"powell" poems
Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes
The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war
I should’ve known
When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different”
Not because he’s insecure
or
because he doesn’t know trust
or
because he’s trying to assert control
I should’ve known
When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing”
Not because he doesn’t know foreplay
(side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay)
or
because he doesn’t actually turn me on
or
because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet
I should’ve known
When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7”
Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair
and humans inside her
and ideas
and opinions
and strength
and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of
I should’ve known
When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is”
Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself
or
because his only ****** education ended with a .com
or
because no one has ever expected more of him
I should’ve known when he said
“What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible”
Not “inside my soul”
or
“inside my thoughts”
or
“inside my memories”
or
“inside an intimacy he will never know”
I should’ve known when he said
“Let me show you how Rachel did it”
Not “this is how I like it”
or
“can we try this?”
or
“opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you”
I should’ve known when
He spit on my ****** the universal sign for disrespect
Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks
Like my ****** is your spittoon,
am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting?
these things matter
Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow
Swallow our reactions
Swallow our feelings
Swallow our voices
Swallow his releases
Swallow his spit
Swallow us whole
When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle
This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised
Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself
You can lose every battle and still win the war
11/28/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
21st century slavery: Shayn Powell
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything looks fine,
People striding in glee?
Look hard for it may
Be a mystery,
That we’re living through
21st century slavery.
We claim these are
The lands of the free.
It’s a fib, that’s not at
All what it seems.
Because if it were
the land of the free
than Martin Luther King may
never have had his dream.
There wouldn’t have
Been a march for
Freedom in 1963.
And Mr King wouldn’t
Have lost his life
For standing up in
What everyone
Should've believed.
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything looks fine,
People striding in glee?
Look hard for it may
Be a mystery,
That were living through
21st century slavery.
America, “land of the free”
Were fine we claim,
living in prosperity.
“Everyone’s equal”,
You’ve heard it too, How silly
Don’t you agree?
My best friend
Rolled his window up
when he saw a policeman.
It’s sad, But this is the
reality we live in.
“We’re equal” but we
Strip kids from their dreams
Because they were brought here
Against their will illegally.
Have some leniency,
Then again you’re
changing their scenery.
How can you do that
So easily?
And what’s this ****
we learned in history?
Jim Crow laws?
Thank god those are gone.
Or so we thought
You’re not sneaky America,
Mass incarceration is
Nothing but a plot
For a group of minorities
To be 2nd class citizens
To us all.
That’s evil that should leave
everyone appalled.
It’s time for a call
For action.
All this arrogance
Has left us distracted
From what our nation
claims to practice.
Because
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything’s NOT fine,
People AREN'T striding in glee.
Really look for it’s
Not hard to see
That were living through
21st century slavery.
Yours truly,
That worried white kid
Who lives in a society
That’s unruly.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.
The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.
Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.
Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
I am from vivid dreams.
I am from fire
licking and consuming
the darkness.
I am from a wild imagination
and a logical consciousness.
I am from the Mississippi River,
moonlight glinting off my cat's eyes,
and paint on paper.
I am from the shattered shadows
of leaves rustling in the wind
on a brisk, early July morning.
I am from
BOO! and AHH!
in ****** ****** voices,
the way flashlight beams dim
as we use them for Morse Code
throughout the endless summer nights.
I am from jumping
in the dark
off our houseboat
into the void of black
that you would call Lake Powell
companioned only by the Milky Way.
I am from glow sticks
and silence.
I am from cracked rainbows
and shattered windows.
I am from lifeless wishes
and broken promises.
I am from baby turtles
making their way to the sea.
I am from moths
breaking free of the cocoon
that has held them prisoner
for oh so long.
I am from rippling stars ringing outward
on the surface of a crystal puddle
after a tear has fallen,
not from my eyes,
but from my soul,
eternally lost.
I am from outer space,
galaxies beyond imagination
so drown me in a heavy dose of fantasy.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
My friend and I have names for each other when we need to channel our inner divas. Mine is Beyonce Pad Thai.
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t care what you think because she’s too busy caring about what she thinks!
