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"profiled" poems
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
0
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
Contentment
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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34
I want the hollow Cheeks. The full, adipose, smooth Lips. The white-boned, Pearls she calls Teeth. I want the bright, clean, Sun bleached Hair. The fine, sharpened, Ready for scratching, Spotless Nails. The refined, sculpted, Long, profiled Nose. I want gold to flake, Off my ageing, porous, dull, Skin. I want the protruding, Famished, angled Bones. I want the pumping, Arrhythmic Heart. The tired, hissing, Tar coated, smoker’s Lungs. The round, fleshy, Cellulite covered *** The motherly, but Childless plump ******* I want the barren, Bleeding, afflicted ****** I want the faint, Wispy, high-pitched, Call that she calls a Voice. The bruised, bulging, Porcelain polished, etched Knuckles. The wide, protruding, Ballooned up, dangling Hips. The numb, heavy, metal Flavored, gum bleeding Mouth. I want the skewed, Backwards, lost Pedals she calls Feet. I want the hearing less, Wax, pus covered, Ears. The lost dull, lifeless Dumbed down, blue Eyes. I want to be her, All of them, and none. I want to be lost, Unwilling, tame, voiceless, Mindless, childless, Sexless, man-less. I want to be her, but I Can’t. I cannot because I am Thought burdened, fat, Violent, screaming, Child laden, broken nosed, Coarse. I cannot because dirt Flakes off my young Skin. Because my heart pumps, Oxygenated blood, At a steady, rhythmic Beat. My voice baritones, Deep, bottomless, Whispers. I sit on flat, concave Muscle. My lungs breathe, Strong, fresh, smog-less Air. Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden Teeth. Dark, musty, greased Hair. I want to be her, But I won’t.
0
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Femininity
I want the hollow Cheeks. The full, adipose, smooth Lips. The white-boned, Pearls she calls Teeth. I want the bright, clean, Sun bleached Hair. The fine, sharpened, Ready for scratching, Spotless Nails. The refined, sculpted, Long, profiled Nose. I want gold to flake, Off my ageing, porous, dull, Skin. I want the protruding, Famished, angled Bones. I want the pumping, Arrhythmic Heart. The tired, hissing, Tar coated, smoker’s Lungs. The round, fleshy, Cellulite covered *** The motherly, but Childless plump ******* I want the barren, Bleeding, afflicted ****** I want the faint, Wispy, high-pitched, Call that she calls a Voice. The bruised, bulging, Porcelain polished, etched Knuckles. The wide, protruding, Ballooned up, dangling Hips. The numb, heavy, metal Flavored, gum bleeding Mouth. I want the skewed, Backwards, lost Pedals she calls Feet. I want the hearing less, Wax, pus covered, Ears. The lost dull, lifeless Dumbed down, blue Eyes. I want to be her, All of them, and none. I want to be lost, Unwilling, tame, voiceless, Mindless, childless, Sexless, man-less. I want to be her, but I Can’t. I cannot because I am Thought burdened, fat, Violent, screaming, Child laden, broken nosed, Coarse. I cannot because dirt Flakes off my young Skin. Because my heart pumps, Oxygenated blood, At a steady, rhythmic Beat. My voice baritones, Deep, bottomless, Whispers. I sit on flat, concave Muscle. My lungs breathe, Strong, fresh, smog-less Air. Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden Teeth. Dark, musty, greased Hair. I want to be her, But I won’t.
