"he's such an uppity motherfucker

dripping with douchebaggery

but he's got swag..."


*   *   * 


a collective of offended morons

who share a narrow world view

with every keystroke 

prancing along with blinders

to pervert what they see as truth

internet superheroes

 hive minded individuals

who see insufferable injustice

in every word uttered

a culture of victimhood found

in every innocuous glance their way

the first world problems of today

magnified by fanatics and sheer idiocy

social justice warriors on their high horse riding on

one way trip down the rabbit's shithole


"it's ok,  it's all a fucking safe place"

"the world as it really is and always will be can't hurt your delicate sensabilities here"

"just cover your ears and close your eyes"


la la la


la la la


la la la

this has nothing to do with you

la la la


la la la 


la la la

but maybe someday you'll piece together the fucking clues

we're the disease

and there can be no justice

as long as our race breathes

we'll always hate

we'll always kill

we'll always subjugate

we always have and always will










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Whispering Prate




Like psithurism,


Embued with the essence of me,


Wading the darkside's rivers whistling a tune,


Wishing and hoping for some 


Small twinge of logic


To seep through these long branches.






Through winter storms 


And hot, blistering summer droughts,


And yet, 


Just like a willow,




You have learned the dance,


Even when the dance tried to swallow you.


And I promise this time


I will try harder not to step on toes,


Or barrell down false pride


Without leaving cover or batting down hatches.




Because I learned that when the wind


Hits the trees,


There is only one sound it can make


To ears that cannot hear,


Ears that refuse to listen,


To the words.







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Making a Bruise on My Foot

Things Gone Wrong


It started when I was

sitting on the toilet.


I had finished using it,

so I stood up.


Although I pulled up

my underwear,

I wanted to

change my shorts.


So, I decided not to

pull up my shorts,

nor to pull them down,

for some strange reason.


I got up,

and since I

couldn't walk right,

with my shorts around my ankles.


I waddled,

yes, waddled,

towards the doorway

of the bathroom.




here is where

I call for your attention.


I waddled,

yes, waddled,

towards the door,

so I could go change my shorts!


I reach the bathroom door,

which is open all the way,

and my foot is extended,

as I am getting ready

to move onto my left foot.


My right foot

slides under the door,

my pinky toe not making it under.


The pinky toe stretched,

or something like that,

and threw me into

horrible pain.


My toe,

my toe,

or was it my foot?!


I had no clue,

just that it hurt!


Author's Notes/Comments: 

True "story"!!! This is my clumbsy self!! I hope you like it, let me know!!

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Dedication to the One Called We - July 12, 2012

Chapter One


If this is all I can do,

Then I should take it to you,

As a clue for for me and you to follow,

Still unsure what to do with myself so hollow.


I'm so confused, I feel refused,

And accused of being the culprit.

I can't abuse, or suffuse,

This broken me I'm finding.


Coward? Idiot? I don't know.

Exactly what I am I can't discover,

And I'll never recover, or dissever,

My ties from this significant other.


I can't break this curse of stupidity,

This soul, bravery of fluidity,

Dripping away from me as moments broadcasting;

Never everlasting; my appearance contrasting.


Despite slight tolerance, severance has occurred,

And obscured my torn soul, my unclear architecture.

So despite the impression, give some digression,

And find reality's me, and my so clear recession.


I dedicate this writing, to the one called we,

Just so we can see, our reality we're facing,

Our confusion fast pacing; but together we can lace,

And trace our new future, if even new at all.


Maybe it'll be the same future it has always been,

Because what's yet to come may never be discovered,

So if thought about it right, all can be all right,

And we never will have to change, never recovered.


We can't rearrange our future, or rearrange us,

Only because of that force, that invisible source,

That we call our love, that admiration that floats above,

A disasterful, irreparable and regrettable course.


I dedicate this writing, to the one called we,

Because hopefully you'll see, the meaning behind me.

If you look close into my eyes, the meaning becomes true,

Because if you look close into my eyes, what is seen is you.

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Don't be stupid

Pain and Heartache

Look around

Don't make a sound.

Swallow back your tears.

Close your eyes,

Whispered goodbyes.

Cold night and lonely years.

Your heart throbs,

Hold back sobs,

Relax and float away.

His cold embrace.

Hand carresses your face.

Don't believe what he may say.

Push him back,

Lie there slack,

So he may see your pain.

Do not fret,

He can't forget,

This is all for his gain.

So swallow pride,

You may confide.

Let him in, on this dark night.

But in the morning,

Your heart is roaring

You must cast him from your sight.

Lay him down,

In him you drown,

But, honey don't be stupid.

He'll dump you flat,

like a welcome mat.

This man, he is no cupid.

Your love is gone,

With the coming dawn,
And you see your tragic mistake.

Once again,

You've let him in

Leaving your broken heart in his wake.

I Did Something Bad

I did something bad,
something pretty horrible.

I did something bad,
something that can ruin my future.

I did something bad,
something that is killing me.

I did something bad,
something that I can't tell you.

I did something bad,
and now I have to face the consequences...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about how I feel about something I did that was pretty bad...

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Tough Guy

Avenues broken down, where
he who travels is not denied -
not in spite of his ride, or wheel;
his narrow mind and heart of holes.
He who can only spite himself,
by raucous, by hearsay, by
mishearings and misgivings from
the radial noise that's endless -
the only real constant in
a suburb once intended for man
not touting an ego or a gun,
but seeking out peace in spite of it all.

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