"sodomy" poems
****** addiction.
Baby ****** ******
Self **** your own soul.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater
Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?
Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.
I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** **** Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.
A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.
He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal *** ********** and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.
This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.
I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'Homo Hate.'
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
Anwar Ibrahim
Convicted of ****** in 2008
Acquitted in 2012
The Court of Appeal overturned the acquittal
He is currently serving his sentence
An aide to Anwar
Said he was sodomized by Anwar
****** even if consensual
Is punishable by up to 20 years in Malaysia
Anwar responded the complaint was politically motivated
Support for Anwar grown stronger
His wife is battling his conviction
Some say that political rival Dr. Mahathir
Will recover from his decrease in popularity
And remain in control
Because he helped Malaysia through a though economic time
Although it seems as though Anwar is gaining support
From a majority of the Malaysian people
Human rights groups accused Malaysia's government of using
An anachronistic colonial era law that criminalizes
"Carnal *********** against the order of nature"
To persecute Anwar
Anwar leads a three-party opposition that has become
Increasingly popular in the predominantly Muslim nation
This is not just
Anwar has been wrongly accused
I will pray for his wife
And his supporters
Stay strong Anwar
You are an innocent man
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Look at the grass grow,
look at the spirits flow,
look at the sun glow,
look at your sons go.
Look at the rip tides,
look at the grey skies,
look at the black flies,
look in your own eyes.
Look at the hurricanes,
look at those in pain,
look at the pouring rain,
look at those showered by fame.
Look at the burning coal,
look into the black hole,
look deep into the soul,
look at the world as a whole.
Corporate conquerors conquer the economy.
Seven sickos ****** with ******
Honest Al has no honesty.
Endogamy?
Some poor sinner selects to sin.
Whiny woman want to win.
Crazy killers **** their kin.
Fin?
No! Lets keep the show going!
Skies are clear, but it is snowing.
Rowing, flowing, with the stream,
is this all a dream?
A dream?
Awaken me!
I scream!
I flee...
I'm floating on a stream,
crying in a dream,
waiting to be seen,
by you.
See me,
hug me,
kiss me,
love me.
Hate me,
shun me,
as long as you loved me,
then I can die,
I can dream,
in peace.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
This is a psalm by my friend Mad Pastor Grovell
Praise the Lord with the sound of the trumpet!
Praise the Lord with the psaltry
(whatever on God's green earth that is!)
And with the harp while you are at it!
Praise the Lord with the tambourine
(another queer one!) and with dancing!
Praise the Lord with stringed instruments and electronic organs!
Praise the Lord on the loud cymbals and gongs
(and the high sounding cymbals too)!
Let every thing that breathes praise the Lord
(even midgets and the clinically obese and perverts)!
And that includes YOU - so get praising Him straight away!
Get down on your knees, blow your trumpet,
Rattle your silly tambourine like a mongo!
Clash your assorted cymbals and play with your *****
Sing songs and hymns and cries of adoration to the Heavens
And clap till your hands are bleeding with joy!
Be a one-man band of earhole-busting praise for the Lord!
Praise ye the Lord lest He smite thee totally ******* senseless!
Or else WATCH OUT FOR THE GOOD LORD
WILL BASH OUT YOUR ******* WORTHLESS BRAINS
FOR YOUR FILTHY SEX-SINS AND ALSO CONDEMN YOU
TO AN ETERNITY OF PASSIVE ****** IN HELL!
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
Son, do you know why I pulled you over
Because I noticed that your lungs collapsed
And you were choking begging pleading for
one single breath
So enjoy the air while you got it...
Go ahead take a moment
For a good deep breath
Feel that clean country air just tickling your insides
Son, do you know why I pulled you outta class?
Cause your bein a *****
Every time we try to bring up a good topic
you start crying
****** ************ mutation, abortion, cloning, ****** violence, masochism
Stop bein a ***** boy, everybodies daddy gets drunk and beats them at night
Son, you know why I'm not letting into heaven?
