The phrase "collateral damage"
is used so not to cause offense
to desensitize the public
'bout the ****** of innocents

We're spoonfed daily numbers
of those who won't come back
but for innocent civilians killed
we dont bother keeping track

Because they're "collateral damage"
a nameless faceless entity
so easy to ignore
if they don't look like you and me

But when the shoe is on the other foot
and our innocents get killed
we put pictures in the papers
and monuments we build

Have we really sunk so far
as not to comprehend
that "collateral damage" means people,
and that war just has to end.

Mother Media,

Has strapped us to her highchair of lies,

And spoonfed us,

What she believes is best,

Despite our protestant cries.

Ahhh I hate it
No, not the way
I've fed you silence

You ate it.
But did not swallow-
Did not nourish.

I hate it.
I gave you words
To eat and sustain.

But they too slip.
Easily and inevitably.
Now, I'm misunderstood.

Tangible toys to trifle with
Telescopes and televisions and telephones
Teaching us to tick and tock
Telling us time
Trading touches for tricks
Though doesn't it seem just so?

The collective ties then tears
Tucking individualism into sleep
Terrors of the twilight to wake and hint
Tweaked in turbulence to set the sails smooth
Trying at contentment to dig up but contempt
Though doesn't it seem just so?

Telepaths and tellers on muted megaphones
Teething a societal infant proves troublesome
Tight jawed and spoonfed
Track the time travellers, the ****** heretics
Tennessee in '33 preached inequality
Though doesn't it seem just so?

Woke up on the cold side of
the bed again.
Lit my cigarette by the wrong end.
With decisions to weigh and debts to pay,
I dance better by myself.

Abandoned paved streets
shadowed by bright city lights;
a motionless breeze gives flight
to broken kites.
The man in the hammock dangling
by a string
stays aloft in his solitude.

In the trivial pursuit of a
worthwhile endeavor
a life neatly filed away is run
through a shredder.
Spoonfed as a child then left all
alone;
jilted like a bad penny.

Seeing through a prism of a dull
grey shade.
Bewildered at the ease of a
one-sided trade.
She built you a throne made of
leather and silk;
a throne made with only three legs.

cough up yr misery lungs cough up whatever words u were spoonfed before u knew what words were
god,vermin,what have they done to u
u told me this is what chains feel like,tight bound against ******* silk
tell me,vermin,does it hurt to have yr eyes pecked out?does it hurt to be wrong,vermin?
yr a disgrace(is that what they told u?) but god u look nice tonight
i can see the bags underneath yr eyes outlined by every bad thing u've ever said
god u look beautiful
im waiting for a train.no,im waiting for ten trains,all going in the same direction
24-hour unrest system and all u can think to say is "dead birds
make good pets"

Spoonfed a mouthful of soft poems,
the pangs of unthanked love numb your heart
to fortify against the abrupt attack of truth;
That one feels is a weakness,
or if he does speak of it is a fool!
This is but an unhinging maze
to soak the mind in waves of guilt and despair
stagnant as a melted nightmare...
And thus, the heart believes it
only to begin to freeze forever more.

as i sit here plagued by forgetfulness
i realize that i am happy
i realize that my imagined suffering is a form of denial
that in actuality i do not care
i believe that i am content with my lot
that all i desire is what i am doing at present
that i will in fact realize my greatest desires in life
and that all the hatemongering i have been spoonfed
will also run down the cosmic drain
like so much curdled milk and mildewed honey
and that i will achieve happiness here
in this beautifully stark wooden chair
i will be happy
as soon as the final drops of detritus drip from my nose
and the final watery remainder of my brain matter completes
the Rorschach stain on my shirt
and i can no longer reason or comprehend  
i will be happy.

as I do I stand to bother
with thoughts of clouds
that rise from rubble all around
yet my mind wanders upward

I stifle sounds to stand in cold
and beckon yearning so abound
this little thing that I would mould
though all is fire all around

these sirens haunting so profound
are whispers falling to the ground
and here I bother lest confound
with markings soldiered and unwound
instead of spoonfed thoughtforms "found"

Ha! *** God? hahaha
You're a ****** 'god'!
a leech, a tick at best and
sure you've got a bright side
but those interlacing threads
that you so easily hid behind
prevented me from thinking and
from feeling and I'm sorry,
I wanted to like it, I wanted to, but
I'm thrown into oblivion
by this power differential and
I'm a suspended particulate
in space space space and
whether it's perceived or
imposed is rather irrelevant
and fully functioning as he
held me close and he
spoonfed me snow and
he planted sick saplings
between my ripe ribs and
he carefully twisted them
as they sprouted out
of my skin my skin and
somehow he was my...
my savior but
he suffocated me
with his kisses and
my neck was never long enough
to pull back from those lifesuckers
and my throat was always numb
from what he put inside me and
it's what keeps him happy
what makes him happy and
my lips would dance dance dance
around sharp shards the sharp shapes
of words but I would only chew on
cotton ***** cotton ***** and
they'd never fall but
my castle sure did
my keep sure crumbled
and he's a crippled
conquerer.
I was just
another thing
to have to him.
I was something to win

Dad promise me I won't die
She sobbed as her mother wailed in the background
He could not get home
He could not save her

Mom make them stop
It's too loud and I am scared
I can't feel my legs
Take this metal out of my skin

Oh Salma just close your eyes
Dream that you are a princess
And fly the skies
Rest in peace my child

The birthplace of saints
And the graveyard of angels
Nothing to see here
Just another dead Palestinian

Did we learn from ******
Would we allow another mass genocide to take place?
Stand up people and say
Not in my name!

Because until we do
You and I we are murderers 
As mothers watch the rain of bombs
And we sit at the dinner table as though nothing is wrong

Be critical
Search for the truth instead of being spoonfed
How do your actions contribute to bloodshed
Is your tax aiding war weapons

Of mass destruction
And is CNN reporting truth 
Unbiased and removed
True images polished with lies

Ethnic cleansing
Taking place right before our very eyes
We are not out for revenge or punishment
There are civilians on both sides

But injustice is wrong
And we cannot allow it go go on
Here on the ground in a war torn land
Israelians and Palestinians get on

Pain unites them
But who is fighting them?
Under political agendas
Peace will never embrace them

"I'm sorry"
said in six varieties
a thousand times a day,
he asks why,
why it's all I ever say-
but how can I tell him
that it's all I ever feel.

Sorry burns from deep within,
Sorry runs boldly through my veins,
Sorry is screaming from my soul,
whispering from my eyes
and falling from my lips.
Sorry was beaten and spoonfed to me as a child,
Sorry was branded on my skin
Sorry was woven in my clothing
and pricked into my heart.

Sorry is all I ever was,
Sorry is all I'll ever be.

we were spoonfed cliches about parties and wild nights and kisses under flashing lights but no one ever told us about the other possibilities

that maybe people wouldn't like us enough to invite us
or life would throw us chemical hurdles to surpass
or maybe we followed those lights just a little too closely and found ourselves standing in front of headlights and broken glass,
having tried too hard to find our storybook lives and instead wrote the beginning to a somber tale of loss

Everything in this world is either dead or dying,
Don't scorn me for realism, not ahead of time,
No , right now, everything I touch is decaying,
Or if not currently, inevitably will be one day and,
On the timeline of eternity, that's sooner than later,
We're all served an abrupt ending,
We're spoonfed and catered for,  
More akin to forcing it down our throats or,  
Being drowned in it by temporal limitation, more,
Of us need to come to the realization, that separating life From death is a violation of,
Logical reasoning,
Don't  succumb to the temptation of,
Turning to euphemistic lies for consolation,
Even celestial bodies: clusters and constellations,
Burn out and cease to be,
What does it mean to be indefinite?
Everything in this world is either dead or dying,

The laws of eventuality dictate all things that are bound to, Reality by chains of existence,
That's just how it is, no need to mention the crippling futility Of denial and resistance,
It's quite fitting that the day you were pushed out of your Mother's womb,
You were crying,
Because, not in terms of coffins and tombs,
But in a way it was the first day you really started dying,
Drying up like a flower pulled up from a field and planted in Desert,
All things have to come to an end,
We don't hold power change that so I yield and treasure the, Things that I have when I happen to have them,
I'm not burdened with the fear loss,
No extra baggage,
Not deadweight,
But it's our cross to bear,
Our yolk to wear,
Learn not to hold all eggs in the same basket,
As they all shall shatter,
Everything in this world is either dead or dying,

I've always been constructing a casket,
That's the cold, hard truth,
I've been struggling to grasp it,  
The very concept of life, I need to get past it,
Unmask it, remove the facade and expose it for what it really Is,
Not one moment, but an ever present demon, looming over The billions,
Conclusions are compulsory,
That's what I've been drilling into,
My head, there gaps and lapses in my thoughts,
But I've been filling in, what I can,
What I'm unable to, I just leave the spaces empty,
Speaking of vacancies,
Your skull must be one not to comprehend me,
you can resent me, if you want but I only speak truth,
Call my thinking ruthless,
But ignorance is useless,
If it fails to shield you from the outcome that is birthed from knowledge,
Everything in this world is either dead or dying,
Dead or dying

i awake upon brewing dawn -
stinge of a last hit waltzes past
my beloveds’ fingertips taunted with ash,
and i succumb to hauntings

how i beckon with lost days
overindulge in spoonfed daggers
my blistered throat parallels zir inflamed ego
suffocated deceptive, guilt - scripted coerced, apologizes
escorted by fault down crimson carpets
what a provocative

refusal of touch names me ****?
but the other femme knows another,
another i know well

the grim reaper looms amidst repressed dusk
i plead for rising moons
i appeal for reassurance
query the harlot?
i mustn’t

I keep peeling off my face and
throwing the skin into the earth
hoping the ritual of burying
can flower a new layer upon me.
All smooth and poreless.
Erased in all the ways I've been taught to long for,
yet somehow retaining features
that some ******* corporation has spoonfed
generations of us into loving.

fungi sunshine ride try time
grimey-find me-blinding--house couch tv--remote variable-gruesome food spoonfed by joanna newsom
singing in the key of airplane noises--make-shape-exorcise fate from cups half full of lulls and binary--hi-bye--lycanthropic soda dealer guilt tripped by the full moon--cool dude though-fun crunch curmudgeon stuffing love into guts-upchuck-punch drunk-cousin to state vector wreckage-barbecue-hard to loot-heart over headaches--family-friendly--revelry-devil setting clocks back--watch-lost and boundless-child in a wilderness--eat-eat-drink-****-****-****-pistis-missing person surgery--blind forensics-thick skin---little bitty mystical-sit down

i want to be small, nurtured, held. spoonfed and sung lullabies. a hundred baby kisses on my hands and feet. cradled and rocked. protected. safe, when my thumb rests in your palm. i want to be your little girl- soft and new porcelain skin- untouched, entrusting in your touch. a fresh start. rebirth. maybe we can do it right this time.

you are so warm. crystal blue eyes like gems reflecting light. you are everything i've ever craved. the love i've never recieved yet always observed. i love how you cook me dinner. i love how you watch tv with me. i love how you rub my back and pet my hair when i'm sleepy. i love how you think of me. i love how you play games with me. i want to build a treehouse with you and live there forever.

Bats in the toolshed
dont give a f*
about sunsets
spoonfed and searching for a subject
cutting hymns into symmetry
What does it matter if our tattered limbs
dont fit right?
We're still elegant
in a scary way
All too familiar
I'm disgusted by it's
tiny frame
and how our dicey angst
gets in the way
a rat with wings
hanging upside down
in a handmade shed
on the outskirts of town
who knows where
and who knows when
evolution made a creature
so gruesome so grim

I am solo.

There isn't anything unique about me except for my indistinguishable stance and my timely laughs and the way I ironically feed my self-neglect like a parent nursing their child to health.

I was spoonfed bliss and harmony and I've run with this the best I can. I shake and shiver and struggle to exist despite my grandest desires to put out my fires. If living is a gift then some days I feel spoiled and others I'm devoid. Is that normal?

I'm older now and thought by this age my perspective would have shifted. College was a blur and navigating that transition from adolescence and post-pubescence to cleaning up my very own messes has been, at best, a challenge.

I sit here sullied and scared. I sit here strong and stable. I am solo.

It’s early morn with the sky fussy
with purple and red pumpkin
and as cool as a cucumber
on a grassy knoll of
Elysium.

Spoonfed sunshine and headlights.
A vast Pause moving
like a cat on a moonbeam
is Now.

Like a moment stalled by
everlasting Brevity.
Lank flags droop
on pillars

lightning rods face palmed in dead air
.
Bruised fruit cooling heel on heavy branches
launch dew driven arias of succulent oils
upon the calm expanse of Dawn.
I see houses held in suspense-
sprawling like mushroom cabins
with orange windows
squatting under chimneys and indefinite
Serenity.

With all the Grace of an improbable rack of Antlers
the last stars spike the waning dark
as luminous elan unfurls, spun from a loom of all mornings
dislodged from a long Night.
There’s a hum in the World
as golden as a bonny lass.
And a Silence

as loud as you like.

alien
to spoonfed
angel

three teeth
if that
into ceremony / how early

one must be
to not
exist

greg comes down. he stills lives with his mother at 52,
and is perpetually clutching a coors banquet in his left hand, and his pinky is contorted in a grotesque fashion. his eyes are black without expression, and everything he says is sincere, but laughs at innapropriate times.
He helps us dig the ditch for the bones of the dog in the backyard,
it died when it was attacked by the Great Dane which was subsequently euthanized. He had the idea to put the carcass in a trash bag and now it stunk and the body was a frothing mess of decay.
We laid the bag in as he ****** on his coors banquet.
"GOD REST ITS SOUL"
he said.
we said a prayer; it seemed appropriate. and after the dog was buried, he got in his car, totally drunk and drove back to his mamas.
The stereo blasted Pink Floyd "Wish you were here" on vinyl, and it happened to be 2am. Someone puked on the floor and I promptly went to bed whilst someone ****** in the kitchen. I don't know how I got there, but I was spoonfed yogurt in the night while some random girl ****** me off. good dreams, and hot nights. my shoes sat in the corner staring at the sin. & I made sure to say goodnight     in the morning
as I drove off to Los alisos on the corner of Jeronimo and El toro

My clock has started precious time departs, thoughts and memories have yet to mould me, no moral compass or living maps, I'm guided by those who have come before.

Blind beliefs with stagnant knowledge are humanity's given fare, spoonfed on a diet of corrupt and laden lore, teachings so distant from the truth, that dull the minds of precious youth.

Countless routes lay undiscovered, too easily we are led, following in history's follies with outcomes of despair, unable to break the shackles free, from that ever revolving door.

My journey takes a different course, parting from the brainwashed passage, whilst others with open minds and precious thought, embrace a new direction. 
                     Are we there yet?