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james nordlund Aug 2018
As they broke their bread for Lent, TrumputiN's team, hellbent,
Contrived a way to derive from the ripping apart of 3000 Latino
Families, an unending flow of your tax dolla's to predominently
Republican manned anti-immigration agencies, it should make you
Wanna holla, they called it 'zero tolerance', just to throw
All off the scent, and muddy the term's use hence, the white
Supremacy for the Black, in ebony and ivory's working together
In perfect harmony, to do away with 'zero tolerance' in schools,
To increase the amount of crime delinquent kids get done before
They're justifiably kicked out, same old, same old, tragically.

RumputiN got donations from one private prison corp, that got
A 200 million $ contract to house the kids, the involved Fed
Agencies then discriminated against families with kids by
Targeting them for family ripping on our South Western border.
These kids were caged, continually shuttled around at early
Morning hours so they'd be noticed less, were given no way
To contact relatives, their parents almost no way to contact
Them, the 'tender age' kids, 8 months old and up, not given
Humane necessary professsional care, etc., which will dictate
Lifelong traumatic effects, and deep psychological problems.

The courts continually order deadlines by which "these families
Must be reunited", but the altright universe invaders working
For trumpler continually miss them, and project genocidal lies
Like, "hundreds of these kids are ineligible to be reunited
With their parents", most parents having been deported already,
Even though a large % were legally asking for asylum at our
Border, this is genocidal and illegal internationally, there
Are no "ineligible" to be together innocent kids and parents,
When will prumptutin's genocide of Latinos, escalation of the
Oligarchy's class war against lower-middle-class to poor, end?

The gov't criminally dictated that "if they want to see their
Kids again they have to sign away their rights and leave", etc.,
Atrocities against these poor souls and groups like the ACLU,
While doing their best to remedy the abuses against them, our
Compadres, they, while not funded by the gov't, are mocked by
RumputiN, and he projects that "they should reunite families",
Instead of the gov't agencies who ripped them apart.  At least
The judges are deligently expressing the entirety of the fault
For these atrocities lies with the **** crime family's flocks
Of felons, and they must rectify it now, when will they?!?!?
When will the prosecutions of them use the REICO Statute,
And thereby, stop being elaborate cover-ups, giving out immunity

To dozens of organized criminals, while only incarcerating
A few.  Who is dense enough to not see through the smoke, mirrors,
Song, dance of the show that must go on's politic theatre macabre
Of the global oligarchy's cover up of itself?  Who is not knowing
That Mueller, who was part of the elite of the repub conspiracy
That purposely didn't prevent attacks on 9-11-01, during king
George and his ****, cheney's reign on the American way of life,
Is part of the intelligence industrial complex's 2016 invisible
Coup during, and hacking of, the presidential election, resulting
In RumputiN's installation in the Blackhouse ('cause once you go
Black you never go back), as well as the continual cover-up?  

