"underaged" poems
YOU aint no gangsta.
With a pistol grip pump.
******* underaged girls
For money to buy junk.
You’re a player for sure.
Playin with minds of children is easy.
Capitalist pigs like you make me queasy.
You smashin the man?
Youre jackin off to the sounds of the system,
Beatboxin records while the ignorant minds listen.
To illusions of grandeur…
Your caddy rims rollin.
All the while corporations controllin
Your mind.
YOU aint no gangsta
With a pistol grip pump.
youre just a **** Prick-average guy
Walking a racial divide
Elitist **** telling another whitemans lie.
To the masses of laborers.
Buyin what you be sellin
Your notions of success
Aint my version of rebellin.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
Trust is a limited currency
For those who have wronged us,
And the wall subconsciously built
In a day, can only be taken a part
Brick by brick,
But those who speak
For the force unheard,
Only proven to exist in a feeling
Or in the passed down book,
I think, are given too much credit.
Speaking for that which cannot speak for itself
Inherently is wrong, yet these priests
We give our trust
Despite the controversy
They always bring up
Speaking for not the god
That those sitting there
Came to hear about,
But speaking for those
There sitting.
Swaying and advising
The path they take and what direction
And nodding heads,
And right hands pointed to the sky
Tell you nobody pays much attention.
For a priest
Who preaches abstinence
And practices excess
On the underaged sons,
Open your eyes.
That stage shouldn’t be upheld
By one who sways people
Against one another,
But with the bible in the right context,
Anything could be directed towards anyone.
Limit your currency of trust
For those who prove
They deserve it,
The church can heal,
But my, oh my, can the pasture bleat.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 8:17 PM UTC
Oh,
The places I have gone,
Into the gutter onto the street,
Regurgitated,
Every fiber,
Of my uneven being,
A little yin,
A lot of yang,
And the realization,
Of the cost of "freedom",
Is security,
And the lies swept under the rug,
Therein.
Where do I go?
In this world I do not fit within,
It suits me not,
Too corporeal, too moralistic,
Too judging, and a little bit too thin.
Always finding reasons,
To opress other human beings,
Even in democracy,
The masses lurk,
Judging, what is good men.
The young are chained,
Binded by systems and laws,
Signed to social contracts,
They didnt ask for,
and most will never understand.
All in the great,
revolutionary idea!
Oh, yes, as they will tell you with a smile,
You can be anything you want to be!
(If you get a 4.0)
You can love freely!
(Except gays and underaged)
And women let me tell you,
Yes how to get an abortion,
And when!
Always distinguishing,
Classifying people,
Alpha and beta,
And whatever else in bygone alphabets,
We are social animals,
Civilized only in lies.
And all men are not created equal!
Some are born to die.
We laugh in the face of this evil,
Because we cannot control our own existence,
And the only other option is to cry,
And self annihilate.
Of course, to the world,
This is so very wrong.
Such a crazy guy.
There is no freedom I say.
Only the mirror image,
The perception of such,
We make our own choices,
Sure,
Pre ordained by our genetics,
Our expereinces, our cultures,
The boxes of our very thoughts,
Ergo the very essence of who we are,
For if we were different,
We would go left,
And not right,
into the very clutches of Satan,
The demons men swear by.
I've got nothing nice to say,
Or contribute to society,
So I oft think,
I'd best stay silent,
And censure myself away,
I hurt my friends,
My family my loved ones,
And add onto the suffering list,
Still knowing the worst I got,
is better than a lot of men.
So, alas,
Mi amore,
I have a lie to say,
If you but love me,
Oh just one night,
I will love you,
Forevermore.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
sometimes i wonder
am i lonely
or am i just alone
i ponder on this as I poison myself with more alcohol
and stumble across the busy streets filled with people looking for temporary pleasure.
cheap alcohol and ****** music
lonely old men that'd be slapping those shrinking ***** againsts an asian ***** later in the night
underaged kids addicted to the revolting taste of luxury with their parents money
i am a disgusting hypocrite for i live for nothing except cheap thrills and writing.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
***** dreams from magazines,
Filthy ***** and no other rules,
A generation who are out of luck,
But we don't care, no we don't give a ****
Concentrating on identity,
Make-up bags and vanity,
Liquor bottles on the floor,
But we'll do it again because we want more.
Drug scares, alcohol,
red lights, fancy cars,
Money, what's that for?
We are living a lie,
We are living a lie.
Cigarettes, twenty in a pack,
Jack Daniels cooling in a glass,
Bad behaviour, that's how we do,
Give us a warning, we'll be laughing at you.
Late night movies, Triple X,
Red lipstick smudges on the neck,
Fifty pound notes scattered on the floor,
But we won't pick them up because we don't want them no more.
ASBO's, misbehaved,
Cop cars, underaged,
Manners, what are they?