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t put up with your **** because **** is literally digested waste and she demands undigested life. The life you use to the fullest without any waste!
Beyonce Pad Thai has goals you didn’t even know were possible. She knows they’re possible because she writes them down every. single. day. She works towards them every. single. day. and the universe gives her exactly what she asks for.
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t take offense to your words because she knows words come out of us and therefore they live in us and when we exhale them they’re more about us than the person they hit on the way out.
Beyonce Pad Thai is so awesome and fun she knows time spent with her is a gift. When she gives you that gift and your lack of appreciation is apparent she has no problem taking it away and giving that gift to others.
Beyonce Pad Thai is done talking about you now. She wants to find herself, in the crack of a newly opened book, in the b flat of a new flute song, in the sizzling sounds of a new recipe, in the times new roman of a dream job offer, in the middle of a twirl during her new favorite song, in the new comfort outside her comfort zone.
10/22/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Long Night Full Moon
You only watch the news to find out
where the fires are burning, which way
the wind is blowing, and whether
it will rain. Forecast ahead but first:
A mother’s boy laid out
in the street for hours.
These facts don’t wash away.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
What I am, I don’t know.
What I do know, however, is what you are.
My eyes have traveled over your person for hours, and I have studied your intellect.
I observe, I don’t make conclusions –
for that would be a sabotaged investigation of the potentiality of your existence.
The ‘you’ I speak of is nobody at all really,
it is the world around me in all of its embodiment.
I soak in the culture as I live amidst the chaos,
and my mind becomes oversaturated with sensation.
In San Francisco, yes, San Francisco, the sweet smell of diversity,
the push of movement walking up Powell Street and the creak
of the old elevator in Rasputin Music.
On top of a hill in Indian valley, a moment of freedom –
the air and I, we hold hands.
The wind and I, we run along picking daisies off their stems
until only the unwanted ones are left standing.
In the middle of a crowd in Golden Gate Park, waiting for the band to appear onstage;
I don’t know his name or hers, but they are very close to me.
Sitting here, on my bed,
flipping pages and pages as books progress;
if only my own storyline were half as intriguing.
Way up here in the air, this plane’s motion makes me tremble.
Occasionally I am distracted by the beauty of what’s outside the tiny window,
and the feeling of omnipresence I attain pushes past my anxiety;
the world is below me and I am defying its weight.
In precalculus class, I reach a strange state of tranquility;
I can finally revert to the robotic motion of pencil and calculator,
a momentary lapse from the stress of the day, and the world.
All in all and end in end,
poems are poems but it mostly depends,
everything is contingent,
and it’s all ambiguous of course.
That may be description of the world – or rather, one of myself.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
Barack Obama, first US President of African origin.
Langston Hughes, earliest innovators of then-new literary jazz
poetry.
Angela Davis, African American political activist, and author
Coretta Scott King, author, activist, and civil rights leader
Katherine Johnson, African-American mathematician
Anita Baker, African American singer-songwriter
Muhammed Ali, African American professional boxer and activist
Erykah Badu, African American singer-songwriter activist
Rosa Parks, the mother of the freedom movement and civil rights
Ida B Wells, African-American journalist and feminist
Colin Powell, statesman and retired four-star general in US Army
Al Sharpton, civil rights activist and Baptist minister
Nelson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary
political leader
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
I stood before the town folk, who were all revved up, in gear,
" I'm laying claim to 'Yonder Road', which leads to my lot there".
And as I spoke, I found my voice~ "And I, G Clair, it is my choice
to take it back" and dared the few, who looked me in the eye, and knew
they'd met their match but here's the catch,
I took it straight, right down the hatch...
The road's not mine to take.
"We must decline. It's on the line, the Powell Township County Line"
~So half of it is theirs to sell? And so I'm thinking "What the hell?"
I never planned to buy the land, which leads up to my pile of sand,
and half a road? That's just a load of cock-a-mamey crap and toad!
Not one spoke on my behalf, that half-a-road was just a laugh,
but secretly I knew their game, to share the road, and to their shame,
I'd have to buy the township out, if private is, what it's about.