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95
a:\>_about_race_ oh, back in civil rights times i would have been right beside you fighting... oh, what the hell you mean? there-s no such thing as racist police, the conversation should be about black-on-black violence... besides if he pulled up his pants he wouldn-t have been profiled then sure, mlk was killed in a suit, but he was speakin' wild, man... oh, and besides, i don-t see race, i have colorblindness... except if a poc gets a job over me, then that-s the only reason why they hired him... why do we talk about racism, it doesn-t exist, for godssake can-t you see we have a black president... oh, please don-t play the race-card, besides no one is more discriminated against than we are... oh, blacks shouldn-t say the n-word, just cuz of how dreadful it sounds oh, since we are best friends can i say 'nigga' now, huh? you won-t let me say it??? that-s discrimination! things are different now, you are no longer in enslavement... catch up with this nation, catch up with the times, this isn-t about race, why don-t you admit it? just because i-m white doesn-t mean i have privilege... i mean open your eyelids, i know blacks never got indentured servitude but for a second, can we focus on the irish? they suffered too, even if they won-t subjected to the same **** kidnapping, mental breakdown to force subjugation, and violence. sure we always ostracized black people but y-all put y-allselves on an island y-all will get more respect if y-all just stop embracing your race, your heritage stop calling yourselves black and african-american, just call yourselves american stop complaining, and just be silent i don-t like talking about race so much controversy surrounds it... you know the only way to stop racism is just don-t talk about it. j:\>_j_c_c_
0
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
about race
a:\>_about_race_ oh, back in civil rights times i would have been right beside you fighting... oh, what the hell you mean? there-s no such thing as racist police, the conversation should be about black-on-black violence... besides if he pulled up his pants he wouldn-t have been profiled then sure, mlk was killed in a suit, but he was speakin' wild, man... oh, and besides, i don-t see race, i have colorblindness... except if a poc gets a job over me, then that-s the only reason why they hired him... why do we talk about racism, it doesn-t exist, for godssake can-t you see we have a black president... oh, please don-t play the race-card, besides no one is more discriminated against than we are... oh, blacks shouldn-t say the n-word, just cuz of how dreadful it sounds oh, since we are best friends can i say 'nigga' now, huh? you won-t let me say it??? that-s discrimination! things are different now, you are no longer in enslavement... catch up with this nation, catch up with the times, this isn-t about race, why don-t you admit it? just because i-m white doesn-t mean i have privilege... i mean open your eyelids, i know blacks never got indentured servitude but for a second, can we focus on the irish? they suffered too, even if they won-t subjected to the same **** kidnapping, mental breakdown to force subjugation, and violence. sure we always ostracized black people but y-all put y-allselves on an island y-all will get more respect if y-all just stop embracing your race, your heritage stop calling yourselves black and african-american, just call yourselves american stop complaining, and just be silent i don-t like talking about race so much controversy surrounds it... you know the only way to stop racism is just don-t talk about it. j:\>_j_c_c_
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64
how Eye make love, this popped into my head tho questioning this quest, what purpose served, unknown... lacking the infatuation to poetry write, the mind retreats to the basics, eye write with no destination, wondering at the wonderment of this basic actionable accolade... sometimes, be the operative word, sometimes cooperative, is the operative... sometimes, is but a it just depends who is the initiate and who possesses the initiative... every story has a different author, ending... sometimes slow, sometimes muy rapido in foreign tongues in foreign places, the only commonality be that wonderment eye wish this not to be explanation, eye wish this to be an explication of the texts of sensual visionaries, imagining the helping to happening, the passageway to and from where the mind begins, the body completes its origination oft I close my Eyes, listening to hers, her eye voices directing me, what will be the course of our course, miss no Michelin starred landscapes, through hers, mine Eyes triumphant... tour guide excellente cannot explain why the temp sometimes solar flares, why the temp sometimes is a glacial expedition, tongue led, from toes to eyelids... always buy tickets for a round trip flight... how is a titillation, begging you to read & expose, there is no how, only sometimes  better, sometimes different... why is a question needs no asking... when when the shape of her profiled neck, reflects shadows of further inquiry, when her décolletage collects me as she and her designer intended... when she laughs uproariously at my piquant, suave and debonair one liners, requiring kissing tickling calming when tears spill when reading a new takeaway poem mine, needy for a tongue to collect that spillway... just being friendly appreciative and thanking where is when the how and the why intersect the intemperate weather of being alone subtle suggests auto recollections now know the how, when, where and the why, my Eyes compose this elegy of memories of past and present...
0
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
how Eye make love, sometimes
how Eye make love, this popped into my head tho questioning this quest, what purpose served, unknown... lacking the infatuation to poetry write, the mind retreats to the basics, eye write with no destination, wondering at the wonderment of this basic actionable accolade... sometimes, be the operative word, sometimes cooperative, is the operative... sometimes, is but a it just depends who is the initiate and who possesses the initiative... every story has a different author, ending... sometimes slow, sometimes muy rapido in foreign tongues in foreign places, the only commonality be that wonderment eye wish this not to be explanation, eye wish this to be an explication of the texts of sensual visionaries, imagining the helping to happening, the passageway to and from where the mind begins, the body completes its origination oft I close my Eyes, listening to hers, her eye voices directing me, what will be the course of our course, miss no Michelin starred landscapes, through hers, mine Eyes triumphant... tour guide excellente cannot explain why the temp sometimes solar flares, why the temp sometimes is a glacial expedition, tongue led, from toes to eyelids... always buy tickets for a round trip flight... how is a titillation, begging you to read & expose, there is no how, only sometimes  better, sometimes different... why is a question needs no asking... when when the shape of her profiled neck, reflects shadows of further inquiry, when her décolletage collects me as she and her designer intended... when she laughs uproariously at my piquant, suave and debonair one liners, requiring kissing tickling calming when tears spill when reading a new takeaway poem mine, needy for a tongue to collect that spillway... just being friendly appreciative and thanking where is when the how and the why intersect the intemperate weather of being alone subtle suggests auto recollections now know the how, when, where and the why, my Eyes compose this elegy of memories of past and present...