Who, that comey, alone, could have been responsible for non-repubs
Loss of the Presidency, and now the supremacy court, especially if
The dems don't stop a kavanaugh vote before the midterms that are
Near?  Who ..., that most of the supposed "school shootings", acts
Of terror, targeting future non-repub leaders, are engineered, timed
And executed by the crimnal repub conspiracy that must be prosecuted
Using the REICO Statute also, who ..., that ebony and ivory, the
Black and white supremacies, working together in perfect harmony,
As are all 21 flavors of our baskin + robbins of supremacies, are
Struggling to mass-****** a million Americans, liquidating the ases
And assets of the masses, and calling it legislation, like ****** did
Before his "final solution", who, that the American daymare must end?
When's Mueller going to be done with his elaborate cover-up (he's purposely not using the REICO Statute that should be, and is necessary), he's giving immunity to a dozen republican criminal conspiracy felons while only prosecuting, convicting, pleading out a few, before or after RumputiN's visible coup steals the midterms?  If you didn't vote for Hillary, you voted for RumputiN.  "...We(e),..." must protect the vote, vote early, GOTV, and protect the results more than ever, before the country gets used to being drunk on democracy's backslider's wine.  Also: All threads in the fabric of life are needed; "..we(e),...", can't allow it to be torn asunder.  Mothers are that which society builds on, their needs are all of ours; and necessary to meet.  "...Suffer the children...", from the Bible, didn't mean cause the kids suffering; when will remocrats, and even some dempublicans (dinos and DinoS), stop doing most everything asbackwards?   reality
Danielle Rose Dec 2012
So insensitively you drain and ***** me
taking blood samples and injecting the chills
enstilling no trust right before you ******
foreign objects into my gut
I didnt ask for you nor did you ask for me
and with a situation that should be full of understanding
we just cant seem to meet eye to eye
you are the arrogant judgemental kind
and me I'm just a piece of paper
full of ineligible lines
I hate doctors or most I should say
I come in always in the worst of situations
For them its everyday
and the longer they're with it
the less humane they seem
I dream of a world full of humility
while I crumble
traumatised in hospital sheets
Eriko Mar 2016
dusk settling upon moth eaten vine groves
descending black-dotted wings
powdered of grey white
solitude spoken within
every downstroke

tin fences, rusted into skeletons
turbulence trembling its stakes,
peeling the lovely yellow paint
where butterflies once nested
scrawny black cat
like smoldering black night
carrying two yellow moons
and hairs of silver light

a plain, forgotten location
where lovely sights once roamed
rosy red cheeks,
perfume of lavender melodies
afternoon mint tea
and lemon poppy cookies,
laughter bouncing in the mountain's ribcages

but the settlement has lost
of its melodies and sublime treatment
gone quiet but for the flutter
of moths eating away
the shelved books bleeding of neglect,

yet on an ordinary morning stroll
a young lady,
a lady with voices
singing soulfully in her chest
and daggers in her head
scars like crescent sugars in her eyes
stumbled upon the settlement

the lame, stone cottage
she knocked on the withered blue door
and found the hinges swing open
of it's own accord,
she stepped timidly
without a second thought
of where to go

stepping lightly through dust
and strewn rubble,
she lit a flame and drank the puddle
of beautiful rain water
collected in the porcelain bowl

the moths fluttered,
slight shadows like speckled dove eggs
she stroked the cat
and fed the young master with syllables
admiring the wild flowers,
tulips and lavenders,
daisies and roses
bloom outside the window

caressing each marvelous spine
of dusted books,
revealing the beaming beauty
hidden so well deep within,
pouring over the pages
glorious in the high mount of knowledge

she learned, learned how to tend
the overgrown garden which once stood
learned how cats breath
learned the tragedies of neglect
learned the balance of life and death,
the passage of time
the vessel of humanity
burdened with
wonder

she tended her garden
plucking tender sweet grapes
kiwis and even
sweet potatoes,
naming the black cat
that of the last waning light
before night befalls over the world,
the breath before when
time ceases to ache
and shadows are thrown
silent and beautiful,
speaking with the aching golden sunlight,

she washed the white stones
and made the path,
re-patched the teared curtains
cleaned the bile in the door hinges,
sweeping the filth from the floors
thatched the roof

she became a lovely, lone girl
with the black cat by the name
of things forgotten
remembered once again
like happiness and joy,
love and nourishment
knowledge and intelligence
a calming quiet like calm foggy mornings
rather than that of ineligible silence