Because you are a pretentious selfish ****
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
*Insert tasteless **** joke here*
I stand still listening to the clicking trigger of your words
As the bullet shooting from your mouth hits a still new wound
And even though this all past just over a year ago
Every time my battle scars from this ongoing war start to heal
A new obstacle must be conquered, and new wounds form
What you did to me was repeated
not once
not twice
Four more times
****
******
and Child ***********
All used to just be words
Officers
Judges
And district attorneys
Were once all just people
Your **** joke may be funny to you
But think of the people who really lived through it
The *** end of your **** joke
The boys and girls standing
Hiding behind the façade of petty laughter
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
Come dazed in deception,
making idols of perfection,
****** crazed in inception.
Faded away into morality,
****** into a fixed reality,
doomed? not quite.
Her eyes washed away,
flowing away with her wings,
a slump attitude, lying naked with her.
florescent grumpy woman.
I couldn’t wish for a good girl,
a man with beauty, who is so wise.
Locks of hair make the men
blues.
Bash my Morocco joker card,
fold my ace card, make myself
lose my thousand dollar sweat.
Soon I’ll shave my Beethoven beard,
and bleed Mozart all over my long
face, coughing up some Chopin,
falling down hitting off that dazed
feeling that started this mess.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
The Marquis de Sade was dead keen on ******
And thought those who weren't deserved a lobotomy;
He ******* all his friends both from the back and the front
So on his gravestone they wrote, "Here lies a right ***** ************* ****
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
The Marquis de Sade was dead keen on ******
And thought anyone who wasn't needed a lobotomy;
He ******* all his friends both from the back and the front
So on his gravestone they wrote, "Here lies a right ****
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
My Evil Twin, so set to sin
Grabbed me without explanation
Took me to town,
Eyes set on degradation
Beds to be in, sins to sin
Blackened soul with no retort
*** "between her and I" treated like sport
My Evil Twin, so set to sin
Left me long ago
So here I'm left, her and I
So little left to show
Bottles on the floor
****** fornication
We've taken roadmaps of each other
To every route we know of
(And some we created)
My Evil Twin, so set to sin
Just a made up brother
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
Vacivity feels abstract, yet maims nether ends
Burgeoning to habitual like repeated ******
Overcoming this notion of occurring widdiful
By consummation within myself
Nulling unfurling wounds
Garbed in a crimson lagoon
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
Hypocrisy,
The equivalent of social ******
Based in double standards,
Tainted by dishonesty.
Victims to this plague,
The devils advocate leads the way,
With nothing but tired contradictions to convey.
We dissuade,
Allowing our facades to fade.
Revealing our true colors,
Painted in spectrums of hate.
Masking the demons,
Hoping no one can see.
Blindly choosing defeat,
Disregarding what makes us free.
Our ubiquitous connection,
Gone without detection.
A crisis that deserves undivided attention.
The equivalent of social ******
Hypocrisy.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
I can’t breathe right anymore,
Ever since I've found myself
Beating down the Devils door.
“Beelzebub, Satan!
Let me in
I can’t keep running,
Father of Sin”
Trip
Trip
Trip
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground,
I’m only aware
Of this insane
ripping sound.
Barren
Barren
Barren
Looking up to the sky
I can’t help but cry,
“Lucifer what have you done
It seems heaven’s run dry!”
Empty
Empty
Empty
“Oh no, you Old Serpent!
I’m afraid my insides are out,
How can I proceed
With my intestines strewn about?”
Slip
Slip
Slip
I can not take this,
My head is pounding,
Every sound resounding,
This head ache is a killer.
I only complain
About this tension in my brain,
Since for organs
I've already found a Filler.
As the ground cackles open,
(“Look who finally answered the door!
Antichrist, you Tempter, did you not hear me knocking before?”)
I see one small problem,
A phantom tickle, a teasing *****
For in all of my life
I've never been this famished, that I can assure!
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
The world into my now vacuous
Gaping hole of a stomach,
A true bottomless pit.
For I will not leave this life
With nothing to show for it!
No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight,
with no one to share it's empty stage.
And maybe now,
Converter of Angels,
With the universe stored safely
Within the wormhole in my body,
My gaping wound,
Personification of ******
Maybe now,
With Star-Filled-Guts
I will shine again.
