"silencers" poems - Hello Poetry

In society, Women are always told they are too much. Too angry, too calm Too quiet, too loud Too big, too small And we are all of these things We are angry. Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be. And we are too calm. Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm. We are too quiet. We are silenced. Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet. And we are loud. We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be. We are small. Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger. Because we are big. We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."

0

Apr 10, 2016

Apr 10, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC

Birwin

We Are

In society, Women are always told they are too much. Too angry, too calm Too quiet, too loud Too big, too small And we are all of these things We are angry. Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be. And we are too calm. Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm. We are too quiet. We are silenced. Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet. And we are loud. We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be. We are small. Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger. Because we are big. We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."

21

In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit. I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived. I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger. I've drawn And in the folds of the night, I hold you close like day does dawn. I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth, sting my gum, and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence. My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature more civil, more mature less aggressive, less of a spirit Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines , my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies Until pain becomes a part of my diet, until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat, until I'm able to befriend your wild.

0

Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC

Anoniiimuus

song to the forest

In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit. I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived. I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger. I've drawn And in the folds of the night, I hold you close like day does dawn. I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth, sting my gum, and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence. My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature more civil, more mature less aggressive, less of a spirit Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines , my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies Until pain becomes a part of my diet, until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat, until I'm able to befriend your wild.

24

I walk a path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes Amuse my anecdotes, I walk with break beats in my blood, With brain waves pounding bass drums, I got liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins To spin surges of synergy Out of bottled up battles, Even my baby rattles Used to shake with rhythm. Wars Should pause for music. The power of harmonic symphony Just pimping me, Creeping up through cracked sidewalks, Wrapping shadows around legs, Up hips to necks As it grabs, Just pimping me, A dance floor ***** with Peace in and of mind, In circles of 32 Note by note, That lump of emotion In my throat Could choke, With neon freedom. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, That we could put down the guns And rave to the drums, That even silencers will be silent, And the smell of gunpowder Will squander for an hour, That there will be a day with no death, A day free of neurotic nail biting mothers Holding their breath, That their children will walk our land again, A day that suicide bombs Won’t detonate, That cries of loss and sadness Won’t resonate, A day that we won’t decimate, Our own race, The human race Maybe it’s a pipe dream, But that’s my pipe dream. I’ve spanned seas to see, That music brings harmony, I’ve danced along An African diplomat named Ife, Which means love, A Polish carpenter named Sebastian, Which means dignity, A Vietnamese banker named Ly, Which means Lion, And collectively, We, We're individuals, Smiling to that same pumping beat, That, Breakbeat, That brain wave pounding bass drum, That strum laced With a graceful hum, Making our race numb, There was no color, There was no history Because my history Won’t dictate me, Not that it's non-existent, Not that I’m resistant To believe that people hate Because of the past, But I understand personalities, And believe Everyone deserves a fair shot At being an individual Everyone deserves that music, Everyone deserves to have That path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes, Amuse their anecdotes, Everyone deserves to feel Breakbeats in their blood, And brain waves pounding bass drums, Those liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins That spin surges of synergy, Everyone deserves what we have to offer, Everyone deserves, To dance to their own breakbeat Of peace

0

Jun 5, 2017

Jun 5, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC

tyruslaws

penciled graffiti

I walk a path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes Amuse my anecdotes, I walk with break beats in my blood, With brain waves pounding bass drums, I got liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins To spin surges of synergy Out of bottled up battles, Even my baby rattles Used to shake with rhythm. Wars Should pause for music. The power of harmonic symphony Just pimping me, Creeping up through cracked sidewalks, Wrapping shadows around legs, Up hips to necks As it grabs, Just pimping me, A dance floor ***** with Peace in and of mind, In circles of 32 Note by note, That lump of emotion In my throat Could choke, With neon freedom. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, That we could put down the guns And rave to the drums, That even silencers will be silent, And the smell of gunpowder Will squander for an hour, That there will be a day with no death, A day free of neurotic nail biting mothers Holding their breath, That their children will walk our land again, A day that suicide bombs Won’t detonate, That cries of loss and sadness Won’t resonate, A day that we won’t decimate, Our own race, The human race Maybe it’s a pipe dream, But that’s my pipe dream. I’ve spanned seas to see, That music brings harmony, I’ve danced along An African diplomat named Ife, Which means love, A Polish carpenter named Sebastian, Which means dignity, A Vietnamese banker named Ly, Which means Lion, And collectively, We, We're individuals, Smiling to that same pumping beat, That, Breakbeat, That brain wave pounding bass drum, That strum laced With a graceful hum, Making our race numb, There was no color, There was no history Because my history Won’t dictate me, Not that it's non-existent, Not that I’m resistant To believe that people hate Because of the past, But I understand personalities, And believe Everyone deserves a fair shot At being an individual Everyone deserves that music, Everyone deserves to have That path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes, Amuse their anecdotes, Everyone deserves to feel Breakbeats in their blood, And brain waves pounding bass drums, Those liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins That spin surges of synergy, Everyone deserves what we have to offer, Everyone deserves, To dance to their own breakbeat Of peace

97

A flock of mandarin parakeets found themselves a perch amidst the strategy play in green palace trees, for which they are responsible, having laid not one single claim upon future tyrannies. However, the forests in their emerald, sensing disarray, took on a maternal stare while attaching silencers to those beaks in nests where, cries of newborn chickadees may attract the murderous affairs of flight invasion. The young baby birds now protected inside carefully wrapped tiny leaf cones. How unfortunate for them, with their cruel linear perspective of this cylindrical summer! The army of parakeets pitch up their parachutes in invisible tents. They do in fact plan to stay for awhile. As they keep close watch over the tree terrestrial, their heads spin 360 degree tropical smiles. They have come to avenge the ****** of color orange.

0

Nov 3, 2015

Nov 3, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC

matthew-goff

A flock of mandarin parakeets...

A flock of mandarin parakeets found themselves a perch amidst the strategy play in green palace trees, for which they are responsible, having laid not one single claim upon future tyrannies. However, the forests in their emerald, sensing disarray, took on a maternal stare while attaching silencers to those beaks in nests where, cries of newborn chickadees may attract the murderous affairs of flight invasion. The young baby birds now protected inside carefully wrapped tiny leaf cones. How unfortunate for them, with their cruel linear perspective of this cylindrical summer! The army of parakeets pitch up their parachutes in invisible tents. They do in fact plan to stay for awhile. As they keep close watch over the tree terrestrial, their heads spin 360 degree tropical smiles. They have come to avenge the ****** of color orange.

3

There is a balance between science and intuition; only the myths of priests can disturb that account, can sadly arrest the bloom of human consciousness. As we look deeply with telescopes into the cosmos or inward to the radio-waves of cranial thought, the No Smoking sign of religion holds humanity back. There is no Paradise Lost, only that not yet attained. Silencers muffle, as if the skyes were empty, the mind subordinate to some Proper Name. If we are to Live, we must go there. Out where the nebulae birth new stars, in there, where the id recklessly whispers, Good-Bye.

0

Mar 7, 2012

Mar 7, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC

brian-oarr

Partir a Tribord

There is a balance between science and intuition; only the myths of priests can disturb that account, can sadly arrest the bloom of human consciousness. As we look deeply with telescopes into the cosmos or inward to the radio-waves of cranial thought, the No Smoking sign of religion holds humanity back. There is no Paradise Lost, only that not yet attained. Silencers muffle, as if the skyes were empty, the mind subordinate to some Proper Name. If we are to Live, we must go there. Out where the nebulae birth new stars, in there, where the id recklessly whispers, Good-Bye.

12

A flock of mandarin parakeets found themselves a perch amidst the strategy play in green palace trees, for which they are responsible, having laid not one single claim upon future tyrannies. However, the forests in their emerald, sensing disarray, took on a maternal stare while attaching silencers to those beaks in nests where, cries of newborn chickadees may attract the murderous affairs of flight invasion. The young baby birds now protected inside carefully wrapped tiny leaf cones. How unfortunate for them, with their cruel linear perspective of this cylindrical summer! The army of parakeets pitch up their parachutes in invisible tents. They do in fact plan to stay for awhile. As they keep close watch over the tree terrestrial, their heads spin 360 degree tropical smiles. They have come to avenge the ****** of color orange.

0

May 14, 2016

May 14, 2016 at 1:05 PM UTC

matthew-goff

A flock of mandarin parakeets...

A flock of mandarin parakeets found themselves a perch amidst the strategy play in green palace trees, for which they are responsible, having laid not one single claim upon future tyrannies. However, the forests in their emerald, sensing disarray, took on a maternal stare while attaching silencers to those beaks in nests where, cries of newborn chickadees may attract the murderous affairs of flight invasion. The young baby birds now protected inside carefully wrapped tiny leaf cones. How unfortunate for them, with their cruel linear perspective of this cylindrical summer! The army of parakeets pitch up their parachutes in invisible tents. They do in fact plan to stay for awhile. As they keep close watch over the tree terrestrial, their heads spin 360 degree tropical smiles. They have come to avenge the ****** of color orange.

3

With heavy breath, I bring pen to page and finger to string and hold left hand over right, to steady my shaking wrist as I tremble, the echo of your voice resonating permeating bouncing off every sinewy fiber, ankles and hips and lungs and heart beating for you. I try to write of other things— of clouds and car crashes and mysterious men in dark suits with trombone cases and silencers, or big whaling ships off the coast of Japan, cold lights singing through marine mist— but the trains of thought all lead to your "I love you," to your "I want you," to your "I'm all yours." The lyrical cadence is tired, reminiscent of the classics and traversing paths well-traveled. The major keys with clean sound— no reverb, no filter, no distortion— are boring and basic, and the vocal sickly sweet and the floor toms empty and the ride cymbal whispering shhhhhhhh over a cavalcade of harmonics in a complete circle of fifths. You are the fairy tale, the "once upon a time" and the "happily ever after" that feel fabricated passing through the lips of others, but more lucid than taste and smell when falling through yours mine ours pressed pushed touch close. It all devolves into tangled limbs bright colors and whispered, made up words. The ones that exist simply won't do. I write every song every single ********* song for you.

0

Aug 29, 2013

Aug 29, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC

lyzi-diamond

I write every song for you.

With heavy breath, I bring pen to page and finger to string and hold left hand over right, to steady my shaking wrist as I tremble, the echo of your voice resonating permeating bouncing off every sinewy fiber, ankles and hips and lungs and heart beating for you. I try to write of other things— of clouds and car crashes and mysterious men in dark suits with trombone cases and silencers, or big whaling ships off the coast of Japan, cold lights singing through marine mist— but the trains of thought all lead to your "I love you," to your "I want you," to your "I'm all yours." The lyrical cadence is tired, reminiscent of the classics and traversing paths well-traveled. The major keys with clean sound— no reverb, no filter, no distortion— are boring and basic, and the vocal sickly sweet and the floor toms empty and the ride cymbal whispering shhhhhhhh over a cavalcade of harmonics in a complete circle of fifths. You are the fairy tale, the "once upon a time" and the "happily ever after" that feel fabricated passing through the lips of others, but more lucid than taste and smell when falling through yours mine ours pressed pushed touch close. It all devolves into tangled limbs bright colors and whispered, made up words. The ones that exist simply won't do. I write every song every single ********* song for you.

52

You cut kisses down my arm that I wrapped with bandages as tight as I could, so I couldn't feel the pain but they kept bleeding. Bleeding phrases that felt the cold sharpness of your back as it walked away from me, the Words you chose to hide away the silencers on silent guns, And I see your face reflect red in my blood. Hear you tapping in my heartbeat

0

Jan 30, 2014

Jan 30, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC

w-elana

Untitled #1 **** you)

You cut kisses down my arm that I wrapped with bandages as tight as I could, so I couldn't feel the pain but they kept bleeding. Bleeding phrases that felt the cold sharpness of your back as it walked away from me, the Words you chose to hide away the silencers on silent guns, And I see your face reflect red in my blood. Hear you tapping in my heartbeat