she became a queen,
a lovely lady
of her own home
she refurnished from the rubble
and became a companion
of the tulips of the garden
and sweetness from
the purest water
streaming not too
far from home
Mr Bigglesworth Mar 2013
Clickety clack, clickety clack go the perfect white plastic teeth as they clip together
Reality bites like a pair of comedy dentures sprung from the pocket of a sad faced clown
Look again; are they plastic? Or are they waterloo teeth plucked from the warm corpse of a cold friend
Either way they are far too close to my face for this to be funny.
For redemption he squeezes his droopy flower between finger and thumb
But to no avail.....The comedy squirt is missing; it is as dry as the tears on his powder white cheek
Squeak, squeak, squeak goes the wheel on his unicycle as he painfully pedals away
But it is not he that failed you....No it is those that stole the part of you that used to be easily pleased
Like thieves in the night, feasting on your happiness and enjoying the thought of wonderful you falling from your erroneously perceived perch
Well let them take their pound of flesh, if they can rejoice in my pain it will only erode them from the inside out
I renounce such bitterness because before long I will find me again, I will be stronger and better
I will take flight and alight a pedestal far higher than the one they imagined I thought I was on


“Just words!” screams that child in my soul...Actions are stifled like the image of a five year old you with a cloth clasped to the face; breathing on the anaesthetic evil of life.
You want to help but you can only see him through the one way glass of time, what is done is done and can only be undone through reliving this terror and fixing the damage
His struggle is short lived and the monsters descend, dragging him by a foot naked and bruised, head banging the contours of this corridor of depravity
He cannot hear your screams but his fill your ears like the blood of a million paper cuts, not one measured but together a pain like no other
Where was his saviour? Or was he always considered as a low risk category a misconception of strength and need
Was his ***, the white of his skin, the bread on his table, the money in his mothers pocket and the education he received render him ineligible for salvation
In short...“Yes”...he was expected to save himself and learn to save others...Those less fortunate.
Little do they know in some ways, once you’ve scratched the surface, they were far luckier
Their vices were less harmful than his own devices, as a little knowledge is dangerous
With great power comes great responsibility but some can be responsible for others without learning to take care of themselves.
RA Jan 2014
I am the prodigal daughter that
will not be returning. I have squandered
your forgiveness, if ever
it was, on small sins

that I probably
could have avoided. Tiny ways
Of asserting my individuality, my
independence, my unwillingness to follow
anyone blindly. The food

I eat, the friends
I have, the actions
I take, the people
I love, they
are not as to your
specifications. I am the prodigal

daughter, the one
that stopped believing in your
(supposedly) everlasting love, your
(apparent) watching eye and protection. I

am the prodigal daughter, I
have given up on trying
for your acceptance, trying
to hurt myself to earn
the warmth and love I never
saw. For so long you
made me feel unworthy

of you, ineligible
for your embrace, and now
I finally know that I
truly do not deserve
the iron bars
of your acceptance, disguised
as a structure to hold
me up. I now know

I deserve more.
December 5, 2014
Danielle Rose Jul 2013
They were cold and sterile
Maybe that's why they plagued it
As they placed their signatures upon experimentation
and pushed too hard like a workhorse facing retirement

It's a script indeed
The downfall of a generation
Weak minded fiends cycle it out like ***** laundry
Siphoning jet fuel to reach new heights in sacrifice
It's no wonder why none of us can sleep at night

Me I'm just a piece of paper full of ineligible lines
Treated like a germ
With great pain held behind whimpering eyes
So hard to disguise

My pace quickened as I passed
Glossy eyes and desperate breaths
People clawing crying out
I continued forward heart cast out
Sara Ackermann Feb 2015
I'm falling apart (again)
and the tight seams of my mentality
are quickly fraying in this silence.
This silence is more than simply just that.
It is built up of sudden unemployment combined with
the empty spaces around me (that once held friends)
and the lack of motivation to do anything (caused by the overwhelming listlessness of my Depression).

The hardest things are really quite simple:
go to sleep
eat at least one meal a day
shower
go outside once in a while
breathe (deeply)
get out of bed
wake up
call someone (to temporarily fill the empty spaces)
feed the cat (which I manage to do during the few moments I'm awake)
clean up a bit
breath (once more).

The Depression has one outlet (that works)
but for once there is not even the urge
to engage in that self destructive action.