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87
Parting my subtle fingers, touching the silky,mellifluous hair Slowly moving beneath, Placing my hand beside , Drawn to your marvelous, profiled, sculpted, jawline Teasing fore play and kisses, Without wasting hesitation, Removing fabrics swinging in rage across the room, Bare back and body, Temperature rising, Top to bottom, As you harden and drenched, Your rugged , tempestuous hands, Throwing a weak influenced temptation, Into a lustful haze, spinning   An imitation on repeat, The heat intoxicating , inflaming the bonds between our desires, Penetrating  our virginity, Throbbing in and outwards, Notion the anguish and agony , Discomforting in moving surfaces, I plead within your name , Carelessly tugging and hanging onto your body, Arms flung around your waist, As you angrily demanded more from me, Ordering  to continue on wards, The obsession grew expectantly, A new form of  infatuation, Thrusting relentlessly, Earsplitting moaning, Sensual whispers, Piercing marks ****** , Licked, A Sign of ownership, Smacking grip below, Letting go uncontrollably, Reaching  into the endearing ****** Seizure, Absolute Bliss.
0
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Relapsing 12:00 am.
Me and the crew riding around in the PT Cruiser. Soda oozin' out the cup like the one of Biggest Loser. Don't let the insults be spiky, like the shell of King Koopa. Goin' back and forth : we in the movie Looper. Be chill like the Buddha. Dude, uh, I think you dropped your burger. Electric surger blew up like the Time Warner merger. The inside of our place on fire ; The officer called us liars. Wanted to throw us in the manor on the Cliff of Briar. Yeah, it's an American Horror Story. Being profiled because of ethnicity, We're Mexican, see, But we're not gonna steal something worth $3.50. Looking at us like monsters of Loch Ness. Yeah, we may come from a pool of cess But you're simply too incredulous To think of a time other than 1955. You can ruin our lives And throw us in jail in the blink of an eye. Don't even need to find A shred of evidence to kick our behind. You feel like we're behind your back Cocking our guns with a slight click-clack. About to shoot them off with a ratatatat While we're caressing our "gang tats". But that's not how it is. You think we all give weapons to kids?
0
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
chicano channel
It's not as special as it sounds. Although the title is exact. I met the creator of the universe In the dusty isle of discount mystery novels. Had I not immediately known it was God I would have profiled him a ****** predator. Late middle aged and unshaven. You're probably wondering but don't ask me. I just knew, and you would to. I asked him if he owned the place. He said no, that he was the manager To this tiny, tucked away bookstore. He appeared to be an unhappy, lonely man. There was a combination of comfort And disappointment in this. "Is there something you want to ask me?" Of course there was. "Why do you do this to all of us?" He examined his fingernails Pushing back his cuticals. I could see the yellow of wax in his ears. "I found myself existing. Just the same way that you did." He started with a sigh. "I didn't understand, and I'm still not sure I do. Why do you live the way you do? I was created and I try to make the best of it just like you. You see, I'm still trying to figure it all out. I fail and I succeed. I like to think I'm getting better."
0
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
I Met God in a Bookstore
The gardenias' Sweet fragrance enveloped the backlit silhouette of You. Profiled diffusely against the Aura of the Eclipsed Moon, Our Gentle Guest. J Eduardo Ramos©
0
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
Eclipse
****** A foggy head is a dangerous situation. Can't think. Always over-think. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. But, the tunnel is long. Or it seems so to me. Old friends seem old. New ones too cynical. Some groups are too loud. No minute to despair. Swear,swear and get back to work! Some groups are too idealistic. Salaries,profiles,de-profiled and other depositions are discussed. I watch them like a TVC, Mindless yet grasping words. Minimum to maximum. Ina flushing of hormones. Some women I meet , they complain about laying low. Office politics, national politics, play Tom and Jerry Show. Each chasing each other. Stuck in a vicious circle. Egg rolls have been had, and I am feeling a wee bit better. But the vinegar-onion, does nothing to my sketchy mind. Its still foggy. But I am patient. I shall be calm. Just like my love Siva. Shall I be the quiet and the dangerous. Or shall I be the butterfly to sit on your nose. And kiss you silently. I shall wait and give the fog some time. I shall stand strong.. A foggy mind shall pass. ******
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
Foggy Head.
did it help? feed a cold starve the child ponder this for a little while feed the addiction starve the child its ok if your belt whips wild feed the economy starve the child another beer for the tab unpiled feed your weakness starve the child of a childhood profiled feed your infamy starve the child of a sober father compiled was it worth it?