We're the bad teens in town,
We're the bad teens in town.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I see this city for what it is, Hung over from a drunk night of love and thizz, The scores of underaged mental ****** This city has its dope game sores, The blinking lights of dreams that may never be, And the burnt out saints singing of their misery, The deaf musicians holding for glory days, And quiet actors lips singing future unknown plays, And all the intellects and jocks are buying memories from the street on 4th, As we all look up with longing in the shadow of mount in north Painters obnoxiously using pastels made of broken hearts and deep cuts, While boozed up geniuses look with hope at their pile of cigarette butts, As we all hope for something more, We fail to smile at the witty and ugly ***** The failed nights of that fall cold, And the shyest writers with pros of mindsets that have forever danced away the feeling of bold, We all look up with longing in the shadow of the mount in the north, As we all put down our hands,
And fold.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Child, woman.
Wise, innocent.
Stained from the past
with blood of the ages,
generations make their nations
out of common DNA.
Slipping slowly
is my memory of youth.
Not forever forgotten,
but the little girl inside
is like an apparition,
who has tried to go away
for good.
I yearn for the newness she once had,
and I wonder if I'll ever
know her again.
Paradoxical chimes
on the ticking clock
fog my yesterday
and alarm my tomorrow.
Memories are like a sun-setting dusk,
some at peace, some not.
The future and I never met
But I want to race there to meet it
and not in foolishness pass by today.
Not underaged,
not a wise, old sage,
I'm a half-breed to both
Thirtysomething.
Stuck in the middle.
Wading waist deep in exasperation
waiting to fly,
to fly higher and higher,
regretting that I did not fly that far.
But I cannot turn this watch inside out,
I cannot turn back time.
Can I accept that?
I'm half brave,
half afraid.
I'm part greedy,
part giving.
I want to be part
of the whole picture
of the puzzle...
but I'm holding back
the missing piece.
Child, woman.
I'm a tree splintered in two directions,
and after much inspection,
I wonder...
Which one will I be?
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 24, 2009 at 1:35 PM UTC
You don't seem to understand
You can't just down the whole bottle and ask for my hand
You don't seem to get the picture
You can't just swallow this poision and add me into the mixture
You don't seem to comprehend
That you're just buying these lies
Even though my faith is on the other end
You don't seem to really care
That you're underaged for such things
As long as they bid you (and only you) fair
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
3 am and we started pretending we were high because we were underaged.
You shared me your loveliest words.
I read your flowering poems.
I felt each word deep down and I pretended not to be emotional.
I felt special because you shared them to me first.
You taught me how to whisper to the cold winds of December.
You opened my eyes to the hope that I have lost,
You reminded me to dream the most unrealistic things.
... And that surreal starry night ended when my phone died and my eyes shut themselves.
Days dashed through their ways and time made its fate that I slept when you were awake.
I saw you sharing the same lovely words to other people.
I heard you saying your flowering poems to them.
I might be selfish... but for the first time, I felt like those words were only mine.
Maybe it was my fault that I slept through 3 am and you were awake until 5 am.
Still, I whisper to the coldest winds at night.
Still, I remember that night when we pretended to be high.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Hell bent on a quest
With no map to call your guide
Searching far and wide
Asking questions you don't want answered
Looking for answers to questions you haven't asked
Rhetorical questions and answers
Laced with fears.
The you'd say I'm 'complicated'
Well you've got to be out of your mind
For you have me underaged all this time
But, its not all 'black and white' as you'd say
I'm covered in shades of gray
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
I'VE BEEN IN BED FOR FOUR DAYS.
it's not so much as i am too weak to get up and move it around.
it's just for the fact that i am alone.
i've taken myself on movie dates and brought two sodas, put my coat in the seat next to me and often times held my own hands while the movie played.
and every night i thought maybe each and every night would be different.
i've told strangers my secrets all because they told me i was pretty.
i've been in my bed for four days and between those days i slept with a man who wouldn't even hold my hair as i threw up apologies to my mother.
underage drinking isn't something that you should do but i've kissed more bottles than boys and a hangover hurts less than heartbreak.
i've watched the sun burn itself into ashes while telling the boy i knew since i was three that i'd never kiss him because he traded me for Lara Jean.
i've kissed cold lips, chapped lips but mostly underaged drunk lips and i pretended to be anyone else but my dim breathing self and still i was alone.
i expected fullness in a place that held the echoes of my mothers disappointment and all i ever got back was my own cracked voice.
all i ever got back was a strangers mouth and i always pretended that's what i always wanted.
i just never wanted to be alone.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Have you ever done something illegal?
I have.
I've smoked underaged,
drank underaged,
drove without a license,
drove without insurance,
sped,
*** underaged,
almost anything underaged.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 12:00 AM UTC
You promised
A life in Bhutan
As lovers
I took your promise
As gospel
You promised
Me that
We would practice
Tantra
I took your promise
As gospel
Your promise
Me
That we would see the monasteries
As we traveled through
Your country
I took your promise
As gospel
Then I found out that you
Only like teenagers
And underaged girls
Well you can
**** your promises.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC