good
100% of married men have relinquished their freedom
This poem is 100% done
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
So I got caught up in life like so many other stiffs.
So I work two jobs. So I'm
twenty-three. Halfway dead, quarter-way dead -
Percentages and figures surmised by a
fictional statistician in some far off laboratory
wearing a handsome tweed sweater
despite the heat, helping to contain his
paunch.
So doctors have told me beer will **** me.
So they advise that I not indulge in any illegal
substances. We do not debate the validity of law. The
role of fear in today's culture. Hysteria. So I'm on antidepressants.
So I'm a candidate for pharmaceuticals. So I drink when
I can, which is just about every day. So I had a problem in
the past, so I spent a month locked away. So I'm not taking
a class. So I'm just about white. So I share a room with Phil
and a house with five other young men. So I had *** with
a girl I pretty much just met. So my drugs are right next to my bed.
So my urine's ***** So I'm a brother and a son.
So I'm my own man.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
The singing of guitars sends flickering sparks from the ground,
like fireflies, dancing with the tinges of sound,
a beautiful limitless sky unfolded before us,
It could be torn down for them, if they wanted.
Introspection brings silence on public transportation,
because of independent movie scenes that break the outcasts' form,
and so they wear their pea-coats and knit caps,
and paint the picture that they're unique,
when the individuality of an individual cannot be measured through appearance alone,
it is a life-spanning process,
in the choices we make,
and the promises we break,
and the pills that we take,
that erase our memories and turn us into marble statues,
beautiful husks with nothing really inside.
We say that we're profound,
and advanced,
so we take to the ground
without another glance
and shake this rock to its core,
just to find the meaning,
of suburban children,
who spend their lives dreaming,
to prevent rhyme or reason,
cannot be the case,
as across any seasons,
winds will whip your face,
and hold their sting,
as if to say,
“you are the sum of percentages,
dividing the minutes in a day.”,
standing on this precipice,
can we dare to try,
to make real these internal lists,
and bring them in contact with eyes?
The critic a pauper,
The sinner be free,
realization of our appetites,
limitless.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
62%- approximately how often the sky responds
usually it tells me to lay off caffeine
or lay off romance
or to forgive myself, cause 'for chrissakes
no one else will if I can't'
47% is approximately how often the earth becomes
jealous of this lofty exchange
usually muttering entreaties not to forget about it-
that my worries would be farther and few should I
simply sit down from time to time to
baptize my motivations in the good mud.
The sun becomes monosyllabically irate 3% of the time
"Hey. Hey! YOU! HEY!"
Lunar crooning aloes my ears for 9%, there, there, lost one.
98% of the clouds tell me to move
but the percentages are all off,
so I'll **** a finger
raise it to the wind
and let some humour front into
my apprehension, because the weather
tells great jokes, because no matter
how wrong the weatherman is,
there's always at least a 50% chance
of sun.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Numbers on the paper
Fall flat inside my head.
I can't seem to calculate
a single word he said.
Algebra's not much my style.
You cannot write a book
with numbers, fractions, percentages
of which I would want to look.
My father's big on math sense.
His goal to make me see
the greatness of these numbers
which, simply, cannot be.
So sit up in front, if you wish,
I'll take a seat in back.
Hiding behind Big Joe
With a book laid in my hands.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 10:09 PM UTC
Sat on a train
and I gaze along
face after face
of strangers
that all share
this same moment
in time and space
and yet they're
all so vacant,
staring into space
and time bears
no relevance,
cause its the same thing
day in day out,
all of us sat there,
headphones intact
listening to our
own soundtracks
as we make our way
through tunnels
unaware of the tracks sound
as we're shuttled around
and I'm dumbfounded
by how wisdom
is found in the loss of interaction,
sat across a
man in a suit
clocking up percentages
and in a fraction,
I've took stock
and mocked up
a story for him
through his action ,
this one man
of many in this
age of distraction
Until this traction
created by volt-age
comes to a halt
as this train stops
at the station,
my station in sight,
this stationary moment
of insight interrupted
as doors open,
my form plateaus
as I step onto
the platform,
leaving this
train of thought
for another one,
adjourned as
I Journey on.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
I don't know who
the next me will be,
what skin she'll be wearing,
whether she will learn to surf the waves
and not just dip her feet in them.
Will this be the year
she finally looks anxiety in
the eye and says
"You will not stop me?"
Will it be the year she finally
looks suicide in the eye and says
"You will not take me?"
My youth and her youth is slipping away
behind signatures and steering wheels,
behind money and percentages,
but these don't define her or me...
If she'll believe in herself,
throw herself into life's ride
and breathe, then she will be okay,
but if she is the harshest critic,
the most high of all perfectionists,
she might struggle.
I want to tell her that breathing
is the most beautiful thing she could
specialize in during her beautiful existence,
I want to tell her to not be terrified of the night,
and whatever lurks behind her eyelids,
It's just a dream girl, nothing more.
I want to tell her imperfection is beautiful,
I want to tell her to commit so
her life can be wonderful,
I want to tell her she wasn't raised
to howl over anyone,
I want to tell her: let them love you,
and let them leave you,
Let them hold you but
don't ever let them break you.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC