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If I'm always the odd one out
I must follow where everyone goes
Regardless whether I want it or not
Just to keep everyone close
I've been conditioned to learn
From others, to always want more
More friends equates to more love
Be more successful than before
But fame and fortune do not excite me
I relish in private solitude
I'm reshaping my view on difference
As a preference I'm willing to pursue
zebra Oct 2018
stranded in
the beauty of her throat shunted

her preference
a short drop
in a bulwark twisting knot
a hanged ghastly pendent

her feet arching desperately in search of a floor
they will never find

obedient!

yet
her face
a hideous insubordination
she dissolves like tropical butter
a screaming silence
a falling prayer
shuddering
with downward sloping limbs

she
blue
hemorrhaging
eyes wobbled
bulging to break into paradise
tumbling
like a dizzied cyclops
as numb lipped jutting howls
turn cement

always willing to help
he scums
for her
in pulsing heaves
of beatific gush
dark eroticism
****** horror
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
And just like coffee.
Let your aroma tingle and stimulate the smiles of those around.
The best source of touch
Without cream or sugar.
Stir the organic presentation that brings the next minute that much closer.
Whether the preference is a mug or a styrofoam cup.
Remember,
At the end of the day.
Coffee fits into any size container
And brings to life any size smile.
With one quick sip
The senses awake to a new day.
Swirled in unspoken travel sized rule.
It follows,
The beautiful ovation that rushes once poured.
Beautifully represented by your smile.
The tone of your skin.
Your hair naturally at ease.
Stirred by a finger.
Specialism by the majority nodding away,
Yet awaken by your essence.
Soon extracted and brought to life.
Swirling beyond content.
And just like coffee,
I look forward to a cup of you
Valsa George Jul 2018
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
      
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
WAR
WAR is NOT a spiritual preference (except to the insane)
WAR is NOT a spiritual orientation (except to the Merchant of Chaos)
WAR is NOT a spiritual experience (except to those who die)
  
open our eyes together and we will dream
open our fists today and we will build
open our doors tonight and we will sing
open our eyes/fists/doors
  
(close your eyes and never mind
(close your fists and build collateral damage
(close your doors and scream
  
oh no
open our eyes/fists/doors
  
send our prayers to the front lines
send our light to the front lines
send our truth to the front lines
send us
  
and we will build for beauty
and for freedom
and for love
  
send us
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
I had to go and see my Doctor
For I was feeling rather dõwn
He took one look and said to me
You need to go out on The town.

He asked are you a heavy drinker
And do you drink alot of wine
I said whisky is my tipple
My preference every time.

He asked if I drink it often
I replied every single night
He laughed and said don't worry
That's perfectly alright.

He asked me what's my favourite blend
I said the Scottish highland malt
That's what they recommended
So the drinkings not my fault.

He asked do you eat much greasy food
Now that's something I can't deny
He suggested cooking frozen chips
They take less time to fry.

I asked Doctor what's your verdict
Is there anything you can do
He replied go out and have some fun
We are humans and our years are few.

So i am glad that I saw my Doctor
Now I am happy and I'm pleased
So go and see your Doctor
He will put your mind at ease.
I have a blood presure check tommorow
If my blood pressure is the same as last month
It will be a blood test.this poem is my way of dealing
With going to the Doctors.The sad news is my imaginary Doctor
Has taken early retirement, I don't no why.
We lived as the slaves of consequence
For one above all created our life to be transcendent
Fated to live on without a preference
Never know the true meaning of deliverance

In the black and blue we hanged our life
Hoping that someday we will survive
But destiny always forced us to strife
And will not given us any compromise

Everything will turn to be a void
For regret is the one we can't avoid
The answers that we always fought
Are not the things that we truly sought
Tammy M Darby Jan 2018
Ask Germany for they surely know
The tales of Heil ******, death and gray snow
As the blonde Fraulein's with blue eyes
Strolled the avenues inviting and slow.
Delicate flakes kissed the putrid air
  Neath their feet lay the ashes of innocent souls
The ****** winds of approaching war and salvation would blow.

Oh Germany my liebchen
There is no denial
Mitt dear you were patriotically complacent
Turning your eyes away in shame
Pretending you could not face it

Sipping schnaps ignoring and abetting the genocide from afar
In warm cafes that closed its doors tightly shut
Smugly shunning the arm branded gold stars

6 million and counting were blindly lead to slaughter
There was no preference
Only Jews non human
Beneath their feet
It was of little matter.

Cast your eyes to the floor
For my lady you most surely did know
When the smell of fresh death filled your nostrils
Drifting down from tall stacks
  The scent of pungent thick gray snow

Some would feign surprise
Others of course truly were
But those touched by evil
Denied ****** freely committed and known  
Whence sprang the fire source
The smell of charred flesh
Into the sky ablaze the souls arose  
So came the infamous days
Of falling gray snow.