0
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
starve.
Under the dead beat sky Collaborations tie us all together Our ideas cross and human gazes overlap Streams flow into tiny veins that cover a certain surface area. Red lights shine on profiled faces in the evening side of the night Trainers shuffle along the uneven ground around town where signs are broken. Cigarette smoke pours out of each corner of this run down station Wrinkled looks despair over the dated flourescent timetables Just waiting for the next train out of town Just waiting for the next train out of town Shove past my nearest man to get to the furthest conception The long path to the nearest understanding of human nature Is muddied with distasteful stories that couldnt hold any kind of weight Among us. Jeremiah in the window of the salon, he puts his makeup on slowly
0
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Jeremiah in the window of the salon, he puts his makeup on slowly.
When I was tagged As a child, That meant I was IT. And that's all-inclusive. Being tagged as an adult Means I'm profiled, And that's a game changer. It's childish.
0
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
Tagged
the earth shook last night sending a tremor through six feet of dirt, wreath and wood to my rotting corpse beneath and I rolled over for 16 months I tried to rest in peace as my spirit wandered restlessly but last night even the stoic palms shuddered in disbelief and I rolled over I was just going home....ma, talking on the phone...ma, when a 'cracker' with a gun shot be down...ma now maggots and fleas are crunching my bones ...ma and the 'cracker' is free??? maybe if I were white like lanza and holmes I'd be left alone, not profiled; given a pass, to commit mass homicides, not take a bullet through the heart for being black!!! I was born in '95 the year 168 died in OKC and 1 million men marched in DC but last night justice exploded in sanford and I rolled over... ~ P
0
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
From the Grave of Trayvon Martin
The best thing about having dark skin is that the scars camouflage themselves, That you don't fit into the pale-skin-dark-clothes-slit-wrists stereotype That you're more likely to be profiled as a criminal than "emo," so no one ever bothers to check anyways. The best thing about having dark skin is that my burns heal, they leave barely noticeable discolorations in my dark skin. That only I can make out the slight change in shade from brown to browner. And maybe you could too, if you squint a little. Maybe, just maybe you'd see the dark brown stripes painted permanently against my even browner wrists. The best part about having dark skin Is that no one checks your wrists, because everyone is too busy looking at your curly hair, your big nose, your big lips. "are you on welfare?" "do you use food stamps?" "do you eat watermelon and kool-aid with a side of fried chicken?" Because no one ever stops to think that black girls would ever think about hurting themselves, too.
0
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Dark Skin
Sunkissed and messy headed Blessed be that fashion sense Her tangled mane is a metaphor, a facet To her mangled brain Not in the cute black-and-white, scrawled notecard manner A carved-out, paper cut of a sheet Crammed in the bottom of her bottle brained backpack Worse than the weekly Chic self-harmed hipbones, She sits and eats and watches the world from the real world clones The blanket's just hot enough to cook her down Reduced to the ruched Jovani gown She's got lists of friends, you have to Scroll down a page It even has to load awhile Then why's your radius clear of anyone? Pixelated fixtures of her mind, too close to miss her Too close to care So close, all they are's aware Minds drone, like bone picking Knowing you're the stick in the mud Warm blood behind a boil, just kicking for Another tab to click in She's been braless awhile now Profiled with purchases levels lapping her current state She pinches skin impatiently, chocolate scouring her teeth It's the bitter taste of something so horribly surface They erase away the beneath.
