"senator" poems
[Hashtag]MeToo
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,
the man is the proprietor.
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
[Hashtag]MeToo
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive ***********
All for the sake of the insanity,
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
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Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
High Priest Paul stalks them in the night
He promises forgiveness by the edge of his knife
He never stops to question or hesitates to bite
Believe in him and he will make it right
Scar-Faced Jake doesn't like to wait
He murders Myan time and claws the hands of fate
He bullies his way to the top of the state
He wears a velvet hat and sells you ****** bait
Senator Chris keeps his lovers on a list
A check for every thrill and a line for every kiss
Somewhere, out there, far beyond the bliss
There's kids wondering where their daddy is
Groovy Jungle Jim buries his guitars
Played them like a fiddle in middle country bars
Slept with the lowlifes and wannabe a stars
His voice is the air and his clothes are in the yard
Ali of the Valley sees the starry sky is clear
Reflecting in her eyes like a cosmic mirror
Wondering if the universe looks at us and sneers
While the people on the earth scoff and call her weird
Mr. Priestess Slim puts the bottle on the floor
It's full of whiskey eyes but just a moment more
Someone is rapping on his chamber door
But when he opens it up, he starts a holy war
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
I'm a bit like Brett I like my beer, Senator Feinstein,
Ha. Your name has stein in it,
thats like a beer mug, i dont have blackouts from beer drinking.
It's the lack of that makes me forget.
I don't remember much of this morning.
Went to work got some **** done, I
Don't think I molested any women,
But it's all foggy. I remember going into DG after work. They got 15 packs for 6.95.
Cept I vaguely recall creeping out. They were
Out. Until i found three of them white boxes with red and blue lettering an A
With wings insignia I'd tucked in
A corner of the store behind cases of
Heinekens, out of my league drink,
For just this situation.
******* patriotic
Almost. I think it's doing my part to support this free-market capitalistic
Economy. Like paying taxes.
Better than voting.
So you all can impune Kavanaughs
Character all you want.
I like beer so do he. So.
Back to me.
I couldn't wait for one.
I'd put six in the freezer.
And it had been ten minutes.
I drank it lukewarm.
And my memory came back.
The fog cleared. Oh yeah, his problem
Isn't that he loves beer
Like I do, it's that he was a punk upper class white dude who
Pushed around young girls, laughed while he felt them up,
Thought he was entitled to.
That's over the line, even for Republicans.
You are not like my justice.
I am a justice of peace and integrity.
Go drink beer,
BRETT, JUST NOT ON THE SUPREME COURT.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Tacked tin sheets
promoting brand names
Real local grown food
little meat eaten
our elders thin, bony and fit
Yet birthed another foolish generation
seeded by World Wars
planted by Lend Lease
fuelled by aged forests
we farm, feed, cleave and eat
Greed walks besides naive naivety
slaughtered sheep full of cancer
processing industrial carcase-ed meals
shopaholics fat consumerism
a speeding, partying, dancing waste of ills
Lawyer-ed politicians chain us
whilst stymied party politics deafen us
Money-ed propaganda’s herd us
Local economies destroyed to feed
*National ..European ..Pan European ..Pan Asian ..World Bank ...
Prime Minister ..President ..Minister ..Senator ..Consultant*
Globalisation’s plague of selfish-self-grandiose labels
A generation’s survivors
will despair
as the Ganges runs dry
then die with their children’s children
in an armed-hungry-thirsty tide
.
Apr 23, 2010
Apr 23, 2010 at 3:41 PM UTC
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
When you look at me
Do you look at me as an individual
or a stereotype?
Do you think of me as an independent person with personalities?
Or must I be the same as another because of my skin?
Who am I?
Am I forced to be a patriot of my birth country?
Am I forced to act like my own "kind"?
Who am I?
What must I do to prove?
What must I do to prove myself?
I am patriotic to America.
Not Korea.
I never have and never will.
But will people see me as an American or Korean?
I have lived more than half of my life in my home state Ohio,
but am I an Ohioan?
I want to go to West Point and serve my country.
Do people see that I have no other motives than loyalty?
