She deserves recognition
For her work as a technician
Who's expertise is ball bustin
Who majors in *******

Excelling in the field of advance
Hot air production
A profession heckler who
Composes an orchestra conductin

A firework show eruptin
With colorful rants red, and purples
She's acclaimed for rhetorical
Questions that repeats in circles

An elite linguistics scholar
Who's sarcasm is an accomplishment
Very talented...no gifted at making
An insult sound like a compliment

And Her stamina to do so
Is like an Olympian who's pleased
Only when her track and field
Meet of slander makes ur ears bleed

A masters degree in belittling
A graduated philosopher for the bitter
Must be a psychologist the way
She attacks my sanity to litter

Insecurities, and doubts and I
Heard she has a phd in hypnosis
Until u start to believe her *******
And this psychosomatic is ur psychosis

A world class magician who's
Tricks leave u perplexed in thought
A novelist who narrates to taunt
Controlling all characters and plot

She wrote the book on torturing
A man and emasculating him so
He may never move forward and
She was in the military I'm told

Historically known for her
intellectual Warfare
Manipulating soilders and utilizing
The grounds to ambush u there

A social tyrant who's brilliant
Political ties help her achieve
Her plan like constituents are
Biased so they're all after me

A paralegal who's unfair and lethal
And to her it's titalation
Unfair is her terms but like a
Perm ull get burned in litagation

A degree in early childhood
Education so she acts like a rebel
Perfecting being childish and
Unaffected by ur feelings on levels

Only a schoolyard bully could
Match, she's my jailhouse warden
Who's power is focused on me
Relentlessly constructing like a foreman

With Her future blueprints to
See what the hell she builds for me
Will look like, and she's also a director
In the ******* industry

So she tells in great detail
Just how I'll be ******
She must have been taught by
Peter pan how to never grow up

Trained as medic who specializes
In one area over them all
Nudering human males
So surgically she removes my *****

After she breaks them and
So I am the constant fool
This exceptional jack of trades
Makes me wish that I stayed in school

And again surfaced that smirk
Glinting ever so alluringly in my wake
Kindling an effigy of suspense

Amidst the faces that evening
With the minutes I dissolved
As classic fairness advanced
Forsaken was I to saturate within carnality

Could such a reason exist
For such monumental idolatry?
Could such possibilities exist
For the sake of emasculating warriors?

The dark demons in my head
Would all proclaim,
The pain is dead
The shot so hard
The price so high
As gawking, ghoulish grins
Come forward to flaunt
The chains emasculating me
In wild, ecliptical regressions
Pressuring my senses
To lie in a calm
That no longer exists

The needles of my peace
Frustrate my confidence, sublime
As i await the restoration of my sanity
The renaissance of my agility
So i squander reality
Like a cyclone
About to unfold
A devastation
This whirling charade goes on
Until the hours
Have long passed their bedtime
The magic of the wasted clowns
Begins....

If i share with you my story
Will you tell a different tale?
For what I am about to say
Would cost my heart
The tears i’ve cried in vain
But i must tell it just the same

Do not close your eyes
Nor cover your ears
If the pretty pictures fade
For there will surely be
Devils where i come from
Within my room
Inside my head

When the magic drugs me
To sleep
Dreams are often dark and deep
Sorry slumbers shattering
A shivering soul
Predestined to meet its end
Where drunken cannibals blend
Into a wretched scenario
Of an afternoon in hell

There is no awakening
Once the reason is shed
There is no truth
To the demons in my head
No truth at all
About what they said
No truth at all
That the pain is really dead

It never was
And never will be...

Once the magic of the
Wasted clowns
Start to begin..

After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds...

           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self-helps.

"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good

Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,

Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...