And so I kept my peace of mind. "I'll pay for Yonder, rob me blind!"
"And all in favor, just say 'Aye'" The room went silent. Then a cry~
from down behind the furthest row, an "Aye" and then the rest in tow
and everyone you would have thought, would die before the road was bought
and on that day, the vote was wrought, and ALL for one road to my lot.
the road was mine to take!
And as I drove on down my road, I wondered, if it ever snowed,
if they'd still plow a private road, or leave it to the one who owed
the price of owning graveled lane, which cut in two, by grassy mane
and wondered if I'd have to mow the place which pulled like undertow~
which drew the settlers through the plain, where nothing grows in fitful rain
yet wagons, traveling there in vain, would lose a wheel, and what a pain
and one last thought to keep me sane:
Those drivers who had lots to gain
whose hearts were heavy, just the same
from weary rolling over rocks
in untilled pastures, void of flocks
who held the reigns in calloused hands
and prayed while sweat dripped from their glands
to make it to their promised lands,
would LOVE... a road... like mine.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
He spoke about Mike far from the Jackson but more like the color Brown.
As if whites love to see white since the lightest part of his body was in the air before his demise.
I think you should cut that dread off you know the one for Mike Brown since you weren't there. Far from a activist I honestly don't give a **** Far from an activist you're just adding fuel to extinguishing flames. You know how words spread like aids. People saw what they saw, so they say. You're no Martin you're no Malcom you're more like Powell.
This is when I knew I was a racist since all lives don't matter so you say.
If I was to die today in the hands of a white man. You wouldn't care since I'm light right.
Spanish boy on the mic.
Like if my daddy wasn't black as Wesley Snipes. But you know how the ***** daddy story goes.
Never home.
Left mama with a belly on her own.
They don't want to be the fathers but sure in hell they want to hit the daughters.
I prayed one day you'll walk through that door without the bottle. That's my only memory.
A dream.
So if I was to die today you wouldn't care or maybe for half
I mean my dad left me slung
Guess that changes the fact the left me hug like a pair Jays on the electrical line
Never to come by.
Never to teach how to ride a bike.
Never to teach me how to fight.
This is when I knew I was a racist.
Because I hate people, I hate crowded places.
I hate 34th street I hate 42nd.
I hate the city life
I should be somewhere in the country side.
But back to the matter tell me would you care if I die today in the hands of a white man.
What if I got killed by my enemy since minority violence is not a hate crime to society.
You see Tito got popped by Jahim
And Jahim lights went off in the middle of the night by Piddy
But these life's don't matter right
Is just minority violence
Is not the same media feed.
So for all you rappers, poets and activist whose saw Mikes hands up round of applause.
You're just like the media feeding in to what your eyes didn't see.
Is not about the truth anymore ******* but the ratings.
So to the special guest of honor poet I must tell you I'm a racist
I have 6 dead Spanish friends killed by all hands
Black, white and of time
Don't speak to me about justice
This wasn't Gardner or Bell
And if there's beef let me know I always keep a glock close.
My life won't matter to you like to yours won't matter to me.
But if that's what makes me a racist,
Mother ****** what are you?
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
On the eve of whatever day it was, I awoke with the thought of sand jazzing its way through me like a joggers rush of blood to the head. Not a lot of fun, but fun enough to smile at the prospect of a working vehicle now clamouring its way seamlessly into my life and out through the front door to shake the post-mans hand and ask him his name for a Friday drink session because he's more than a postman, he's Michael Thurney Barnet of 5864 Quesnel Street, Powell River, BC, V8A 6H5.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
To everyone who's lost someone they love
Long before it was their time
You feel like the days you had were not enough
When you said goodbye
And to all of the people with burdens and pains
Keeping you back from your life
You believe that there's nothing and there is no one
Who can make it right
[Chorus]
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
Love for the broken heart
There is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, Cry out to Jesus
For the marriage that's struggling just to hang on
They lost all of their faith in love
They've done all they can to make it right again
Still it's not enough
For the ones who can't break the addictions and chains
You try to give up but you come back again
Just remember that you're not alone in your shame
And your suffering
When your lonely
And it feels like the whole world is falling on you
You just reach out, you just cry out to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
To the widow who struggles with being alone
Wiping the tears from her eyes
For the children around the world without a home
Say a prayer tonight
Songwriters: MAC POWELL, MARK LEE, BRAD AVERY, TAI ANDERSON, DAVID CARR
© Universal Music Publishing Group
For non-commercial use only.