Or do people see me as a spy?
I want to be an US Senator.
Will I be called the first Korean Senator?
Why can't I be me.
Why can't I choose who to be loyal to?
Why am I destined?
I have loved my country.
But why?
Why?
Please answer me why?
Why do you break my heart America?
You see me as a Korean,
but I never was a Korean.
I am full One-Hundred Percent,
Toby Keith Lovin',
Terrorist Hatin',
Semper Fi Yellin',
Flag Salutin'
Till Death do us part Patriot,
But yet,
You call me a foreigner.
You call me an outsider.
You call me an outcast.
I read US History,
I memorized the Pledge of Allegiance,
I know and love my country from
Jamestown to Now.
At school I am made fun of for being more patriotic than actual citizens.
But yet,
You deny me,
You say you don't know me,
You rejected me.
Why?
I gave my life to you.
Why?
I sacrificed my world to serve you.
Why?
Why do you do this to me?
I beg you!
Please do not look at me as a Korean.
Please do not look at me as an Asian.
Please do not look at me as a Foreigner.
Look at me.
Look at me,
as a Proud American.
I came here to be part of the great Melting ***
I came here for opportunities!
I came here!
I came here!
I am not a Korean.
I am!
A Proud American.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
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-Written approval from any pets.
-On your webcam record yourself singing the phrase "Lemon trigonometry adversely if but ***** carrots digital ******** maps" then publish it. You must get at least 537 views within 12 hours.
-Burn all your socks and mail us the ashes.
-Write to your state representative and senator.
-Make an artesian spaghetti sandwich using whole grain golden moon grown quinoa bread and cage free angel hair pasta noodles cooked al dente in a curry sauce with a whisper of coconut oil on each piece of bread and leave said sandwich out by your front door over night.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Obama jetted
back to Africa
soaring aloft on
gulf stream swank
a posse of
oil company execs
in tow, intent on liberating
Dark Continent
fossil fuels from unjust
underground prisons
American
entrepreneurs
angling to get the
upper hand in the
high stakes global
resource poker game
pulled a big time race card
to trump China’s
full house
On Goree Island,
political paparazzi
popped and clicked
a perfect image
of the neocolonial
white clad President
framed in a doorway filled
with dark shadows and
heinous memory of the
unspeakable horrors
of global trade
leering from
the portal at the
Gate of No Return
Obama welled with
meditative epiphanies
of personal seachange,
and the vicissitudes of life,
pondering his meteoric rise
from a Land of Lincoln
State Senator to
American President
in the span of
one golden
9/11 decade
At a
South African University
Town Hall Summit,
the fist bumpin,
mike droppin Prez
telepromted the
star struck folks with
solemn universal civil rights
pronouncements,
wrapped in the riddle of
the pursuit of peace,
hidden in the enigma of
the reverence for
human dignity
Later in the day
Mr. Obama sat at the
feet of a comatose Mandela;
whispering into his ear
why an Afghan peace
eludes him, why his
drone strikes rain
death upon innocents
and why his democratic
republic defiles
the civil liberties of its
citizens to ransom
a daily diet of fear
But Madiba does not hear
Mr. Obama’s feverish
confessions; his
ears are closed,
he dreams only
of the paradise of
liberation he earned
for his life's hard wages
Music Selection:
Gil Scott Heron
Western Sunrise
Oakland
070213
jbm
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
A bill becomes a law through a process not unlike wet clay curing in the sun, seasonal labor filling the fields in springtime, a drop of sweat absorbed thirstily into a towel, a stain spreading across a tablecloth.
A bill becomes a law eventually, but often, not in time. A bill often fails on the floor, as do some people, as does, just as often,
the attempt to revive them. The attempt looks an awful lot
like a senator's face, energetic and gray and doomed and
looking for any advantage
when the needed advantage is in the ether
and still immaterial until the tenth of February.
I notice the bumper stickers, and I've deputized a Google Alert
to tell me that the popular mass is wakening.
I can also tell when it yawns,
or prods a rib for a pain that wasn't there yesterday.
I can tell when the popular mass has slept funny.