Tammy M. Darby Jan. 17, 2018.
Riz May 2017
our society revolves around a
dogmatic
chauvinistic cult
where men
are not manly if they don’t show preference
for *** and **** attached
to a brainless body

society has
no care for
you
you are inbetween the cracks

you distinguish who you are
in your body
and mind
yet this permanent mask
is pasted onto your face
as you live in fear of violence
of exploitation
and of the darkest shades of humanity

you are a monster
you are a sickness
and undeserving of love

the pigs in society
squeal it into your ear

they wish you weren’t human
as you are unfit for their constraints of love
and you express it in ways that panic them
they are pathetically
scared of you

you are corrupt
you are a disease
and full of hedonistic mistakes

you
are
unethically
different

and change is scary
as with change, their reign
will drop
slowly
from them

do not believe they wish to help you
their crocodile smiles
are **** *******
all over you
...that's if **** could ****

they are wolves dressed as lambs
with an exasperating desire
to detroy you

how dare you threaten the old ways
how dare you threaten
the old ignorance

is it a dark truth
that you will fight your
enitre life
to get your respect?

well **** them
you are a fighter
you always have been

pin your ears closed
to their
bone violating words

be a moon who
cannot be broken
and can control the tides

be a sun
who is bright
and can radiate our lives

you may fight your whole life
and fight for what is your respect

but you will win

you will

win
A response to 'the shocking comments homophobic people have made about those who have died in the Orlando attacks and also those two ******* on sky news that Owen Jones walked out on.'
Steve Page Mar 2
God writes straight with crooked lines.

He zigs and zags out of compassion,
out of recognition of our fragility,
our inability to walk aligned to the sun,
our preference to shun the glare of the bright
and to tolerate that light only from the gloom,
but God makes room to write straight with His crooked lines

and so He completes His story.
The first line is a Portuguese proverb.
See also Genesis 50, Joseph speaking to his brothers who sold him into slavery:
v20 "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives."
LeV3e Nov 2018
I guess I'll just
Try my best to
Play both sides of
This never ending argument cause
I can't resist the  
Temptation when I
Talk to my demons
About what we're really capable of
Deception isn't my
Preference, but still
At this point I'm just
Trying not to resort to something
More destructive since
It's painfully obvious
That we prefer our own
Illusions over the grueling climb
Towards Truth.
Kewayne Wadley Sep 2018
Asking a question does more than fill open space.
It expresses curiosity.
Devolving into things not easily expressed.
Given our availability.
It expresses a deeper need for connection.
Whether we are open to what we desire most.
Closed off to preference.
 The right time of day or night we can de-clutter.
Taking in what we give out.
Asking a question isn't something done out of boredom.
Or merely because your there.
It expresses a thought that requires action.
That I've thought of you.
That there is a desire laid bare.
An anticipation that builds until the next time
I am able to hear your voice.
For the more serious moments require a deeper tone.
An ear that senses deeper need.
Responding to this deep need of connection.
A need of care.
A need of longing.
To respond to this vulnerability not out of responsibility.
But in the openness of being
SilentAce Mar 2015
"What a beautiful ring"
isn't it though
The two kind looking young men smile at her. Genuine.
In their mid twenties she assumes.
"Thank you."
she replies. Twisting the ring absentmindedly
as though she suddenly remembered its presence.

"Who is the lucky man?"
A slow smile spreads across her face
a glimmer in her eyes
But they'll mistake it as a look of love.
They always do.
"No man."

The gold band sits slightly too large on her slender finger.
"Woman?"
She can taste the curiosity in their voice now.
She loves it.
"No, I prefer a more masculine touch."
"So you are not engaged then?"
They ****, eyebrows creased now.
"No. I am not."
She bats her eyes with a smile revealing nothing,
"Promise ring?"
Their eyes burn into hers.
She smirks.
"No. It's a family Heirloom."

"Then why wear it on the ring finger?"
She twists it harder, the sapphire catching light in a halo of crystals.
"General preference, and to keep away unwanted attention."
She lies coolly.  
They laugh lightly, clearly satisfied with her answer and leave.

Truth is she keeps it there as a reminder,
of the family she left behind.
a life of servitude overturned.

She turns back to the bar
"A drink from the man across the room."
She thanks the bartender but ignores the glass
little do they know she is under aged
too mature for her age
a ripe sixteen.

She runs her hand through her hair then turns
She meets the eyes of her pursuer and smiles.
She glows in the neon light.
as does the ring.
His eyes tense but grins and raises his glass in response.
He notices the ring but is evidently not thwarted.
She raises an eyebrow approvingly and smirks.

This is why she wears the ring.
Because try as she might she still undoubtedly hates men.
Their love is unbearable.
And her family is to blame.

She was taught that *** was not meant for women
that no man would wed her.
Lust was a sin
she knows that.

She twists the ring sharply
because despite her hatred, she doesn't want to hurt them,
The ring repels the decent ones and attracts the *******.

She smiles back at the man who could care less about her occupation
or her for that matter.  
He doesn't ask about the ring,
Doesn't even consider her age.
He's perfect.