The fiery sparks of hell
Will be no match for the likes of me,
For all who dare look
Will be blinded instantly.
I’ll be so incandescent
You’ll see me from afar
For haven’t you heard, Fallen Angel?
I’m Hell’s North Star.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
Floating
The ceiling is my bed
A dusty breath of reality hits the floor
Six a.m. alarm and a ***** nurse vanishes
A dog in the street
Cold rain
Awful ******* people in their awful ******* cars
The smell of fast food and lying cheating shadows
The world is grey and cold then warm and comforting
Just confusion
The TV lulls and the noises fade into everything else that isn’t remembered
Just some more distraction some more drug
Just legal
Some more love
Just fake
Hamburgers and beer
Water and spaghetti
Passing clouds and birds
I envy birds their freedom they are limitless
But they are stupid
Car crashes **** ****** abortion ******
Apple juice and cigarettes
Terrorists
Preachers
Cows, ducks
No one and nothing
Going no where when they die
There will be a lot of disappointed people
Just standing there saying what the **** man
A nice *** wet ***** and a pair of ****
Some jealousy and a ***** of a wife
A kid that you love but he leaves too eventually
That apartment in the city you used to have
That one you wanted to leave but long for now
A ******* and a shot of whisky
An eighty-dollar tab and an upside down car
The radio plays nothing you recognize
The kids all dress different and talk like ******* lunatics
Foaming at the mouth and cussing life
God is gone he said he wasn’t coming back anytime soon
Not for you at least
Maybe when you have kids and don’t wish you were that bird
Maybe just long enough for you to say
What the **** man
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:30 AM UTC
I rolled my own tobacco tightly, lips pursed through a gormless grin,
As he, the idle Gean Canach, warming up, kisses a lonesome gin,
This dream as told to be his tonic - the bitter slice - so I begin...
Musing over beauty, his admirable hair, warholic an' fitted to wear,
Of Tartan-clad men whose ghosts have chequered stares,
An' Art, Free Speech, Faith, dipped in batter - much to his despair,
Of people, prickened purple as they blow a silent whistle,
To how the sun beams through heather-fields of shared pistols,
An' those scattered morsels of society, left to nothing but the gristle,
To how more questions than answers affect his whispered speech,
Yet he stirs mulling over youth and language receded to their peak,
'...Come, I'll walk you back to your hiding place – safely out of reach...!'
Back home to talk of MacDiarmid and McFarlan, to agree and feel solemn,
As he explains that a poisoned bee carries but only poisoning pollen,
An' how a love of our country, for its freedom, is all we have in common,
He tells of the tears from the Nationalist, nation-less, who lives in arrears,
Of the ink further dried on the receipt of forced union; of some 400 years,
An' that of my friend the leprechaun; ****** on the burnt grass that he shears,
An' now he exclaims - '… Swallow the pound..! Gulp on its hardened flesh...,
...We are as separate - the reluctant strawberry atop this eton mess...,
The majesty of our homes, as one, forever in a state of undress,
...We shall squander fortunes on entire pleasures dear to empty minds,
The resources of our country fixed to the crown with no benefit in kind,
Computerised Tesco's an' ****** at the BBC is all that we will find...'