I can tell when it would rather not wake up at all
but the light is streaming in through the window
and the house is full of the sound of the dishwasher.
Pain on both sides, in both ribs, ignored
because sometimes it just happens - pain,
that is - and is a part of getting older,
like how you can't put peppers in your chili anymore
now that they don't grow on this side of the planet,
and there's nobody left to tend them.
I would like somebody to tend me, too,
but the law that sanctions that workforce
is still in committee, and mired in a dispute
about who deserves love.
This one goes out to all of those lying on their kitchen floor
once everyone is out of the house, lifting their legs and placing them on the countertop, listening to their heart ticking
and trying to discover if it reaches everywhere, if they can hear it
in their ankles.
This one goes out to their savings accounts and their kneecaps.
Here's hoping they make it.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
World leaders thunder denunciations
But my dachshund puppy annoys the cats
Bombing planes fly in nuclear drills
But my dachshund puppy just ate a moth
Religious leaders are shredding their files
But my dachshund puppy barfed up that moth
I don’t know if I’ll lose my job next year
But my dachshund puppy got spanked by Queen Cat
The fat boys on the radio yell a lot
But my dachshund puppy is barking mindlessly
My senator says he stands up for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is stealing the cat food
My president seems to play golf for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is napping in the sun
And the cats are quite happy about that
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
I'm a Gungan from the planet Naboo and my name is Jar Jar Binks.
Senator Padme put me in charge once even though I don't even have the ability to think.
George Lucas brought me to life with a computer, I'm a product of CGI.
Because many Star Wars fans find me irritating, they want me to die.
Many people hate everything about me, they hate my voice, my six foot tongue and my orange skin.
Now that the prequels are over, those people are thankful that they'll never have to see me again.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;
like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...
like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...
like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...
like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***
lies
and belligerence...
like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;
I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen
~ P (#Pablo#ls)
(8/14/2013)
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
In Kogelo,
The Sun burns closer to Earth
Challenging native melanin
And the will of villagers
And Zebu herds
To persist...
At dusk,
Obsidian clouds descend
And kerosene lamps flicker
Through open windows
Of handcrafted homes...
There,
The father of a famous senator
Was born...
Transforming her trajectory
From the annals of obscurity
To the front pages of Times...
Soon,
Power lines upstaged the flickering lamp
And street signs were changed
Extolling her new-found fame
As history was made across the Atlantic...
In Kogelo,
Hope thrives in the eyes
Of every student
At Senator Obama Secondary School...
Sourced with native pride
From a White house
On the other side
Of the world.
~ P
(#Kogelo)
3/11/2014
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
In this modern world of seldom proper and overused punctuation
the smallest of them all seems to leave the biggest connotation
the dot, or period, as some would say under the proper observation
has given text-ers and type-ers of this technology driven generation
and easy way to send a message in a short-hand communication
One dot can signify the end of the certain conversation
and three dots can lead one to believe that there will be continuation
Five dots can relay the writer's growing frustration
as he believes the recipient might not've read his brief annotation
and with growing anger at the recepients subtle procrastination
he can send the word 'hello...' as a sign of quizzical agitation
Three dots can be used to signal a reader to use insinuation
as in 'They went into the bedroom and then...(use your imagination)
Professionals use the multiple dots when invoking exaggeration
by skipping parts in a speech to warp the innocent quotation
such as 'The senator voted against the new... school legislation'
We know that dots after every letter are a definite implication
that the word is an acronym, and there's one for every situation
such as O.H. P.O.O. means Overly Happy People Offer Osculations
Yes, the period can be used so freely, with such adaptation
depending on the context, it can symbolize a sigh of exasperation
It is a punctuation so versatile, it has almost no limitation
and more than one of its forms can be found in every publication
I don't hesitate, as you can see, to submit this postulation
flexibility will always be in the period's reputation...
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.
"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.
Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.
The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.
The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.
Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.
Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.
The Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks
Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
Senator Bernie Sanders
has been invited to the Vatican
by the Pope, himself,
and Mr. Sanders
graciously accepted.
I just gotta wonder
"how's that for 'auspicious?'