Their love is unbearable.
but the lust, she can handle that.
She gets satisfaction when she sees the ring, that beautiful sapphire,
on the same hand that has yet to undo a man’s belt.

She wears it, so that no ring will replace it.
Some women wear their hearts on their sleeves.
instead she wears her reminder as to why she never will.
like a big ******* to her past really.
how poetic..

"What's your name?"
His eyes bore into hers.
She knows she can say any name in the world and it won't make a difference.
"Samantha."
and with her truth comes bravery.
"But you can call me Sami."
She takes his glass and sets it to the side.
He looks at her puzzled but amused
She offers no explanation and takes his hand.

Next thing she knows he is pulling her to him
She needed the buzz.
She feels his lips on her neck and knows
This is fine
Her breath hitches.
His lips find hers with an untold urgency.
Her hands shake
and she knows
This is her only solace.
A memoir of the more rowdier nights of my unfortunate youth.
The ring is still worn shamelessly.
Steve Page Jul 2018
When we prefer the narrow gate
And tire of busy highways
We see the Kingdom come

When the master is the servant
And kneels to wash our feet
We see the Kingdom come

When the straggler is given preference
And the first steps to the back
We see the Kingdom come

When we serve the poor, the hungry
And take the stranger in
We see the Kingdom come.

When children are given pride of place
And followed as an example
We see the Kingdom come

When brother and sister are reconciled
While our offering is left to wait
We see the Kingdom come

When the temples are cleared of commerce
And prayer takes it rightful place
We see the Kingdom come

When the Sabbath serves the worshipper
Not the worshipper the Sabbath
We see the Kingdom come

When fragrant extravagance is applauded
And noses put out if joint
We see the Kingdom come

When the Creator's light is lifted up
And the Son is no longer hidden
We see the Kingdom come
An old half finished poem from last year.
"**** all men!" We scream and shout
We want to get our message out
Girls aren't just what society perceives
We take it to the opposite extreme!
Won't let the world dictate us,
But we bully girls who make a fuss
About their hair and clothes and shoes
It's not as if it's what they choose!
If you wear pink and go to the mall,
You're really not a girl at all.
You've become what society told you to be
Even if that's just your personality.
But preference doesn't matter to us,
All we care about is getting riled up
Whenever we see men on the street.
We imagine them to be dead meat.
After all, they told you who to be,
Even though some fight for equity
Don't recognize our own hypocrisy
It's not in our vocabulary
Don't recognize the girls that get oppressed,
But we fight to never wear a dress.
We claim the name of equality for all,
Though truly, we want one *** to fall.
No harm was meant by this poem, it was simply meant as a satirical representation of extreme "feminists" on the Internet who care way too much about killing all men, more so than they do about helping women. I just find it silly how so many of these so-called "activists" are actually doing harm to the human race as a whole by saying such hurtful things. I just don't think it's right to call yourself a feminist and, in turn, a representative of gender equality, if all you care about is making one *** seem superior to the other. So, I composed this poem to poke a little fun at the whole concept.
I would like to reiterate that no hate was meant by my work. I believe in a world in which all genders are accepted as equal members of society, however, there are some people out there who just hinder such a world from becoming a reality. This is a parody of such types of people, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed, and, if you didn't, please call me out of you found something to be offensive so I can improve my content for the future. Thank you.

Next poem: I am currently throwing around a multitude of ideas, but am considering themes, such as nature.
Ruby Nemo Nov 2018
you've stained me like a burn
a sizzling cyst that persists
tainted my perception through gore, imagine
twirling eternity between *******
oh love, how you've lost
and abandoned assuming good sides of me
a scratch unexpected
I never could have guessed it
don't speak, I am only a ghost
altered visuals because of your preference
don't push me, I'm high on the ground
through stammers and handshakes
I'd lose in the end
but honey, worry not for your misaligned friend
in a way, I'd have liked you to stay
so I could disappoint you everyday
that look locked on your face
it's fatal, humiliate
bring divinity into a life so uncommon
and tossed for the sake of desire.
11-03-18
Mary Velarde May 19
A.
So often are women branded
with a scarlet letter
the moment they learn
the definition of the word ‘choice’.
So often is dissent catapulted out of crooked teeth
and whose twisted tongues belong
nowhere close to the temple
that is our bodies
in which we are the god.
The valley of our chest,
ripe with liberty;
a womb like an unmapped terrain
you cannot navigate through
for one cannot simply trudge
a course he knows nothing about.
Our vulnerability is not a curse,
it is our compass;
and your preference versus our worth
makes your jaw grow soft
like how you prefer our nails untainted with red
or our hair longer than short
or our feet glued to the marbled tiles
of the kitchen floor
or laws forged to protect anything
but us —
it looks a lot like silence.

You do not get to weep
for what i choose to lose
in order to not lose myself.
You do not get to dress
your iron fist
with empathy
that is only ever in its loudest,
when it is the emptiest.
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