(Without be getting a shred
Of guilt)

Why is it that
I am held to a standard set in stone
That you are able to treat like a mold

Why is it that
I am punished for not acting “lady-like”
Yet you are excused because “boys will be boys”

Why is it that
When I was a girl, I wasn’t strong enough to lift a chair
Because you, were the “strong boy” my teacher required

Why is it that
I am trained in passivity
While you are praised for being actively inquisitive

Why is it that
As I speak out, I am obnoxiously bossy
But as you speak out, you are a heroic leader

Why is it that
When insulting me, I’m a *****
But when insulting you, you are just a son of that *****

Why is it that
I can’t speak my truth because that would be emasculating
But you are entitled to, because your truth actually has value

Why is it that
—for the same action—
I am spat out, left ruminating in a puddle of self-doubt
While you are uplifted and encouraged

And, why is it that
I've internalized all of these messages, absorbing the ramifications
While you are able to effectively maneuver them, benefiting off of my downfall

Why is it that, now
I reflexively utter “sorry,” coating my rhetoric to please you

Why is it that, now
I instantaneously tell you, “no, it's ok” when
it isn't. ok.

Why is it that, now
When an adult man catcalls me, a teenage girl
I am taught that is my obligation to indulge him, be kind
So I am not further harassed


And, tell me, why is it that
I am taught to compromise my needs
To fulfill yours

you pull on my heartstrings,
plucking with a sensational force,
encroaching my temple.
you shake with such a sensibility,
prancing across the barren trench
of loneliness.
tiny toenails scratch the surface of the skin,
scarring my edifice,
emasculating my core.
but language has power.
it swarms,
creating the metamorphosis of a human -
from a body
to a living creature.

I write this for those
Who are complicated like me
Too busy to find a relationship
But not busy enough to be

Lonely as ****,
And when I say that to some,
They are puzzled and befuddled
A single parent raising his son?

How can you be lonely?
That's when I feel the guilt,
Like I'm ungrateful, cuz it's painful
Explaining a brain full of silk

Emotions, that aren't fulfilled
By a child who's a dependent
I can't express the stress on my chest
And secretly lie like a defendant

And whisper everything will work out
When I'm not even sure it will
And it's emasculating to mask the failing
Without someone to distill

Like I do my son, and fill
My head with optimism
That I reciprocate and return, concerned
When they feel like earths a prison

And I'm not asking, ans this isn't
For the pity I despise when given
I just miss, the bliss of a hug and kiss
To remind me I'm still livin

And yes my son gives me this in
The daily grind, but my mind
When I get a minute that's mine
Always wander to nostalgic times

When I didn't question if I'm
In the place that fate with signs
Led me to. Or like many do
Am I lost where you can't find

A lost in found, lost in frowns
Can't find what I lost, no solid ground
Where you say fake smiles are around
And hate it. Only to realize that now

You do the same, another clown
Who seems anything but profound
I use to be royalty. Had loyalty,
but somewhere it all crashed down

So in my Burger King crown
And my throne, built with a stapler
Made of cardboard, matching my scepter Made of
that hallow cardboard tube you get from wrapping paper

You wrap Xmas gifts with,,
and if you Wonder what the paper was used for
It was used by the me in my past, high off his ***.
Who wrapped up my future

And inside was a dead end job,
Sobriety, and some ****
So when life ***** me, I can be lucky
And slap it on my rusty, ... Well you....

Get the picture. And if it sounds familiar
Or not. But still feel a spot
Inside that you tried filling with ***
An unfillable void, u avoid, but can't stop

Feeling it, when you stop. And got
A moment to yourself
I hope this consolation, for the constellations,
not aligning, is a help

Cause I write this, to get it out,
But I post it publicly, for those at home
Who feel the emptiness. When the phone isn't ringing ....
Your not alone

In being alone, which sounds
Like another of life's contradiction
But contradiction is a literary term,
Almost as if to give u a vision

Of poeticness. Where mine is given,
But the give of irony can be fun
Leaving only humor, left for the tumor
That teaches us, that when the sun