Data from: LyricFind
.
THIRD DAY LYRICS - Cry Out To Jesus - A-Z Lyrics
www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/thirdday/cryouttojesus.html
Lyrics to "Cry Out To Jesus" song by THIRD DAY: To everyone who's lost someone they love Long before it was their time You feel like the days you...
.
Third Day - Cry Out To Jesus Lyrics | MetroLyrics
www.metrolyrics.com/cry-out-to-jesus-lyrics-third-day
"Cry Out To Jesus" was written by Mac Powell, Mark Lee, Brad Avery, Tai Anderson, David Carr.
I Want To Believe In You · Mr. Put It Down Lyrics · Four Five Seconds
.
Third Day - Cry Out To Jesus lyrics | LyricsMode.com
www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/t/third_day/cry_out_to_jesus.html#!
Cry Out To Jesus - Third Day (2005) To everyone who's lost someone they love Long before it was their time. You feel like the days you had were not enough
.
THIRD DAY - CRY OUT TO JESUS LYRICS
www.songlyrics.com › … › Third Day Lyrics › Miscellaneous Album
Third Day - Cry Out To Jesus Lyrics. To everyone who's lost someone they love Long before it was their time You feel like the days you had were not enough When you ...
.
Videos of lyrics to cry out to jesus
bing.com/videos
4:44
Third Day - Cry Out To Jesus W/Lyrics
YouTube
4:41
Cry Out to Jesus with lyrics
YouTube
4:48
Cry Out to Jesus by Third Day (Lyrics)
YouTube
4:37
Cry Out to Jesus Third Day with Lyrics
YouTube
See more videos of lyrics to cry out to jesus.
Cry Out To Jesus | Third Day
https://www.thirdday.com/music/songs/cry-out-jesus
Cry Out To Jesus. Creed. Songs List. Deny ... Lyrics Appears On These Albums * iTunes Session Listen: * [Live] Listen: * [Live in Mobile, AL] Listen: Listen: Single ...
.
Cry Out To Jesus Lyrics - Third Day - LyricsFreak.com
www.lyricsfreak.com › Third Day
Lyrics to Cry Out To Jesus by Third Day: To everyone who's lost someone they love / Long before it was their time / You feel like the days
.
CRY OUT TO JESUS Lyrics - THIRD DAY - eLyrics.net
www.elyrics.net › T › Third Day Lyrics
Rating: 8.7/10 ·
9 ratings
Third Day Cry Out To Jesus lyrics & video : To everyone who's lost someone they love Long before it was their time You feel like the days you had were not enough
THIS BELONGS TO THIRD DAY THE BAND
.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Today, I met a man.
Ive known him for over 5 years now.
But today I met a different man
That really is the same.
Same in the way ive seen him walk,
Heard him talk…
But different in my sight of him.
Because now,
Ive really heard him,
Feel like I know him
Just a little better.
Know I will never know the whole story,
The complete man.
But thankful to get a snippet,
A shard, a piece
Of the years and stories he holds.
Listening intently to only a few of his memories.
He sang in front of and in the audience of
The Vienna boys choir.
He sang at the berlin wall.
Captain of the football team.
Met Bill Clinton and Colin Powell
And had cigars with them.
Loves his two children
Has a heart bigger than most peoples.
Treating us to dinner
We sit and listen
To tiny pieces of an amazing person,
A life filled with travels, love, and hardship.
This man that I already know,
I met him again today.
2/13/10
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:55 PM UTC
I’m sick of fuckboys saying they’re messed up themselves so they always mess up themselves while messing with myself.
Hold your hands out while I lay down the most vulnerable parts of me. The parts I keep like presents labeled “do not open until this date”.