10

I take up space because I am valuable. I say that as I eat and rejoice in my outward growth Delighted in food as it hits my mouth, and how it hugs my body. I say that as I stretch out on the bus Tacking no less room then the man spread that is so recklessly unaware of itself. I say that as I raise my voice refusing silencers His voice will not penetrate an overwhelming truth, no matter how loud he speaks over me I say that as I stand tall, combating the overlooker I sway surly and head held high as I am worthy As I celebrate my ************ Praise the blood that shows my strengths I cast away the thought that a bleeding thing is weak Is it not true that he has been known to bleed too? I take up space because I am valuable Treasured for my thoughts and wholeness I say that as I work out, muscles showing My strength oblivious to the male ego, without fear of being any less of a woman I say that as I challenge myself and others Because meekness was something I was taught, not something that I am. I say that as I refuse to be consumed I am not a product for pleasure I am a human, a consciousness with feeling. I say that as I really am, as a goddess, a queen, an equal An individual with agency and determination As I celebrate my character Praise the misguided for building me up Refuting the idea that blood is shameful Because my womanhood is in part my pride I say that I am valuable very simply, because I am

0

Oct 7, 2019

Oct 7, 2019 at 7:38 PM UTC

Rage

Woman

I take up space because I am valuable. I say that as I eat and rejoice in my outward growth Delighted in food as it hits my mouth, and how it hugs my body. I say that as I stretch out on the bus Tacking no less room then the man spread that is so recklessly unaware of itself. I say that as I raise my voice refusing silencers His voice will not penetrate an overwhelming truth, no matter how loud he speaks over me I say that as I stand tall, combating the overlooker I sway surly and head held high as I am worthy As I celebrate my ************ Praise the blood that shows my strengths I cast away the thought that a bleeding thing is weak Is it not true that he has been known to bleed too? I take up space because I am valuable Treasured for my thoughts and wholeness I say that as I work out, muscles showing My strength oblivious to the male ego, without fear of being any less of a woman I say that as I challenge myself and others Because meekness was something I was taught, not something that I am. I say that as I refuse to be consumed I am not a product for pleasure I am a human, a consciousness with feeling. I say that as I really am, as a goddess, a queen, an equal An individual with agency and determination As I celebrate my character Praise the misguided for building me up Refuting the idea that blood is shameful Because my womanhood is in part my pride I say that I am valuable very simply, because I am

29

The ideas percolate, in minutes, or hours, maybe Days, Weeks, Even years. But in the moment, they pour, in the moment, they are, the moment, voiced. Choices like razor wire, concentration becomes concertina, frustrated silencers take the sound from the words that explode, that explode like a flocking group of birds, and take flight, in the air around, the turbulence surround you, their number dumfound you and the head above the watery tears, go ahead give into your fears, go speak in rhymes, write with a right legged limp while your head pivots and swivels without focus, pop the pills and mainline, you bought the hocus pocus, the revelation describes things in numbers swarming locusts, you been seeing that trip across the desert for hours, how does it feel to be in charge of the powerless? Instead of plugging into power lines with power cords, looking for out- lets, use **** up white lines, you pretend to be an energized bunny this isn't funny. In the moment straight and sane in the moment sobered by pain, In the moment stinking thinking takes a back seat, you have a friend you ignore, you keep the lifestyle and hit repeat, you are after all, in control, right up until your last breath. you are after all............................................your last breath.

0

Jul 23, 2014

Jul 23, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC

darrell-wade-elverum

In The Moment

The ideas percolate, in minutes, or hours, maybe Days, Weeks, Even years. But in the moment, they pour, in the moment, they are, the moment, voiced. Choices like razor wire, concentration becomes concertina, frustrated silencers take the sound from the words that explode, that explode like a flocking group of birds, and take flight, in the air around, the turbulence surround you, their number dumfound you and the head above the watery tears, go ahead give into your fears, go speak in rhymes, write with a right legged limp while your head pivots and swivels without focus, pop the pills and mainline, you bought the hocus pocus, the revelation describes things in numbers swarming locusts, you been seeing that trip across the desert for hours, how does it feel to be in charge of the powerless? Instead of plugging into power lines with power cords, looking for out- lets, use **** up white lines, you pretend to be an energized bunny this isn't funny. In the moment straight and sane in the moment sobered by pain, In the moment stinking thinking takes a back seat, you have a friend you ignore, you keep the lifestyle and hit repeat, you are after all, in control, right up until your last breath. you are after all............................................your last breath.