I mean:
in this Presidential Election
where every other candidate
flaunts their unflinching 'faith'
as a means to woo potential voters,
how perfect
that the belittled underdog
is summoned to meet His Holiness
as the others, without fail,
put their feet in their mouths
and proceed
to valliantly shoot themselves in the foot,
yet the voting populous
doth so seem to revel in the spectacle.
What a show!
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
I'm one of those blessed I know
To get along with my toes
So I took time out in my day
To give them all different names
The big toe I have on the right
I gave him the name of Frank
You may ask the reason why
But frankly it's escaped my mind
The one that's sitting next to him
I went ahead and named him Slim
Skinny is as skinny does
And he's the skinniest of the toes
Then there's the one in the middle
He's the one that loves to wiggle
So he needs a special name
And that is why I call him Dave
The toe that is next in line
Has gotten crooked over time
So I nicknamed him Senator
Which seems to suit him fine
And then there's little Pinky
But doesn't everyone I'm thinking
Try as hard as I might a new name to find
Pinky's the name that comes to mind
Don't you know when it comes to toes
And you have more than one of those
To cut out on the confusion
I gave them all names of my choosing
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
I salute you...the righteous
Giving a straight face to the struggle you must have endured
Hand to forehead
Feet tight together
Eyes focused on yours
As I give you all the praise you need because you fulfill my needs
I paint on the walls of your want to be in solitude
Giving irritable moods to your feelings
I see your pain through the audition you performed through your eyes
Made me realize how much you fought go get here
See I feel your pain
Running for senator just for me cuz you are important in my eyes
You can run my state anytime
Making laws and regulations for me to be yours
Making me realize I can be loved
Touched with your fingers of passion
Giving me long lasting satisfaction
Building and building of pressure for a release of passion
I feed off you
Not as a parasite
This is a symbiotic relationship
We give to each other instead of take
All I wanna do is make you happy
Not leading you in paeanistic rituals but giving you the right cup of punch to drink
No poison
So I salute you righteous
Giving you the straight face followed by my hand to my forehead
I want not only your body but I want your mind
I don't salute the superficial
I don't salute masks
I don't salute a false sense of self
But at the end of the day...with you I see past all that
Comfort zone
Twilight zone
Another universe when it's jus me and you
Our own rules
The po-po won't get us off this type of behavior cuz it's lawful
I continue to try to show you how I feel righteous but I don't think your ready
But as I move further through life it gets harder to hold all this in
Maybe one day you will feel the burden of my love
Matter fact I hope you feel it with every kiss
I stand here with almost perfect posture to view your perfection
Molded and shaped just for me
But righteous will you ever see how much power you posses over me
I try to restrain it
Contain it
Seal it away cuz righteous you aren't mine
So it makes me hold back
I remember all the facts
Can't slip up and call you what I want
So I call you righteous
Salute.....
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
"Democracy is the lesser of all evils."
Says the Liberal.
The Libertarian.
The Corinthian.
The Macedonian.
The Farrier.
The Squire.
The Stoic.
The Astronomer.
The Ornithologist.
The Eschatologist.
The Augur.
The Retiarius.
The Hoplite.
The Centurion.
The Governor.
The General.
The Senator.
The Orator.
The Assassin.
The Emperor.
The Ferryman.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
I've heard people say love doesn't exist,
And by some definitions, maybe it doesn't exist.
But seriously, if you look at it this way,
People take pleasure in making other people happy.
Not all people sure. Some people are wired wrong,
Sadists and homicidal obsessives, actively serve
What I would call hate. Yet they do so with seeming indifference.
But, on average, the joy of giving joy exists, on some form.
Even ego-centric actors and politicians,
Who seem to be driven by selfish goals,
But even they take a measure of pleasure,
When a fan says "Hey I saw you guys in the Meadowlands,
And you rocked, best concert of my life!"
Or,
"Senator Williams, I just wanted to thank you personally
For the kind words you said about my son,
It brought some closure to our loss."
When you have a particular person who you enjoy pleasing,
And who you know enjoys pleasing you,
Well , what do you call that?
Take it a step further, and add the fact, that when that person is hurting
You hurt. Their pain
Becomes yours.
Now, occasional petty jealousy aside,
Isn't it fair to call that feeling something?
Call it love, call it Love, call it Tigger Yum Yum,
Whatever.
But don't deny it exists.
Because I've seen it with my own eyes.
And I believe them before I believe silly lies.
If a monster like me could find that feeling,
And live inside of it...
Anyfuckingbody can.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 5:23 AM UTC
A tough
guy still
his place
relives Spanish
Inquisition and
gossamer upwind
only prorogue
yesterday with
those Oxfords
on shoes,
shirt and
Otis for
trusty returns
easily now
a ghost
ware of
his Aberdeen.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
Dear Elizabeth (Part III.)
I know he did you wrong all those years
As you shed over thirty million tears
All he did was wanting to ****
Taking when and whatever he wanted for the chaotic thrill
His mind living in a fantasy violent filled dreamworld
Killing over thirty-eight plus girls
As he beguiled, with a stealthy smile
The jury should’ve decided to send him to exile
Hurting so many women, children and others on the head
With his velvet crowbar, when police were searching for a unknown man named ‘Ted’
The girls he hurt, never got a chance to be mothers
With Molly never wanting to leave your side
Your perpetual love for Ted had eventually died
Lying, constantly stealing and cheating you never once deserved that
Dealing with the perpetual negative crap
You were his Miss Americana
As he was your Heartbreak Prince
Theodore unknowingly beat and broke a lot of limbs
Right under your nose
Going back and fourth with bodies to Taylor Mountain to dispose
He could be quiet but at times act arrogant
Wishing he could be a governor, senator or president
Unexpectedly turning into a brutal madman
He always had a secret love for Diane
In the back of his mind
With other women on the side
Never once broke his ego or pride
You accurately decided to turn him in
Then regretfully went straight for the gin
Turning your life into a three-sixty tailspin
Theodore got what he deserved
With death row he served
It’s been thirty-two years since he’s vanished
Finally feeling loved and cherished
You’re no longer alone and withdrawn
There are no other men like him, thank God
That Theodore finally deserved what he got, getting caught
Over forty years those events are apart of American history
Your life with him is no longer in misery, but a victory
Theodore’s atrocious actions, taught us women to watch out for our loved ones and surroundings
As we go out on fun outings
With new people we just meet
Out in the city street
I’m so sorry went through all of this
He’s now gone into a dark abyss
But you did what you had to do
If I were you, I’d do the exact same thing too
Enjoy life’s greatest pleasures
Getting all the happiness that life gives you,adventures
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 11:04 PM UTC
America needs an inspired President
Remember you are only in the White House as a Temporary Resident
You must use diplomacy when talking to World Leaders
As a President, there can’t be any cheaters
Your tweets must be sweet
It shouldn’t be agony and defeat
Also as a President, your tweets should be morally nice
If you want, I could give you advice
Your administration should not act as if they are your personal tag team
Your temper shouldn’t be so mean
But to make your point sometimes you must be lean
You should never down immigrants nor separate families at your will
It is now a bad situation because of your signing that immigration bill
You must be accountable for your own actions
You can’t blame another past President for actions that were your start
Where you begin establishes into finish
But you blame the media for not making you distinguished
However, tip for tap, you call the Media Fake News because they are telling the truth and you know there is truth, but you fail to believe
But that doesn’t give the American people relief
As the President, you are the Commander in Chief and Ambassador to the Outer world within the United States
Your decisions must connections that relate
But your negative tongue puts America in danger and it is called Fate
The reason you don’t understand politics because you were never in politics nor were you a Senator in Senate
You rely on your own accord
But you must trust in being guided by our Lord
Now your so called “America Great”
It doesn’t have an American People Appreciation
It comes up with hesitate and no real indication
President Trump, you are not God
You are not the King on this Heavenly Earth
You were only Earthly born
Your decree is not a let be
There is a time limit and not a wait and see
Investigation must continue to make sure Justice is done
But don’t think you are number one
As the President, you must change your ways
It’s not what I want, but what the America people say.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 6:37 PM UTC