0
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
The Beneath
the center of my passing moment her face profiled into the corner shadow pale and delightful her beach sand picker outfit gives an upscale look of leisure but her eyes shout her intense inner demons nervous energy dance her fingers on the kitchen table a fine sheen of sweat covers her cleavage which she opens further to cool off oh my.... her wrist sparkles with bands of silver and jewels and makes small metallic sounds as she reaches up to brush away a strand of hair with a swift soft movement that is almost ****** as her perfumed and lithe form leans toward me   as i in one sweeping moment get a glimpse of what it must be like to be in her arms and that intense and absolute beautiful moment in the near presence of this goddess leaves me without the ability to speak for several moments she asks if i am allright and becomes alarmed when i do not respond i manage to assure her i adore women i love being with them i love just being around them they make the world a beautiful place
0
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
universe and temple
Just as a filament Lights up the center of the room/ But on this day, today, her pillows wet/ Soaked as she wept Dry spot silhouette/ Profiled a-side The Valentine's Day mascara Smeared eye, Liner/ Cast shadows dark No remarks yet Her face puzzled When he suggested ways to mend her broken heart, She laid down the law Don't start was her rebuttal/ Him Attracted to her angry face silly ways Her movements of grace/ Even those subtle/ He states we can escape A place just us two/ She replied i'm unable to love and would love too/ No longer black and white Nor night and day/ From four play To fifty shades of grey area in my life/ Despite, he's lustful beyond the physical/ Her scent leaves em in a trance pheromones/ Her flagrant fragrance Goes without saying/ A kinetic ******* Neurotic erotica/ Waves in the air like melodies Humming stuck in your head like an harmonica/ She so attracted by his attraction, he leads on She couldn't help but give him..........?
0
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
The Valentine's Day Mascara
It's crazy how I am posed as a threat to the American society. It's crazy how I fit the description of any crime. Because they profiled me, by my race. Because my pigment depicts the actions and I'm just their next hit. I'm just waiting for the blow to the head that will exploit my brains Scrambling them into pieces on the street. It will reveal what they fear I guess brown pigment signifies a corrupt mind. Mind you, that my homicide will make the world a better place Because there plans are to get rid of the "filth" Now you tell me who's corrupt as they wash their blood stained filthy hands. Don't worry, because these ****** think they're on a mission to save America. The tactics are changed, so don't be fooled the goal is the same as 60 years ago. They fear my intelligence, because before they believed I was completely illiterate But now. They feel fear when they see me Tremble when they hear me speak. My articulation shocked them and left them on their knees, begging.. For their superiority back. They label me as a thief, because that label has been jacked. It's just unbelievable that fear has left my brains shattered on this concrete, But are my black roots too strong for defeat? Do they fear the strength in what they once referred to as a disease? A curse by god, a lifelong flaw, it seems quite odd wait a second...pause I’m an upstanding citizen by the standards of society Though if they see my skin, like Christ three times they’ll deny me Counterfeit Christians and let I not mention the leniency in religion. Let us not stray I’ll get back to the beginning, It seems quite odd they expect us to forget rather than forgive them. Mentally weakening the dreams of the enslaved black beings Sparking wars of race within a race Willie Lynch thought he perfected his methods of slavery But methods of our African ancestors taught us to bend, but never break In a centuries time the change will blow your mind From being chained and put in line, to inspiring culture in ignorant minds. So raise your fist and clench it tight, In hopes my brains don’t meet the concrete tonight
0
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
African Revolution
It's crazy how I am posed as a threat to the American society. It's crazy how I fit the description of any crime. Because they profiled me, by my race. Because my pigment depicts the actions and I'm just their next hit. I'm just waiting for the blow to the head that will exploit my brains Scrambling them into pieces on the street. It will reveal what they fear I guess brown pigment signifies a corrupt mind. Mind you, that my homicide will make the world a better place Because there plans are to get rid of the "filth" Now you tell me who's corrupt as they wash their blood stained filthy hands. Don't worry, because these ****** think they're on a mission to save America. The tactics are changed, so don't be fooled the goal is the same as 60 years ago. They fear my intelligence, because before they believed I was completely illiterate But now. They feel fear when they see me Tremble when they hear me speak. My articulation shocked them and left them on their knees, begging.. For their superiority back. They label me as a thief, because that label has been jacked. It's just unbelievable that fear has left my brains shattered on this concrete, But are my black roots too strong for defeat? Do they fear the strength in what they once referred to as a disease? A curse by god, a lifelong flaw, it seems quite odd wait a second...pause I’m an upstanding citizen by the standards of society Though if they see my skin, like Christ three times they’ll deny me Counterfeit Christians and let I not mention the leniency in religion. Let us not stray I’ll get back to the beginning, It seems quite odd they expect us to forget rather than forgive them. Mentally weakening the dreams of the enslaved black beings Sparking wars of race within a race Willie Lynch thought he perfected his methods of slavery But methods of our African ancestors taught us to bend, but never break In a centuries time the change will blow your mind From being chained and put in line, to inspiring culture in ignorant minds. So raise your fist and clench it tight, In hopes my brains don’t meet the concrete tonight
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35
Bane of gasping gentle breath, Wide eyed searching for car crashed trees, Crying over mountain peaking, Peaking out over life times of achieve, Timid rabbit darting emoticons, That aren't disguised as suits, Emailing faults of profiled skin, Obsoleted by obsessivenessly, Picking at unreachable kills, Wasting away from sunny sleep, While in the background, The TV play that one movie, Where everyone dies, On repeat.