Like an excited child you rip open the wrapping paper like finger nails across my skin and I get a taste of the pain you’re about to give to me.
Next, you tear open the box. This box! that contains the most vulnerable parts of me. I feel my heart ripping open. The cracking of the cardboard mimics the cracking of my ribs over my pounding heart.
You look down into my vulnerable parts as I hold my breath.
“Wow...thanks….you shouldn’t have”
You speak the truth about one thing. I shouldn’t have.
You look around and say “I forgot to get you anything”
I think “it’s the thought that counts” but the problem is counting your thoughts only takes one hand.
One hand that I use to take my box back until I can lay it down in front of someone that looks down, smiles and says
“I got you the same thing”
8/18/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
to those that I've known
to those that I've never met
your always remembered
and never forgotten
one day when my bones turn to ash
and when my spirit has left this world
may we drink a pint and remember
all that we given to protect
may we toast to freedom
and the lives we saved
while the world remembers
that we made the sacrifice
we went like warriors til
the very ****** end
fighting til our strength
sapped from our bones
but our love for our country
endures beyond what we've left
Rick Madsen - 09/03/08
Brandon Silk - 06/21/10
Josh Powell - 09/21/10
May you fly on the wings of angels
and dine with the best of men
Always Remembered Never Forgotten
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 12:13 AM UTC
I have stood in a thousand formations
and beared witness to the greatest men
who've recieved the greatest honors
I have stood in few formations
where i have cried
tears for my fallen brothers
I have stood at attention
as the casket was loaded
and away they flew
I have flown the heroes
no longer here
and cried every minute
I have rendered a million salutes
but the ones i remember
are for the fallen
With flag draped casket
etched upon my memory
never to see another golden sunset
Lost but never forgotten
the heroes, my brothers, my comrades
for as i breathe you'll never be forgotten
Rest In Peace
Shadow Brethren
SSG Powell And Sgt Silk
May you sleep with angels
on the wings of doves
to the pearly gates at ST. Peters Steps
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
I’m afraid of ghosts...but not the kind you’re thinking of.
I’m afraid of the kind that haunts you.
The kind you left in past mistakes.
Mistakes that find reincarnation in my words.
I tread lightly or even back track when you hint that my words echo a past ghost I know nothing of.
I fear being part of your cemetery, where I’ve seen you tend the graves with regret and remorse.
I fear being one of your ghosts.
How do I change my words so they stop reminding you of someone else’s mouth?
Maybe we should make up a new language together because the language of love has hurt you.
It’s hurt you so many times that you’re afraid to speak it to me. I only hear whispers of it, late at night after the sips take away the transparent ghosts and leave me with transparent you, I hold my breath, hoping the ghosts cannot hear us.
Let me be your exorcist. Trust me with my words and feel them as if you’ve never heard them before. Lean into me because, unlike these ghosts….
I am real
I am now and
I am steady.
Amanda Powell
June 30th 2017
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
maybe you are sad
because your hair is so long and
that’s where sorrow lives,
sleeping sickly and close to your ear
if i could i’d put you on my shoulders
and carry you to the edge of lake powell
in arizona and say look, alea
there is beauty beyond ourselves
and to us it will always remain indifferent
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Strangers packed into the subway
through the guts of the city
they ride thigh to thigh, eyes velcroed on
thick lamplight, flash mobs drowning
the stop at Powell Station.
It’s not only night but the inside
of a piston badly lit
and always leaving someone short-changed.
River of yellow between
the platform and the train
makes everyone take sides
and rearrange. Girls who had wandered
off, stayed stationed on knobby-kneed pylons,
holding their skirts to the wind
to anyone who’d take them.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 11:48 AM UTC
The institutionalized Racism in America and inequality
is not something by chance.
When there can be persecution for
Something as Spiritual Dance.
There is a bit of unspoken truth,
one that I don't expect you to understand.
There's all evidence, there's all proof.
But no mater the devastation, we stand.
Let me take you back to a time,
to a land where proud Nations stood.
The loss of our land,
Culture is nothing short of a crime.
Our Grief and our passion is often... Misunderstood.
Walking on a trail of broken treaties
our feet bled and our hearts cried.
