When you live with the critic It makes life more difficult The roommate from hell Who never applied for the space Just moved on in And won't shut the **** up
Looking over your shoulder Pointing out Everything your doing that's Stupid and wrong Turning the mirror into a Toxic reflection pool Telling scary stories About who you've never been & Should have been
Insomnia & anxiety wrapped up in a gigantic cringe, a gift, no doubt.
The battle is a finger puzzle The more you struggle The more painfully stuck You become
Continually looping While trying to make it stop.
And it never does.
I don't listen to the critic much any more It comes and goes And that's okay With me In the end Peaceful acceptance is all I Try to remember.
I reiterate what I said before I need no gender nor ethnicity to block my logical judgement I am human and I know right from wrong
I will not put anyone in darkness I refuse to **** anyone Just think of a world where everyone thought like me Hate would no longer cause misery
All of your religious reasoning Exist in a fog The law of love are lost I seen it through your eyes When I was one of you.
I read that book of hate and death several times and each additional time it ****** more and more spiritual energy from me It’s clearly a book of supremacy The chosen ones only matter Why would god write a book in the devil’s handwriting?
Look where remembering “The Sons of Amalekite” has brought us. How about remembering to love instead?
Amalek is the archetypal enemy of the Jews and the symbol of evil in Jewish religion and folklore.[90] Nur Masalha, Elliot Horowitz, and Josef Stern suggest that the Amalekites represent an "eternally irreconciliable enemy" that wants to ****** Jews. In post-biblical times, Jews associated contemporary enemies with Amalek or Haman and, occasionally, believed pre-emptive violence is acceptable against such enemies.
Distant trains still sound alarms, Blinds are drawn, people yawn, It's time to call the day.
The sun's turned off, The moon's turned on, The stars like pinholes Blink till dawn. The animals are bedded On the farm; Beneath this counterpane we're warm.
Today our work is done; Tomorrow worries not begun. But tonight I'll sleep Like the seventh son.
“A poet's qualifications include common sense, knowledge of character, adherence to high ideals, combination of the dulce with the utile, intellectual superiority, appreciation of the noble history and lofty mission of poetry, and above all a willingness to listen to and profit by impartial criticism.”