The search for a job is needlessly difficult,
for each time I find that the scars on my arms,
all over my body,
make me "ineligible."
The ones that seem not to care about such things
are either paying minimum wage and are part time
(neither of which pays the rent, car insurance, and other bills that always, always add up),
or I do not have the certification or degree to have them
(school is expensive and I will do whatever it takes to never live in the same building as my parents- even being homeless).

And friends?
How can one make and keep or even briefly have even one,
when they themselves don't have even the faintest idea of how
to let others in?
To trust them (any more than one would trust a person holding a gun to the back of their head)?
Sup. Life *****. Kinda amazed I managed to type all this crap. Go ahead and ignore it if you like. Also I've decided I really hate any sort of military/government because really they are all the same.
Timothy Brown Jan 2013
Remarkably ineligible scribbles
like a doctor's short hand.
Every so often we peer over the edge of our hearts'
paper bound representation
and catch eachother's eye.

Its that moment.
When our gaze meets
we don't need to see to understand.
Actually, doing it in the dark is part of what makes it exciting.
In that moment
when our glance
makes our worlds collide
within our irises

you strip.
shedding off the plates of armor
hidden in your sweater dress and scarf
your thigh-high boots, arm-length bracelets
and the baggy beanie so elegantly
laid upon your head
Twirling proudly,
exposing every twist and turn,
every pothole and hill.
These roads I have yet to travel.
Still I can feel my chain mail unravel.
We stand there exposed.
A queen without a crown
and a king without a throne
and our kingdoms unite under the banner of white sheets
and blue lines that define our bodies, hearts and minds.

Its just a moment
then its  back to scribbling.
Smiling and snickering
and silence occasionally interrupted by
Trains & Sirens
Its better than ***.
Really, it is.
Just to know my muse is at the end of my nose.
For a woman I have yet to meet or have already met, I just don't know it
© January 23rd, 2013 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
emily Sep 2022
Reasons we don't work

She doesn't like dogs, only cats, not even the small cute fuzzy ones. I mean, I don't like holding a fur ball that can fit comfortably in one hand.

Our favourite music tastes speak different languages, and although I have them on my playlist just for her to catch like an easter egg. I don't understand French and yet I add them for her

She reminds me of a sweet strawberry mid summer all red and juicy and I am an overcooked pepper all wrinkled and burnet along the edges

Their name is like the green of the ocean in clean water. It reminds me of a holiday that I have yet to come back home from.

On my desk is a rubix cube that is half finished. I have one face solved and two rows completed but I cannot go any further because I have yet to memorise the algorithm and I can't find a website that shows me what to do. It it uncompleted yet it taunts me with its bright colours

She paints, she wants to become a graphic designer. Her work is modern and stylish, all clean edges and smooth lines. My artwork is rough and scratchy like mad men painting their troubles and always on paper.

Loving them was like ignoring the cars as I crossed the road without looking both ways and expecting not to get hit.

They are clean and dress well all colour coordinated with long frilly dresses. I dress like I'm going on a cold run with gym leggings and a jumper that I got from my work, i'm ready for anything.

I treat love like my first tequila shot that my taste buds are unwilling to accept. It is a foreign gift that I have yet to declare in the airport of my heart.

My love is like postcards that haven't got the stamp on so close to being sent yet without them they are ineligible to be delivered.

Love is like renting a house that I only recognise as I'm driving out of the driveway, love is looking back to the home that I will always leave.

Loving her was the act of keeping a secret, love was hidden for her an adventure of how long we could keep the game going until their parents found out. Their love was how quickly they could separate their stitched hands from mine when her mother walked into the room.

Her love was public until she entered the privacy of her own home.

I want a front porch love that kisses goodbye at the end of the evening filled with the breath of an open atmosphere. Her love was a closed door with nothing but a goodbye only later to text me a kiss.

Although she was a puzzle piece in my life she didn't fit in the section of my heart even though I tried every single combination she wasn't the right fit. Like the rubix cube that i have yet to finish I won't give up trying to make her fit into my life.