It is time to take our leave; he has risen sharply an' yet crumbles into a seat,
The fires of the red sun burn for independence with stomping feet,
My dream recited, I wander still, and turn to the fools an' scoundrels on the street.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Bein' locked up
Ain’t an asset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell me where you been
Get yourself past it
It’s time to wake up
You stupid *******
I’m gettin tired of hearing
****** talk about
How long they went in fo’
Once they come out
And there ain’t nothin'
That I find more aggravatin'
Than hearin bout cases
That they got waitin
Or when they'll walk out
Of the prison gate
Because they doin time
Somewhere upstate
Now I ain’t mad at ‘em
Because of their plight
I just wish they wouldn’t
Take so much delight
Bein locked up
Ain’t an asset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell me where you’ve been
You stupid *******
It’s time to wake up
And get yo’ *** past it
I know some of y’all
Can relate
To doin time
Somewhere upstate
And you've engaged in
The idle chatter
Like the time you did
As if it mattered
And we can find
A true paradigm
Like a broken wrist-watch
That keeps losing time
I realize you may be
Keepin it real
Cos someone convinced you
Prison is the deal
Bein' locked up
Ain’t an ssset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell where you’ve been
Get yourself past it
It’s time to wake up
You stupid *******
You run off the names
Like they finishing schools
But they’re been erected
To house you fools
I don’t fault a man
For making a living
If they've factored in
The time they'll be given
Especially if they get caught
And take a fall
For throwing bricks
At the penitentiary wall
What I’m tryin to say is
Get a grip
Before you wind up
Taking a bus trip
Bein' locked up
Ain’t an asset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell where you’ve been
Get yourself past it
It’s time to wake up
You stupid *******
Prison isn't
What it's cracked up To be
And if you been there
I’m sure you’ll agree
You know what you did
While you were in
Sodomy's ******
And it's still a sin
See havin prison muscles
Don’t make you a man
If you were tossin salad
Inside the slam
So if you ever been in
Let that be your secret
I don’t wanna know
Why don't you keep it
Bein' locked up
Ain’t an asset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell me where you’ve been
Get yourself past it
It’s time to wake up
You stupid *******
How many baby daddies
Ain’t around
Because of bad choices
Now they’re on locked down
Waiting for commissary
And some cigarettes
That they use to barter
And pay their debts
Then history repeats itself
Know what I mean
And the child takes the same road
That his father’s been
It’s an ongoing saga
That just doesn't end
You know what I’m talkin' ‘bout
So don’t pretend
Bein' locked up
Ain’t an asset
And prison isn’t (a right of passage)
Don’t tell me where you’ve been
Get yourself past it
It’s time to wake up
You stupid *******
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I stand still listening to the clicking trigger of your words
As the bullet shooting from your mouth hits a still new wound
And even though this all past just over a year ago
Every time my battle scars from this ongoing war start to heal
A new obstacle must be conquered, and new wounds form
What you did to me was repeated
not once
not twice
Four more times
****
******
and Child ***********
All used to just be words to me
Officers
Judges
And district attorneys
Were once all just people
Your **** joke may be funny to you
But think of the people who really lived through it
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Summer is alive, the barbeque's on fire
But I aspire,
to be far away
There are children screaming all hours
along the sweltered streets
and cars breeze by, families get high
Lawn mower doldrum paradise paradoxes
I look at flight information on a melting monitor
Enter bank details
and the system crashes
I'll never escape
Three generations pass the window,
chuff away on branded cigarettes
These are truly the end of times
The claustrophobic city closes in
and I'm gasping for breath
through the intermittent smoke rings
That I am exhaling into the sky
The societal construct of monetary systems
keeps me imprisoned not only in the town of my birth
but in the mind of myself, a jail of superficial self-annihilation
I am consumed by I
Ego choke-hold, harder to breathe in the heat
Harder to pound these city streets
We need that cash, we need that (government) cheese
We need freedom of wealth to breathe with ease
I feel like Hannah, turning towards prostitution
or Malcolm in subversive ****** and sadomasochism
I feel like dying
I feel like the drifting away
I feel something
I feel it, I swear
Today I am here
But I feel like I should be elsewhere
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
My fingers
Worn
My wrists
Tired
I can feel the energy leaving my arms
As if there's nothing left to write.
It can't be true; however,
that there's nothing left to write
There's got to be something
Mermaids
Unicorns
Rainbows
Flowers
Life
Death
******
Abuse
That got dark fast.
I could write something,
I think I have the energy
But what to write about?