46

Sit and be silent to be heard no more, Perhaps you heard those words somewhere Sometimes in one's life growing up, Why people think it their duty to silence another person not to speak openly and freely, A spoken word or sound is meant to be heard Like the loud ring tone of a cell phone And indication, someone is calling, Somebody need to be heard: My grandparents, and parent believe In silencing this poetess when I was a child At a point where my voice stays inside, Then step two where, everybody that knew me Kept asking why I was so shy: Why was I afraid to speak to my elders? Me being shy became social anxiety for some As for my friends I spoke with confident, like a true trooper, Grown folks intimidate the hell out of me, Why? Because of commanding words Sit and be silent to be heard no more. As an adult, I have a hard time taking orders From others, or being talk down too, Maybe that's why I enjoy writing so much Only I can hear my voice when I compose Until I allowed my reading to take a peep At my work, my Island tongue, My American frustration on worldly views I sat for too long, I frown for too long, I bite down on my tongue for too long, But I concocted a plan, on how to Get back my silencers, and revenge them With my spoken words of silence, without being seen "Great is language, it is the mightiest of sciences It is the fulness and color and form and diversity of the earth and of men and women and of all qualities and processes. It is greater than wealth, it is greater than buildings, or ships or religious or painting or music. -----Walt Whitman.. "

0

Jul 31, 2021

Jul 31, 2021 at 9:42 AM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

Those Who Knew Me

Sit and be silent to be heard no more, Perhaps you heard those words somewhere Sometimes in one's life growing up, Why people think it their duty to silence another person not to speak openly and freely, A spoken word or sound is meant to be heard Like the loud ring tone of a cell phone And indication, someone is calling, Somebody need to be heard: My grandparents, and parent believe In silencing this poetess when I was a child At a point where my voice stays inside, Then step two where, everybody that knew me Kept asking why I was so shy: Why was I afraid to speak to my elders? Me being shy became social anxiety for some As for my friends I spoke with confident, like a true trooper, Grown folks intimidate the hell out of me, Why? Because of commanding words Sit and be silent to be heard no more. As an adult, I have a hard time taking orders From others, or being talk down too, Maybe that's why I enjoy writing so much Only I can hear my voice when I compose Until I allowed my reading to take a peep At my work, my Island tongue, My American frustration on worldly views I sat for too long, I frown for too long, I bite down on my tongue for too long, But I concocted a plan, on how to Get back my silencers, and revenge them With my spoken words of silence, without being seen "Great is language, it is the mightiest of sciences It is the fulness and color and form and diversity of the earth and of men and women and of all qualities and processes. It is greater than wealth, it is greater than buildings, or ships or religious or painting or music. -----Walt Whitman.. "

35

Turn the beat up, and let the heat heat up, Check it, my mics sound ice, glistening blinding suckas, from my frozen ice, We move like mice, no snitches, cuz they get stitches, What is this, mic murderers menace this, Ain't no coming back from this, My styles deeper than Chris, Times two, peep the rendezvous, break down crews, As an individual, yall edible, none of ya sources credible, Im like Jada, sending a kiss, from the bullets that hiss, Like a snake, silencers keep yall un awake, keep my stakes, At large, take a charge of my Gurka cigar, Fools ended up scarred, cuz they couldn't move faster, Im linked cartels to rastas, def jam master blaster, **** the news caster, i make my own moves from disaster, Now ask yaself whos the master, Build own my destiny,like the Rockefellers, We be the Goodfellas, Brown as nutellas, never dated Cinderallas , bellas bellas, Give ya headaches to sweaters, Dont nut in her, Cuz she'll take for everythang, with no remains, A crown without a kang, Simple and plain, i take twist of the jane, blunt split, Like the end of ocean, no boastin', I stay in space, ghost floatin, Can't catch my mind, its on the light of speeds time, to rhyme, I keep bad design, im not thinking what you thinkin if you had my mine, Slipping through time, speaking consciously and no sublime, So suckas stand in line, Ya lunch money is mine, bully em every line, tracks to design, Carefully put in aligned, Ya rhymes is burned, overturn, from the jury sentencin, Yo what up world! Its my turn,