Is out. Not not to take it for granted
So I circle back to my son
And I'm sure, that if still unsecure or
Unsure, whenever this poem Is done

Maybe it's time to train your brain,
To regain a perception, that we
Inadvertently trained it to ignore, in horror
Witnessing what wasn't meant to be

And find solace in all or it ...
I know, I sound like a clicheè
Like a cheesy, hallmark card,
that makes you wish, the author had aids

Ok.. Not aids ... But ******, or something
Now I sound like a *****,
But sometimes I see public display of affection
from couples, and I think

You ******* PPL MAKE ME SICK
HES PROBABLY FUVKING UR SISTER
AND WHEN YOUR AT WORK SHES PROBABLY ....
Wait... I can't be bitter

And you shouldn't be either ..
I know it's easier that it sounds
When robin Williams committed suicide
I swear i couldn't help drown

In thoughts. Of how, somebody, so famed  And Loved,
would want to die
which means there's no chance for me..
But logically, it proves that inside

We all have that void. Annoyed,
Wanting it to just fuvk off
But the hard part in life is concentrating on.
What we have. And not, .... the have nots

And remember what you forgot..,
The annoying, overbearing, ones who
Actually do care, about you, are priceless
And trust me, if you have one too,

A mother. Who tries to smother,
so u run For cover and don't visit
Are the ones you give away, on the days
You rather be Alone to pivot

In worthless worries, only to revisit
The same pain, u feed as you fear it
And as I write this I'm rolling my ****** Eyes too,
cuz nobody wants to hear it

But the truth is *****, just like ur mom
But in end it's the only honesty
Left in a life full of broken dreams and fake smiles
toco-sign the promising

Promises no one kept,
when they said "I love you" or I'll never leave
So I'll try to take my own cheesy advice 
 Left in this poem if u do the same for me

So I gift this to you. And my future self
As well, and I can only hope he
Takes the message inside and abide, or try ...
And Remember,lastly, when coping

That just because your lonely,
It doesn't mean your alone ...
Just because your lonely doesn't mean your alone ...
For u.. I wrote this poem ...

you can go **** yourself!
and she laughed lazily, applying It to everybody
forcing them forward in time with her mind powers
killing the girl over and over in her head

realizing looser control in less of a mind
except me
what if i came back as a bee, or a firefly
i'd forget what humans were

getting high and snuggling pathetically
in the Bring Black Pluto! shirt
receding into rotating personalities

hating her voice like fingernails in the back of her skull
confused by the sickness and disjointed aims of her own diary
emasculating herself because where has he gone

to the sky! in smoke,
on nights.

with rear view mirrors that pigeontoe inwards
she cannot reconcile that she spends to much time
deciding what to reconcile,
an unbecoming that does happen from time to time
narrows her eyes, could catapult her
over that divider
only in dreams

he will be he will be he will be

After the preaching is

Done-finished picking at the scabs

Of our guilt,

At week's end / day of rest;

When we almost had it gone

Forgotten

From our minds...

It's a kinder kin to amnesia

A softer fog of fugue

A healing art of our brain farts,

Not soaking in shame's

Diminishment

Or stewing in self helps

"Deliver us!"          bow down genuflect

But then again

Here we are together to gather

Uncomplainingly

Complacently listening

Absorbing every lash

Of the metaphorical whip,

To be guided back to good

The sermon for the humans that we know

We are -- unworthy

But willingly we suffer

The word...

On how to be just like

The lamb...


So afterwards, when after we've been

Emotionally & verbally punctured

Full of hollow

We are holes unworthy

Of being

Made whole...

Or so, we've been told

It is written.


So then let us meet for homily

After King James harangues us

His version of fellowship,

Let us have verbal

******* with the word.

Perhaps over supping

Or during beer & NFL

Or some blood

Sport

Non-emasculating

Reminding us how

Weekends roar

And Life is

Worth more

Than the inner wars

We are ourselves

Fighting.

After the sermon,  

Let's have true verbal

*******.

(Without a shred of guilt.)

Excuse my ignorance
or pardon me for my damns
for when I wrote that letter
your breath was still in my lungs
your kiss wound into my tongue
etched into my forefingers
your presence twirling around me like smoke
emasculating freedom of thought
taking over like a low swooping cloud
casting shadows upon thy back
And so when I said I love you
I was misguided
I mistook it for infatuation
like chocolate
pure bliss within the moment
love is not the paper
burning fast and bright for but a second
love is the one that lingers
love is like the hot coals
where a fire has burned
love makes people run
it made you run
for some reason it comes as a burden
to the heart
a heavy sinking anchor.
but to me love is not anything of that sort
it is light and free
it is a songbird
in the early hours

what you felt was fear,
that is the anchor,
now...
release...

Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of the liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's torn,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and a rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.

Summer, field of fresh flowers
Backyard bonfires
Among cinnamon flavored daffodils
Hazy nights, and hazy days
Hazy cold dark maze built into the back of my mind
Every crack and corner and secret passage ingrained into my memory
Every trap and snare and pit of shame
Suffocating, emasculating holes
Arguments and pain pills and disappointments
A unique enemy in a dungeon I can’t ever really leave
Because even when im gone away
It's in my blood, that sweet smell of cinnamon

In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of

This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him

I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine

I just I don't like being angry

My father slaving for a check
the fed become corrupt elect erupt with disrespect
They say that money's harshly sought out by all those who evil
i see the one percent flourishing off all other people
I see my brothers outside of this bubble slowly dieing
i see that natures trying surviving through humans prying
I see that y'all misguided the guide to life isn't provided
they smoothly try and fool you the fate of lesser decided
By green ;
digits in the bank that you cant see
Paper is your worth if your not worth you wont be seen ;
its aggravating
The system is agitating
exasperate the weak if your poor they emasculating
They not helping
if it aint *** its not selling
Maybe drugs
and other delusions
Fed will come when he is ready via massive intrusion
taking everything you love from in the palms of your hands
Hope your ready to withstand when Marshall law rules the land..

Aye Go Gaga

Hey Play boy bunny,

(▒)(♥)(▒)

Are you tired looking for real dating partner like me
whelp...probably nada worth yar while spending precious
   time frittering away re:
ding tha following mish mash literary mush - we
ving, and bobbing, which iz meaningless mum bo pap agree?

(▒)(♥)(▒)


This poker face mwm 4 bad romance gamboling hall
ideal to suit up for a fun virtual cat and mouse chase
myopic eyes stare intently into cyberspace
folk kiss sing song snap chat ting
mine eyes fixated b4 ur image seconds erase
with an exclamation of eureka a ha -
u look familiar at least yar face
mebbe we both lived during same time centuries ago, eh
perhaps in adjoining caves some place
and/or dashed off the starting line of tha human race.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
this yo dull ling josh hing glute max a mess aye n us
tooting ring ding oof a max i mus drake
haint named Bruce
boot ah do like the taste of cous cous
what the deuce
as i goose
whereby bull winkle the moose
n Natasha the squirrel plus otter creatures tink i lack mental juice
er purr haps goot a ***** loose
right duh gray matter of dis knit wit, the "infamous" they noose
sum hmm iz amiss from indigent guy lugged in papoose
cob bulled with whirled wide web
peppered with rotten green tomatoes -
prompting n immediate VAMOOSE
& find my rye ming ting ab
solute zero in chime with zee cuckoo
ready to call doktor demento ore Zeus.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
thus, this friendship introduction
will mutual ideally nada blow
based on ma unseen essence of body, mind
& soul more so than dough
i.e. money, which tends tubby superficial criteria
viz assess worthiness to flow
toward greater comprehension akin to garden
requires one 2 **** din ***
thus, this common non sloppy joe
maw owl ease keeps tim self i.e. ya know
a contemplative sort & writes ha low
crossing fingers immediate aversion arises,
yet an emphatic "no"
toward me would be taken in stride per this poe
it, whose ability finds comfort within simple pleasures
of life while invisible one that doth row
this creaky human vessel occasionally
calls out for big tow.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
mebbe as a d liver e purse son
2 supplement social security income
(this disability 4 generalized anxiety)
within me gray matter doth lay.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
although (mentioned for noah particular rhyme nor reason)

of heterosexual tendencies, my inner sanctum affected

by unkind actions towards those,

who (by choice, genetics, fondness,

or environment) steer clear of the madding crowdsource

who (as a rather skinny diminutive boy - and average emasculating

asia meister wordsmith) experienced constant taunts.

no matter that  me very late mother (who passed away from

ovarian cancer some decade plus two years ago) encouraged me to

give the bullies a WHAT FOR (in that era kids could pummel

without reprisal),  but fear kept me back,

viz the brutish nasty monsters zeroed

on countless vulnerabilities such as being affected with blatant

nasal tone when talking,  extremely shy,

and undersized physique honed - fallacy

sensitivity to others differently abe bulled

or others, who hapt to be fair

game sans being gay or lesbian for instance.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
can be accurately ascertained, this archetypal nonestablishmentarian
introspective individual attempts to affect exultant image
with words my (ahem) pen ultimate aim.
yet all the while trying
to steer clear enduring wagging virtual finger in blame
neither at this fellow via x 'cept able dame
chance circumstances of existence akin to being frozen
in some space/time paradigms frame
attempting extricating ourselves a lifelong game
which message offered in poem rather lame.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
email moi, which means
applying cerebral muscles 2 flex
fire off a brief bull a tin

or mebbe u wanna drop me a lion by zoo
per doo purr postal service, si from you.

Okay.

(▒)(♥)(▒) - pose crypt:

death tomb he iz a permanent good bye

though, when me mum passed i only did cry

for about one week - cuz resentment did not die

within me, yet toward me octogenarian widower dad

who during tumultuous prepubescence a fie

re: cold war raged,

which deprived "dad" tune oh his guy

now grown (with two adult daughters) says "hi"

allows emotional connection, cuz - lesson learned late -

need to communicate sentiments today, lest they lie

dormant, and return with a vengeance after grim reaper

doth exuberantly and well nigh

whisk a family member, friend, neighbor...away on the sly

thus - even if the wording nada so perfect, the effort to express

heartfelt feelings well worth a try

thus, every mortal shares this bitter irony of life

forever asking being born only to pass away

(vis a vis via whatever faith) why...?

After the preaching is

Done-finished

picking at the scabs

Of our guilt,

At week's end / day of rest;

When we almost had it

Bygone

Forgotten

From our minds...

           It's a kinder kin to amnesia

A softer fog of fugue,

A healing art of our brain farts,

Not soaking in shame's

Diminishment

Or stewing in self helps

"Deliver us!"      bow down genuflect

But then again

Here we are together to gather

Uncomplainingly

Complacently listening

Absorbing every lash

Of the metaphorical whip,

To be guided back to good

Such sermons for the flawed

humans that we know

We are -- unworthy...

But willingly we suffer

The word.

Oh how to be just like

The lamb...


So afterwards, when after we've been

Emotionally & verbally punctured

Full of hollow

We are holes unworthy

Of being

Made whole...

Or so, we've been told

"It is written."


So now then let us meet for

homily

After King James harangues us

His version of fellowship,

Let us have verbal

******* with the word.

(Worship)

Perhaps over supping

Or during beer & NFL

Or some blood

Sport

Non-emasculating,

Reminding us how

Weekends roar

And Life is

Worth more

Than the inner wars

We are ourselves

Fighting.

After the sermon,  

Let's have true verbal

*******...

(Without a shred of guilt.)