As they march on indifferently
while our Women and Children died.
We break away from the systems
that we're mean to divide,
reawaken the truth we all keep inside.
But no matter the destruction and devastation,
from the ashes, like a Phoenix we rise.
So my friend, regardless of the poverty within the reservation
It still will not silence our Strong Warrior's cries.
- S. Busick, R. Kayton, B. Powell, E. Sibley, 119
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
What is one death out of Fifty eight thousand?
One house full of weeping in a divided land?
Examine, minutely, the loss of one solider,
one single example of so many last stands.
His sisters hair, now streaked with grey,
She lights a candle in a church
in memory of that fatal day
when her brother's airplane fell to earth.
Freedom's sacrifice paid in blood
by lance Corporal Ronald Powell.
It was an August day like this,
but far away and long ago.
Remember.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
When people call me fun sized I don't know what to say.
Like if I was another size the fun would go away?
Some of my friends call me Nano, meaning very very small
A name I got in middle school and actually don’t mind at all
But this is because I own it and find it quite original
Unlike the normal comments that really aren’t forgivable
They say good things come in small packages but how can I know that’s true
When the world is full of big macs, and supersized taboos
Small things are always quiet, in corners or on display
I don’t want that fate for me, I’d rather be in the way
Making change is hard to do when adorable is your namesake
I’m activating feminist mode and trying to make an earthquake
No I don’t want to be your armrest, yes I’m tall enough for that ride
I’ll kick your *** at limbo, just watch me and abide
I used to wear high heels, to fit in with the crowd
Until a friend my size told me to embrace it and be proud
Now I wear flat shoes and am comfortable all the time
So when I’m kicking *** I can pivot on a dime
Sometimes my legs are tired from the height I’m trying to personify
So if you ask if I want a piggy back…that’s actually one thing I won’t deny
I like seeing it from your point of view even if it’s jaded
I do wish you could see it from mine though and find why my ideals have faded
“You’re cute when you're angry” they say, just like it's a compliment
But how would you feel if your emotions were reduced to words that aren't dominant?
When you grow up in a world where cute is your middle name
You don’t trust the ones that call you beautiful but who really is to blame?
Let alone if you ever hear **** being said in your direction
Have you ever heard of a man getting a cute ********
I’m ready for a shift and I can feel it in my bones
They’re aching to dance a new routine, with Beyonce in my headphones
Maybe that means they’re catching up, it’s about time for my growth spurt
After a life of half pint, shrimp and short stuff, watch as I convert
12/01/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
She will kiss in public while she’s young enough,
old enough, in love, or bored enough,
without any damns or ***** to give you.
Her hips move at a cant, leaning eager
like the legs of new-limbed lambs.
She waves them on
with twin fingered salutes,
all for a moment,
of ****** hands, tilted necks,
for heels popping off the floor
in rejection of restraint.
So watch.
Drop your jaws
and shove your sweat-lined hands
deep in your lint-filled pockets
while she pours her endorphin soaked joy
into that boy's mouth
surrounded on all sides by Technicolor
sweetness wrapped and bottled,
anticipating its own undoing.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
Must Be Donald
(sung to “Must Be Santa)
Who's comb-over looks like *****
Donald's comb-over looks like *****
Who scared us witless on election night?
Donald scared us witless on election night.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump
Who's got a tie that's long and red?
The Don has a tie that's long and red?
Who pays hookers to *** on beds?
The Don pays hookers to *** on beds.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got hands tiny and slight?
The Don has hands tiny and slight.
Who spews lies out day and night?
The Don spews lies out day and night.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got a vocab small and trite?
The Don has a vocab small and trite.
Who whines Fake News out of spite?
The Don whines Fake News out of spite.
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD?
The Don likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD.
Who likes a spanking when he's bad?
The Don likes a spanking when he's bad.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
How many minions leave today?
So many so far went their way.
Kelly, Ellis, Powell and McEnany,
Meadows, Hall and soon Giuliani.
Leave today. Gone their way.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Dec 11, 2023
Dec 11, 2023 at 9:21 AM UTC