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Strangerous Sep 2023
The salesman at the door
is looking for a need;
if he doesn't find one,
he weaponizes greed.

No need to be rude
to this gentle working man
who satisfies desires
in everyone he can.

Just let him know you're happy
with everything you've got,
and he'll be on his way
to someone who's not.
© 1989 by Jack Morris
John Dewberry Sep 2020
Destroy recreate
Substantial hate
The times have changed
To the very same
Thing it was fighting before

America:
The imploding family
Distrust is all I see
But does hate see you
When you look at a reflection?
  
A country destroyed
So that men can debate
History— the symbiosis leaves
Me numb and irate

I won’t burn the flag
I won’t kneel
But I to
Some extant know how you feel
This isn’t the way
But we won’t change
Cause tomorrow’s the same as today

History’s ironic
When we stop and think
That nobody ever learns it
We only discern it
To fit an agenda
  That weaponizes
The politicians own ends
Everyone wants power
And they’ll discard friends
To get it and keep it

....The ****

Someones gotta see that this isn’t partisan
Someone’s gotta see that we need change
Not a revolution per se
But we need to be more self reliant and sustainable
To show certain people that they aren’t needed
The fact that we’ve become so descentized to our own issues that we create problems
Is just the byproduct
Of the **** we created ourselves
Everly Rush May 29
I live at school.
Not because I love it,
but because home is a war I got tired of losing.

Boarding school was supposed to be an escape.
But turns out, monsters don’t need addresses
they travel in texts, in voicemails
in the mouth of teachers
who were supposed to be grown ups,
but act like mean girls in blazers.

My stepmother doesn’t have to be near me
to make my skin crawl.
Her words arrive on screens.
Her voice leaks through the phone.
“You’re a disappointment.”
“An embarrassment.”
“She thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

She weaponizes my silence.
Twists my distance into guilt.
And the teachers?
They carry her messages like loyal dogs.
Repeat her insults with that tight-lipped smile
like they’re reading bible verses
instead of abuse.

And when I crack—
when the rage explodes out of my chest
because no one listens until I yell—
I’m the problem.
“She’s aggressive.”
“She has anger issues.”
“Unstable.”

But tell me—
what do you become
when you’re poked, poked, poked
every single day
by girls who think pain is a game
and teachers stand by
like broken statues?

What do you become
when every voice you hear
is one telling you you’re too loud,
too bold,
too much—
when all you’ve ever been
is trying to survive
a world that chews you up for breathing wrong?

I never wanted to be the girl who fights.
But kindness never stopped the bleeding.
And fists speak louder in a world
that turns its back when you whisper “help.”

All I want is peace.
Not your false calm—
not the silence that chokes me.
I mean peace where I can exist,
unafraid of my own name
coming out of someone else’s mouth.

I want to walk through these halls
and not flinch at the sound of my phone.
I want teachers to teach,
not take sides in wars I never started.

I want to feel safe
somewhere.
Anywhere.
I’m tired of being told I’m too much
by people who give too little.
I’ve bled in places you’ll never see
and still managed to be kind.
Do you know how strong that makes me?

So if you’re reading this,
and you’ve ever made someone feel small
just because you could—
congratulations.
But I’m still here.
And your hate?
It ends with me.

Because I will fight,
if I have to.
But all I ever wanted
was to be left
the hell
alone.
18:59pm / I’m tired

— The End —