0

Feb 16, 2024

Feb 16, 2024 at 3:24 PM UTC

Ru7hl355_Gangsta

Yo it's my Turn (Remix)

Turn the beat up, and let the heat heat up, Check it, my mics sound ice, glistening blinding suckas, from my frozen ice, We move like mice, no snitches, cuz they get stitches, What is this, mic murderers menace this, Ain't no coming back from this, My styles deeper than Chris, Times two, peep the rendezvous, break down crews, As an individual, yall edible, none of ya sources credible, Im like Jada, sending a kiss, from the bullets that hiss, Like a snake, silencers keep yall un awake, keep my stakes, At large, take a charge of my Gurka cigar, Fools ended up scarred, cuz they couldn't move faster, Im linked cartels to rastas, def jam master blaster, **** the news caster, i make my own moves from disaster, Now ask yaself whos the master, Build own my destiny,like the Rockefellers, We be the Goodfellas, Brown as nutellas, never dated Cinderallas , bellas bellas, Give ya headaches to sweaters, Dont nut in her, Cuz she'll take for everythang, with no remains, A crown without a kang, Simple and plain, i take twist of the jane, blunt split, Like the end of ocean, no boastin', I stay in space, ghost floatin, Can't catch my mind, its on the light of speeds time, to rhyme, I keep bad design, im not thinking what you thinkin if you had my mine, Slipping through time, speaking consciously and no sublime, So suckas stand in line, Ya lunch money is mine, bully em every line, tracks to design, Carefully put in aligned, Ya rhymes is burned, overturn, from the jury sentencin, Yo what up world! Its my turn,

33

****** masks As we look around, All we see is humans wearing ****** masks A world of silencers, a world of social distancing: Before we use to sit silently and watch the world Around us: misbehaved: the unruly bunch Silence is holy it draws attention To our inner peace: today is the silence of the mask Draws attention to fear, a fear of us being side track By this disease, so we wear the mask of silence, Do you remember, the measles, chickens pox’s Scarlett fevers and the list when on: But it’s nothing in comparisons to corona corvid 19 Lockdown: Now it’s staying at home means getting creative Evaluating our lives, our behavior, our life style.. Was it out of control? Were we ever essentials? I hate wearing the mask It make me feel like a captive, but i know better Not to wear it: I need protection from you And you need protection from me. Because of what Mr. Trump said “the Chinese disease.” Wearing the mask to do the tasks Letting go of the hatred enable us to move forward A world without humans is not a world Is a silence world: with one small flower emerging from a rock on a side walk

0

May 18, 2020

May 18, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

****** Masks

****** masks As we look around, All we see is humans wearing ****** masks A world of silencers, a world of social distancing: Before we use to sit silently and watch the world Around us: misbehaved: the unruly bunch Silence is holy it draws attention To our inner peace: today is the silence of the mask Draws attention to fear, a fear of us being side track By this disease, so we wear the mask of silence, Do you remember, the measles, chickens pox’s Scarlett fevers and the list when on: But it’s nothing in comparisons to corona corvid 19 Lockdown: Now it’s staying at home means getting creative Evaluating our lives, our behavior, our life style.. Was it out of control? Were we ever essentials? I hate wearing the mask It make me feel like a captive, but i know better Not to wear it: I need protection from you And you need protection from me. Because of what Mr. Trump said “the Chinese disease.” Wearing the mask to do the tasks Letting go of the hatred enable us to move forward A world without humans is not a world Is a silence world: with one small flower emerging from a rock on a side walk

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