0
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Untitled
What kind of Sin dares Usher in A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay, The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping ~to Control the Spiritual World at his Will & Command? Here's what he imagined: Biblical Bribery. Blasphemous Forgery Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal, To make for a more attractive Appeal Why need such profiled Idoltry? To be Present at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You To be blessed with ears to hear Him To worship At the Alter of Salt A pillar miraculous, To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him. A Scribe Sweats To write furiously away for later reference, Thus Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster **"Scratch That Oops Edit Kindly Repeat Didn't quite catch That Delete Revise Rephrase Two or One spaced per Sheet? The strain hurts my Eyes When can We Break for Feast? Are We Done for the Day?"** Can this be a possiblity Can a misdirected, Unsupervised Scrupulous Individual Not quietly Misquote The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper? The Words We have come to Believe In?? You Tell Me.....
0
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Words from the Scribe
while wedding bells are ringing and love birds are singing, a child is born in london and yet another dies in chicago... gunned down! while coffee is brewing at starbucks and dinner is served at ray's, a child cries in hunger and yet another dies in chicago... gunned down! while mercury is rising in DC and the heat win title #3, a child abused cowers in fear and yet another dies in chicago... gunned down! while the clock ticks on the wall and senators scream down the hall, a child is profiled in sanford and 500 die in chicago gunned down! ~ P (7/21/2013)
0
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
Save Our Children...
By: Cedric McClester I don’t think you actually understand I’m from Bodymore, Murderland Where crime is rampart and has the upper hand And you can be killed upon demand Drugs and bodies are all over the streets But there’s no wire that defeats This sad situation just repeats Among poor people that one meets We’re routinely profiled by the police Who treat us as if we're savage beasts We don’t have justice nor any peace And that’s to say the very least Our lives are very precarious So pardon me if I occasionally cuss Lucky you don’t have to live like us’ We're here today and gone like dust It ain’t easy living on the bottom Name your poisons and you know we got’em Lost a loved one. someone probably shot him The suspected police, I’m glad they caught ‘em Yeah, things have gotten tragically out of hand I’m not kickin’ either dirt or sand I'm just talkin' 'bour Bodymore, Murderland Even though you know that I can Before the riot we were ignored No one cared you can rest assured Now they’re sayin,’ Oh my Lord Even the White House is aboard I guess we had to raise a ruckus To get all eyes focused on us Will they make changes, you know they must They can't expect us to believe and trust © Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.
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May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
BODYMORE, MURDERLAND
Someone once asked me what type of flower I would be, And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a question that choked me. I thought of my petals, and how they've spent so much time closed tight, A result of everything that's served me fright. I thought of the times they've been forcefully ripped open when never allowed access, And for so long I carried around poison and blackness. I thought of the roots that grow beneath my stem, And the times they've so often been burrowed in mayhem. I thought of the bulb that gave me life, And how many times my back was where she buried a knife. I thought of the soil that was meant to be home, And how it was so often overcast in a dark, rainy dome. I thought of all of the gardens I tried to belong in, And how often I tried to wear an artificial skin. Then I began to think of the sunshine and how it's something I wish to atone, Even if it was something I had to do alone. So often by the hand of others and myself, I was trapped within an unrealistic *** on the shelf. I've spent so much time being defiled and profiled, It's now that I realize, I was meant, To be wild.
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Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
Sunflowers can too, sprout in scarce fields
Never ever has anything been so beyond my reach I know less now than I did 15 years ago back when this unspeakable horror          happened still grasping for reasons that elude even the fiber of an understanding who ,what and why reverberates through me on repeat     while sorting dusty piles of pictures                  from a life that seems like a foreign film a naïve version of myself cameo moments captured within assorted snaps your smile profiled many times  over these are the  memories I try to press into my deepest mind instead of  the weight of ashes that buckled my knees in  a sleek Cherry wood        box I gave to your brothers to keep
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Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Cameo