I have yet to find a moment in my day where she is not walking beside me in my imaginations, like an unwelcome guest I have yet to ask her to leave.
these are some of the reasons we don't work
iridescent May 2015
I saw you in abrupt thunderstorms. I have loved rainy days and you were in the curtain of raindrops that blurred the concept of pain, the sound of scattered glass and cold on metal. You were transient and the thought of a rainbow over the skies seemed almost intangible.

I saw you in the bitterness we both adored. Since you left, I have not bought another cup of espresso. I felt you in my guts and I have no idea why I spilled them all out for you. You were in the caffeine that kept me awake, but not quite. You were a coffee stain I couldn't scrub off my skin; I was a speck of dust that you effortlessly brushed away.

I saw you in the emptiness, in the weeks that followed your departure. I saw you in the door that I wasn't sure was half-closed or half-opened. I saw you in the winds that wouldn't stop howling your name. I saw you in flaking chains and rusting promises, that are about to be reduced to nothing. I saw you in a part of me- all the words that you have said imprinted on my skin and your electrifying touch that left burn marks ineligible.

Perhaps time and tide could wash away the grains of yesterdays- the ache receded and it's getting harder to cast a reflection of you on the waves that keeps crashing and breaking. Part of you will always be a part of me, that's what every one in your life becomes, and you are progressively buried deeper within me. As I see less of you each day, there is nothing else to get over now except for the mere idea of you.
chimaera Jul 2014
Vacant.
An empty house.
Seldom glimpsed.
Unsuitable.
Ineligible for love.
Jamal Abboud Jun 2017
My beloved, the desert sand and I are alike
Prostrating and burning since our painful birth,
Where from we rippled through a roving death,
While love shades our existence at bask

We drink the sun a fake water light,
And thirsty freedom creeps to mirage's bound,
And pride moans with a cry of squalls' sound,    
While love cuddles our thoughts close and tight.

My beloved, the desert sand and I are ineligible,
Drifted and assaulted and broken up into  particles,
And carried away on echoes of discordant canticles,
Where love remains truthful for the negligible.

My beloved, the desert and I are a color of a mould
Deliberately chosen to adorn beauty and free fingers
For those who wish, the meek sweet strangers
Are melted to keep true love audacious and bold.
Tori Schall Oct 2019
My thoughts smash through my skull,
bursting forth with a stream of words
that I can neither control nor stop.
Why was I created this way?
It is still never what I want to say.
No, that is reserved for the paper in which
I spend my days hiding in.
Diving into the endless recesses of my mind
to scratch and dig and pick out
a single strand of pain that filters
through the rest of my body,
so that I can feel raw and unbridled
as I scratch ink on the paper
in a scrawl that is nearly ineligible
not even I can read it.
So instead I let my fingers
go numb from gliding across keys,
so that all may hear my scream
instead of taking that pen and inking my arm
in red, red ink.
So much ink that it passes my skin and bleeds into my veins
just to mingle with the blood
and flow back out in rejection
of all that I was, and all that I am.
Praggya Joshi Sep 2018
You scratched
Me with your
Lesser love
And its stubborn
Painful scars
Continued to
Brutally remind me
For the longest
Period of time
About the presence
Of a fatal flaw
Within my system
That rendered me
As an
Ineligible seeker
For an unconditional
Infinite love
Lawrence Hall May 21
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

           A Run-Off Primary Election Between Two Inadequate Men

Prologue, Exposition, and Chekhov’s Ballot Box:

A wobbly old man complained to the judge
Who had found that he was ineligible to vote
“But the guy on the TV said I could vote,” he whined
“I have to obey the law,” replied the judge, “not the guy on TV”

Rising Action and Conflict:

I took my ballot and perused the names
Two names, the only names, of two bad men

Further Conflict:

I do not have to vote for the lesser of two evils
Because the lesser of two evils is still an evil

******:

I left the little bubbles for those little men blank
And pencilled into an empty space my choice:

                                                        ­   NO!

And underlined it twice

Denouement:

I drove away

— The End —