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
I saw the great change in him
After he saw the nyanga
As if something was tailing him
Something sinister from the Okawanga
He wanted to gain mental strength
That was why he sought witch doctor help
So together they went to great lengths
To summon the Tokoloshe for this whelp
Born of ****** and sinister thought
The foul creature was called to this world
And a wake of ill doings it brought
Causing fear in each boy and each girl
With this new friend he didn’t need me
But he still needed praise and accept
So he brought me along just to see
How he ***** a girl whose blood he kept
In a bottle for pride in his deed
After he killed her and chopped her up
“I was brought there to watch her bleed”
That’s what I said, when I told the cop
The Police came and took him to jail
But the Tokoloshe followed him inside
Soon he vanished, no trace, not a trail
And rumours said Tokoloshe helped him hide
No one saw him for several days
But a rise in disappearances occurred
And soon he revealed his wicked ways
He stole belongings from his victims, I heard
So, he was caught again but not held for long
His Tokoloshe had not finished yet
It was his purpose to match evil with wrong
And **** and **** whomever he would get
18 months he was on the loose
Sometimes aiding police investigations
He would help them pick up the clues
So he could re-live the gory exhilaration
They could only find partial remains
Tokoloshe had made him use his axe
Rather thoroughly and thrown them off trains
He made sure souls would never relax
When they caught him the final time
He was smiling with satisfaction
He felt no sense of remorse for his crimes
Now he hangs as the judge’s reaction
Tokoloshe is still hiding somewhere
Coming out at night when your dreams are deep
Wreaking havoc and causing a scare
Biting toes, ****** women in their sleep
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Talking about your assault
As if you are removed from it.
When someone apologizes for his unforgivable actions
Even though he was always unapologetic
I calmly reply
"It's okay"
And sometimes even with a smile on my face.
But it's not okay
Or rather
What he did to me will never be okay
And I always feel foolish after that response leaves my lips
You lie to people a say you hate him
But really
If I'm being honest
I never did
Although, my situation is different than most
Because this wasn't some vicious act of ******
But rather, a game my teenage cousin with Aspbergers
Told me to play.
Looking back,
I was fourteen once too
And I wasn't even close to perfect
I can't incriminate him based on one dire mistake.
I never wish to minimize anyone's experience with abuse
Except, of course, my own
Because making it smaller
Makes me feel more in control
Just as blaming myself used to do.
Granted, I have dealt with it
But now I remove myself from the situation when I discuss it
As if I am talking about someone else.
That way, I do not have to vividly see it in my mind.
That way, I don't have to explain
How I have to fall asleep to music
That way, I don't have to explain
How I can't have *** with the lights on
Or else I see his face.
When I say I am perfectly comfortable talking about it
I don't know if 'perfectly comfortable' reflects it as well as
I am just used to it
And I feel as though it is necessary to discuss.
I am not one to shy away from challenging topics.
While he made me stronger
Some days being strong is just too hard
And I give in to old habits
Or at least to the temptation of them.
I haven't bled from the result
Of a self-inflicted razor blade or kitchen knife
In nearly two years.
And my bulimia is better
Though I have only rid myself of that vice
Three months ago.
And yet,
Talking about my molestation seems
So routine, so standard
Which is scary
Because something that heinous should shock me more
But it doesn't.
Maybe it's because
He started an avalanche
When it came to boys using me for ***
Maybe it's because
I share the same blood
As a child-molester.
It seems as though **** culture has permeated me for so long
That it's in my DNA
Woven strand by strand
So it doesn't scare me anymore.
It all comes down to perspective
And talking about my assault from a third person perspective
Keeps my battle scars under wraps
And my mind well guarded.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
My patience is exasperated
So negative connotations
Are analytical advice, on a diagram of ******
for life as AnNotation
Used as emphatic confirmation
That my formations deformed,
so be warned, you won't be warmed
by hearing I've conformed
To be socially reborn or Reformed
no Solubility just scorn
Death of Altruism not reborn
My attempt to succeed is Forlorn
****** without pleasure like ****
With an actress who's *****
Unable to reject the amorous nature
Of the advancement taking place
Only to try to post placate
But u can't humorously play hate
That's like calling date ****
a play date, and tho karma may take
Action a day late
It'll subtract your pay rate
And I try to listen when they say wait
Otherwise I Trade faith
For fortune so pray fate
Has Infallibility and acts
With revenge and intends to ignore
Its Sanctification on your behalf
But without assured Omniscience
Or Predestination I'm left
Wit bitter taste from various Mongrels
so nefarious I wish for death
Developing an Aversion to breath
A Discrepancy now remains
Some say lifes a gift and it contradicts
when I say it's inhumane
A reality based on haste purgatory
Where narcissists splurge on glory
And act like a real life purging story
living to fill their urge for gory
Temptations and never hoarding
Desires to control with moderations
like earths resource no Conservation
But this is just my Observation
Or maybe there's no correlation
and I just **** a curation
Maybe my pessimisms Pervasion
Has damaged me for the duration
Of life never to vacation
From my imprisoned state
So internally conflicted I'm eternally
Restricted to unsolicited hate
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Dear Diary,
As of today, I am officially a registered Republican
Now before you freak out, let me explain…
It’s finally happened!
I am in love! In love!
I can’t stop thinking about her…her rich auburn hair
Sensuous lips, smooth, silky voice…
She is an ambrosial goddess
Ahhhh just to say her name
Michelle…Michelle…
It’s because of her, I have become a Republican
Michelle has opened my eyes to so many things!
For instance, this country really was founded on Christian values!
Separation of church and state…that’s just crazy talk
Oh, and climate change? Forget about it!
But most importantly, Michelle helped me see that ALL lives matter
Michelle is very involved in her community
Why, just yesterday, we handed out boxes
Full of bootstraps to the poor
I gave my Birkenstocks
To Bernie Sanders…
Michelle says that nothing turns her on more than a man who wears crocs
And I am embarrassed to admit this….
I would only tell you, Diary
But She’s really into **** ***
Michelle says it’s not ****** if it’s a man and a woman
And with her husband’s gay conversion camps, she would know
Come to think of it,
Nothing is a sin for a Republican
As long as you don’t get caught
So, there you have it, I have abandoned my socialist and Jewish roots
Do I have regrets?
Well, maybe sometimes,
When Michelle talks about cutting veterans benefits
For a fleeting moment I recall how it felt
To take care of each other and to love people unconditionally
But then I think I sound like ******* flake
Twirling crystals and prisms or some stupid ****
I do like the idea of legalizing marijuana, though
But my change of heart and this whole Donald Trump thing is not my fault,
There are a limited number of seats open on this love train
I mean…
let’s be real, ok? Americans want epic battles and
Dad never smites people anymore,
Whatever happened to a good old fashioned smiting?
The way I see it, as long as Michelle doesn’t figure out that I am not white,
She and I are golden.
Anyway, thanks for listening diary,
I gotta go…Michelle and I are getting matching Jesus fish tattoos
I know, the irony, right?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
I braved the mark of God and the Devil on each side of my ribcage,
an empty spot in my chest,
a heart that was never whole on the left
Unmarked by flesh but made by rose petals and battery acid,
brimstone, muck,
shadows that weren't just shadows, reflections of blue eyes and purple circles, veins that weren't normal colors,
doubt but certainty that this is me,
this is it,
this is all of me.
People talk.
There is a uniformed unity that swallows the red sea behind our eyes and the sea,
it leaks out through cracked pursed lips like a Russian lullaby,
the branches of love and hate permeate a scent so sweet that when it touches your nose you begin to beg God to take you home to the place you felt the afterglow of all of the people you know against the wall and in the picture frames and under the kitchen sink,
Ones vomiting lines of songs after drinking bottles of where they went wrong,
Coming down off of a high of lies from rails of love that weren't cut thin enough,
Seeking resilience after being hammered into the pavement by a hand that believes in ****** and grief and
Hiding your metaphors under the sheets you once slept
beneath,
Drifted,
Drowning your last bit of
bitter
in the river under the bridge
you
spray painted
"God doesn't exist"
on;
Running from everyone.
Around the house there are keepsakes of everything that reminds me of the way my skin is my bandage and everything underneath is an
open wound that has never healed
and every time the bandage is tampered with
the
wounds
get
bigger.
Asphyxiating the roots that link everyone and everything, asphyxiating my heart,
asphyxiation of me,
this is how it should be.
Silent and shivering
Ripe with nothing
Raw with all of our sieves leaking,
we must remember we're still breathing.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC