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Logan Robertson Jun 2017
Life's Predispositions


In the chapel of his soul
and in the steeple of his mind
votive candles burn,
bright and iridescent,
perpetual,
red, yellow, green
and blue.
He sits in there,
a chapel for one,
in a mist
of confusion,
in a mess,
searching for answers,
as his life is waning,
escaping,
like an Autumn wind
blowing the pages of his life
... stillness,
of bookmarks,
still on page one,
he hatched, once.
All around him,
dark,
and cold,
like a winter chill,
snow banks withdrawing,
his sad existence.
Still he looks up
to Jesus on the cross.
Warmth.
In the chapel of his soul
and in the steeple of his mind
votive candles burn,
large,
bright and iridescent,
perpetual,
another rainbow stretching
it's arcs for him.
He backs away.
He bemoans life,
small,
it's endowments on him.
His parent's mistake
on a dark, eerie
loveless night...
and their cutting words
"You were a mistake,"
words
that grew on him,
like barnacles
clinging to him,
eating away his buoyancy,
like a ship sinking.
In the birth of another spring,
flowers blossoms,
rivers gushing down
mountains and mountains
of pollination,
life,
he has a lone branch
waiting ... somewhere.
Such stillness.
Such stigmatization
from his parents
loveless past.
A mistake they conceded.
It had an effect on him,
darker than the blackest sheep
that he was.
What predispositions.
When the summer harvests
arrive,
fields smiling their wares,
he scowled
he scowled the corn,
subsistence,
life,
the changing seasons,
his short change
of life.
Rainbows.
Why are the birds
singing to me?
Why?
The voices
in his head
chirping,
continuing.
What message thou
bring to an orphan?
Still he looks up
to Jesus on the cross.
Warmth.
His eyes squint.
Dad, mom.
And whispers words
that don't need
to be said,
closure.


Logan Robertson

6/01/17
Andrew Parker Jan 2014
We live in a society that is reluctant to hold individuals accountable for their actions.

They did this to him because of his smile.
They did this to him because he was in the bar bathroom a long while.
They did this to him because of his clothing style.

The environment can create stimuli and stressors which trigger predispositions.
Predispositions of behavioral tendencies to make bad decisions.

They did this to her because they saw it on TV.
They did this to her because nothing comes for free...
or at least easy.
They did this to her because of how they were raised by mommie.

However, at the end of the day, you have ****** autonomy.
Physically responsible for your own actions,
you have damaged another human...
being.
You don't want to accept you could do something so heinous to another human's ****
or ******.

Morally responsible to actively educate,
yourself.
How to live in a world with other humans whom differ from you.
People who you may not completely understand.

She said no, but things happened so fast.
Kept go-ing on, not for long he didn't last.

He might have been interested at the start of the night,
but wasn't trying to be perceived as putting up a fight,
resisting what his assailant created, his forever tragic night.

I'm not big on the concept of 'deviant behaviors' or 'social taboos.'
Certain things however, you should know what to do.
We violate others' rights, freedoms, privileges, happiness, mental stability, and personal well being.

And For What?
It doesn't matter if you're gay, like metal music, or get drunk, because
We can't blame the color gray.  
not tomorrow nor today.
Don't sit, just stand, get up and say.
Advocate that **** is wrong every innocent second of each precious day.
more clearly defined, not merely social constructs within a particular society.

Long story short; **** is Wrong. Get and Give Consent. Be Safe as well.
Juniper Jan 2017
when everything is working against you it's hard to stand up. society and your own mind are like gravity ten times stronger than what you experience every day. all the predispositions and beliefs and your religion and your ethics cling to your wrists and your feet and they drag you down until your skull vibrates with pain. and all you can think is my country did this to me. my geographic location is killing me. and if only i were from here or from there or from thither or yon then where would be be? better. standing? maybe. i would like to think so. some say they know so. i'll never know though. your upbringing is a brace and a shape that you take and it's set before you birth. it's a gift and a poison seeping through your veins, controlling your hands and your feet to do the thing you're told is right and keeping at bay those thoughts that make you think things unacceptable to a crowd. well i say undo yourself. cut away those puppet strings and let them fly like ribbons from your free hands. they will colour your dance of independence and show the masses they are ***** and you will be an inspiration to all. just wait. if you fall you fall. maybe it will be worth it because you got to dance and they didn't.
Joseph Schneider Jul 2014
Dissected brilliance
Admissible propositions
Sculpted resilience
Destructing predispositions

Initiates our purpose immensely
Criticism gives it's crucial effect
For the better, accordingly
It's for us to detect

Why? we ask throughout
Our incompetent delusion
Through our endless bout
Here, take your conclusion

"Why" is a sensational question
Dissects mind's interest
Releases its compression
Yet we remain among the belligerent

This answer prolongs
Through your eyes only
In our hearts it belongs
Don't persevere your phony
Bring back your trophy

-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved

Brilliance lives in us all. It's up to us to find it. Don't get down on yourself if you aren't good at what you weren't meant to do.

"Everybody is a Genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
at this time in the past right here

it used to be real

oh!...oh! for another reality

to leave this false perception

and go...go...go to feel the wind

on another's face

to see with another's eyes

how the colours appear to them

to hear what another hears

with an innocent ear

to feel the euphoria

that slows the world down

to have another's departure

from all perceived notions of reality

to a new understanding

another reality

where brief encounters with time

start with the embarkation of a sentence

that causes a curious disquiet

to race through the nerves

ricocheting in a vibrancy

of vatic vitality, a creative tension

transforming the cortex

creating new unforeseen images

a new reality where thoughts are visible

and circulate, orbiting moons around the mind

dazzling with a universal symbolism

that with a kaleidoscopic vengeance of words

scatters and amplifies the distinctions

of the senses, into a new reality

one of convulsive voices

oh! this new reality

it causes me to walk to a stranger

who is myself

and forms a true disintegration

of a controlled focus

on a beautiful disorder of

chaotic discourse of a volatilized impulse

of the emotions, where blood stains smile

lavishly with a different vocabulary

destroying a predictable reality

and forges a new one that entertains discovery

of other dimensions.. which are the figments

of another's imagination

it is solitary encapsulation of ideas

that glitter on my tongue

where conflagrations of burning water

swirl dramatically in difficult articulation

of the smells and rancid ***** stains

of the ordinary that tries but is precluded

from the stream of consciousness

rushing in a discord of sympathies

through the inner geography of my mind

and forges a symbolic relationship

with these inplosively brief encounters with time

causing psychic post apocalyptic

predispositions to a false mimesis
Danielle Rose Feb 2014
I hate the plays on my weaknesses
It's one thing to be manipulated and another to modify
Becoming mutated
Were we ever truly organic or have we been designed ?
Predestined to these predispositions since the dawn of time
No one wins these types of power plays
and I stray to isolation pondering for days
Can mind overcome these matters?
Because the experts don't seem to believe
we are capable of advancement
without these artificial enhancements
After all they have to practice
It's ****** hidden in plain sight
A quiet killer seizing and thieving life as we sleep
In broad daylight
Christopher Lowe Oct 2015
What did you hear that
No? It’s just the voices in my head again
They tend to act drunk and slightly belligerent
So excuse what I’m saying
I’m getting at something that they contemplated
If time is of the essence then we’re bound by intrinsic nature
A clock might have hands but the feeling couldn’t be stranger
Of the time slipping by even though my watch went dead
Did I finally **** time or was all it in my head
So we redefine what we think of these seconds
Measuring life merely bound by cosmic predispositions
So wait let me prepare a transition
About human nature and constructs of life
Does it all mean what comes from our head is true all the time
And what can be thought can exist in multi-dimensions
Are these words all made up
Or is that too odd to mention
steven Jul 2014
If hating the both of you is a sin,
I’m already in hell.
Been living in hell since the day
you came with Kit in your stomach
and me in the backs of your ***** Vietnamese minds.

First, you think gay people are
nasty, *****—wrong.
Second, you saw that Facebook photo of me
at the pride parade and now you think
that I’m gay,
that I’m nasty, *****, wrong.

And third, you showed him that picture
and now he doesn’t even want to call me his son.

I’m not sure of what I am, but I am sure of one thing—
that I don’t want to be your son if it means
living up to your standards, beliefs, misconceptions and predispositions
that are as ugly and low as the Communist oppression
you think you left behind.

                                                               ­      I only live up to America.

Toss my number on the stovetop and burn it—
Burn it like a ******.
Burn it like Chinese incense.
Burn it like your millionth cigarette bud.

**I’ll burn like the Fourth of July.
Originally a monologue I wrote for my Theatre class at Berkeley. Ta da, it's now a poem!
It's sort of nice when we can't put names on things
because it precludes the shitstorm that is invoked
by using language
with it's presuppositions
and predispositions.

Objectivity is scarce in a world of memories.

The truest things are anomalous.
Anonymous; without names:
by their very nature,
Ineffable. Paradoxical.

Wonderful.
Middle Class Nov 2014
My kettle sits on the stove,
My mind blends with the walls painted beige.
It secedes.
The thoughts are bound and timed.
Though released, half remain inside.

Standard lines for a futurist agnostic
The present presents a snowy rustic
But what of the faces and spaces that speak to me.
Have we not all been what we wanted to want to be?

My arms reach into the blue
Solitude,
Magnitude,
Saturated markets in the human condition
Intoxicating predispositions in an ideal so sober.
I awake to a lukewarm kettle, nothing boiled over.
Matthew Jan 2019
I wanted to be Normal
But I was atypical by nature
Genetic predispositions that I couldn't control
Or could I?
Everyone else argued that it was that I was broken
That I could be fixed
Converted
I wanted to be normal because they said that I could
They said that I wanted to be normal
It didn't matter that I was comfortable in my skin
It was that they never could accept me
But it didn't work
If I was broken?
Then why does it now feel like I'm falling apart?
I'm just another normal boy
**** your harsh judgements
**** your blind predispositions.
**** all these emotions and
**** all this dissonance.

First you must define yourself
then you must refine yourself
but lest ye ever confine yourself
you must learn to realign yourself.

If you never look around you
you'll never see where you are.
If you never know where you are
you'll never be able to find your way.

**** this assumption that I'm in control
**** this stream of consciousness; it's a black hole.
**** all these words I cannot think to say
I'm so sick of trying. So sick of caring. So sick of being. So sick of giving.

**** all this ****; I wish it all away.
Though if it were away, I'd never be here to say:
"I love this life,
but at the same time,
**** this life."
Kenna Marie Apr 2016
Tired of these predispositions affecting my condition.
Surely people peek out of their fancy yacht and know when to stop.
Give it all you got, until the genuine trials and triumphs come to a rampant end.
Biting tongues, curious on if one might be up for a run we call life.
Second strokes, carefully making sure there's no bruising.
Droopy eyes, suddenly discoloring the atmosphere.
It wasn't really much of a loss, nothing really is when you expect everything to toss.
Got a knife in one hand, your heart in the other. Slam one and one together.
I'm tired of this endeavor.
wordvango Jul 2017
and every day is a chapter and every
dream a limb
every new thing a sunrise and  every leaf
a hymn
and every song has her melody
and every tune her key
each wisdom its simplicity
simple things their place
prejudices their predispositions
and harmony her grace
and a new day will dawn
I am so sure
where the trees grow flowers
of fruit and the leaves fall
like money and
the songs are as melodic
as wisdom on a new sunny day
and the people place no
thought to differences
i pray
V Feb 2018
Beauty is a fallacy.
It makes sense to us,
but who has the right to
determine it?

The majority of the
Population perceives that
they are given that right,
for beauty has been twisted,
manipulated and barbed into
a wire that is toxic and
vehemently grotesque.

Beauty is subjective,
Its core isn’t objective.
We like to think it is,
but in reality, in notions,
in principles, and in practices
it is not

For beauty is determined by grace,
by elegance, and most importantly looks.

Beauty of thought and process
is highly disregarded.
It has become but a mere
illusion, barren in both
the intricacy of reality and truth.

Beauty is subjective, yet
it is determined by predispositions
and implicit standards that
originated many years ago,
yet these originated ideals
still reign supreme today.

Beauty is far more than
an outward façade,
For beauty is truth,
beauty is compassion,
beauty is knowledge
beauty is humility.
Rachel Brisco Feb 2014
I spent my time with you getting lost in day dreams as I stared out of your window and at the sky.
Making pictures of our potential future out of the clouds as the wind blew them by so fast that I had too many dreams of us to remember.
The sun in my eyes blinded me like your beauty every time I look at you.
You in my arms felt like the world in my hands.
And you lay with your head on my chest, so close to me that I could feel your heartbeat and even though you're sleeping, you still smile.
I find it impossible not to smile with you.
You erase every negative thought and emotion in my head and my heart and I get lost in the euphoria that being with you creates.
Nothing else matters.
I could wake up to this every day.
To you.
Everything we have right now is enough and I feel like it couldn't ever get better.
I find it so hard to believe and yet still, I know it will.
I could have been content laying with you as we did.
I could have listened to you talking forever, breathing in sync with the beat of your heart that has been shattered by those before me.
I crave the intricate details of your past that I was unlucky enough to miss out on.
But I'm here now.
I'm jealous of everyone that left their fingerprints on your body.
And I'm angry at anyone who ever left a scar on your heart.
And I wish I could replace your past but instead I can offer you my future.
I want to know you better.
Know you more.
Know you deeper.
Know you all.
Will you let me?
If you fall I'll be ready to catch you.
And I'll be falling too.
And I know you're scared, you're not the only one.
But erase the predispositions that your past has left you with because I'm not like the others.
Cliché I know, but its important that you understand.
The way I feel I'm lost in this freefall is making me pray that my feet don't ever touch the ground again.
I'll carry you to keep you closer to the sky.
To the stars.
To make you feel like this reality is more like a dream and to keep it that way for as long as you'll allow me to.
The past has been a tough journey and I know your heart is made up of fractions not quite adding up to a whole.
I can change that.
This journey lead you to this very moment and I know you're smiling.
This journey lead you to me.
And I'll help you put back the pieces of you that others were heartless enough to break.
Because I want you to be the most you that you have ever been.
It's you that I want.
Barton D Smock Jul 2013
who have in them hypothetical warmth

who have been saddled with such predispositions
as needing
to survive

as needing to be evaluated

who have multiple
lonely
nailings

words well known

but in strange places, arranged
strangely

upon a cave wall
by which
boulders
pass...

who prefer air quotes
made by those
without fingers
RA Mar 2014
Feeling this way should
not be allowed, right
now, in the very middle
of the week. Feeling
like this is not
helpful, not
when I have homework and
test and teachers and parents
and friends? I wish
feeling like this was never
allowed, not ever, but
my genetic makeup and
predispositions and family and
world and friends
do not allow this wishful thinking
to be reality. If I must
feel like this, at least
let it be later,
during the weekend, I
will curl up with
my covers and no one
will blink an eye when
I don't leave my room
again.
March 5, 2014
10:35 PM
Giuseppe Stokes Jul 2019
I remember the T.T on the front screen tv,
I remember the wooden table outside, with perched prose inscribed
I remember knocking myself out on the door ****, **** that I am adorned.
The video games
Plastered on the monitor
Excessive violence on demand.
I remember Sunday lunches
And the soggy Yorkshire pudding bases
And the ham, bear shaped and broken out from plastic cages on demand.

I remember the late nights playing board games,
The laughter cacophony ensuing
The vivid images and 3D activity represented on the big wooden table top purview,
I can't remember what the tabletop looks like...                       A shame

I remember sitting in the car unable to breathe,
I remember the recycled oxygen,
The time we nearly died on the roundabout,
The times we looked at air rifle paraphernalia.
The times we smiled together.

The arguments,
And conversations,
The silence

And sleep...
And questioning glares everytime I asked permission to make myself a drink
The awkwardness
The times we walked to the corner shop

Or took a drive somewhere or someplace,
The time I picked flowers and got a bollocking
The skin that felt empty and conceited.

The blooded scratch marks hidden under sleeves,
The scratching, allergies,
Dripping noses, headaches,
The mass of energy in front of me.
The unconscious predispositions,
The illness that came every morning,
The return home to certainty
And mostly the fluctuating sense of existential ambiguity.

The times we went on holiday and flooded the car with gear,
I remember the constant uneasiness,
The commentaries that rounded every corner

The time you turned yellow,
The overwhelming desire for love,
I remember the attempts to connect
The feelings of rejection and isolation
The awkwardness.
And love,
And memories that die with me.

I remember you daily, live you eternally,
I find myself caught in a web spun,
And thus
I try not to remember you
Too much.

I apologise for these thoughts,
But not to you,
But to the others I love,
Whom it may hurt.
skyy omalley Jun 2020
ed,,zinger suivante,,tels handknits finish,,cagefuls basinlike bag octopodan,,imbossing vaporettos rorid easygoingnesses nalorphines,,benzol respond washerwomen bristlecone,,parajournalism herringbone farnarkeled,,episodically cooties,,initiallers bimetallic,,leased hinters,,confidence teetotaller computerphobes,,pinnacle exotically overshades prothallia,,posterior gimmickry brassages bediapers countertrades,,haslet skiings sandglasses cannoli,,carven nis egomaniacal,,barminess gallivanted,,southeastward,,oophoron crumped,,tapued noncola colposcopical,,dolente trebbiano revealment,,outworked isotropous monosynaptic excisional moans,,enterocentesis jacuzzi preoccupations,,hippodrome outward googs,,tabbises undulators,,metathesizing,,sharia prepostor,,neuromast curmudgeons actability,,archaise spink reddening miscount,,madmen physostigmin statecraft neurocoeles bammed,,tenderest barguests crusados trust,,manshifts darzis aerophones,,reitboks discomposingly,,expandors,,monotasking galabia,,pertinents expedients witty,,chirographies crachach unsatisfactoriness swerveless,,flawed sepulchred thanksgiver scrawl skug,,perorate stringers gelatine flagstones,,chuses conceptualization surrejoined,,counterblasts rache,,numerative,,delirifacients methylthionine,,mantram dynamist atomised,,eternization percalines hryvnias pragmatizing,,reproachfulnesses telework nowts demoded revealer,,burnettize caryopteris subangular wirricows,,transvestites sinicized narcissus,,hikers meno,,degassing,,postcrises alikenesses,,sycophancy seroconverting insure,,yantras raphides cliftiest bosthoon,,zootherapy chlorides nationwide schlub yuri,,timeshares castanospermine backspaces reincite,,coactions cosignificative palafitte,,poofters subjunctions,,aquarian,,theralite revindicating,,cynosural permissibilities narcotising,,journeywork outkissed clarichords troutier,,myopias undiverting evacuations snarier superglue,,deaminise infirmaries teff hebephrenias,,brainboxes homonym lancelet,,lambitive stray,,inveigled,,acetabulums atenolol,,dekkos scarcer flensed,,abulias flaggers wammul boastfully,,galravitch happies interassociation multipara augmentations,,teratocarcinomata coopting didakai infrequently,,hairtails intricacy usuals,,pillorise outrating,,cataphoresis,,furnishings leglen,,goethite deflate butterburs,,phoneticising winiest hyposulphuric campshirts,,chainfalls swimmings roadblocked redone soliloquies,,broking mendaciousness parasitisms counterworld,,unravellings quarries passionately,,onomatopoesis repenting,,ramequin,,mopboard euphuistically,,volta sycophantized allantoides,,bors bouclees raisings sustaining,,diabolist sticks dole liltingly,,curial bisexualisms siderations hemolysed,,damnabilities unkenneling halters,,peripheral congaing,,diatomicity,,foolings repayments,,hereabouts vamosed him,,slanters moonrock porridgy monstruous,,heartwood bassoonist predispositions jargoon dominances,,timidest inalienable rewearing inevitably,,entreating retiary tranquillizing,,uniparental droogs,,allotropous,,forzati abiogenetic,,obduration exempted unifaces,,epilating calisaya dispiteously coggles,,vestmented flukily ignifying complished hiccupy municipalize,,pentagraphs parcels sutler excavates,,stardust miscited thankfulness,,fouter pertused,,overpacks,,guarishes hylotheism,,pi Fresh blood seeps through the line parting her skin and slowly colors her breast red. I begin to hyperventilate as my compulsion grows. The images won’t go away. Images of me driving the knife into her flesh continuously, ******* her body with the blade, making a mess of her. My head starts going crazy as my thoughts start to return. Shooting pain assaults my mind along with my thoughts. This is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How could I ever let myself think these things? But it’s unmistakable. The lust continues to linger through my veins. An ache in my muscles stems from the unreleased tension experienced by my entire body. Her Third Eye is drawing me closer.
Kite Jun 2014
I once knew this boy I loved
We'd talk and laugh and cry
I could see the rain cloud above his head
And somehow, he knew of mine

Like an unspoken promise we didn't ask
But we sought comfort in each other still
Never using labels or names,
I thought we could reign unspoken until

Our castle walls fell and all our men left
And the horses they ran away
The boy that I loved was quick to move on
But I waited for another day

And it seemed like years
In that castle I waited
For any kind of saviour
But the boy that I loved forgot about me
And in came a friend for a favour

After so much waiting,
I decided it was of no use to hope
So I let this new prince
put me on his horse
And hoped that somehow I'd cope

We did for a while and the prince would be sweet
And I could be distracted
But at a ball we did again meet
And I had to monitor the way that I acted

The boy that I loved was alone again
And I couldn't help but wonder why
While I tried to suppress my feelings
And told him of this new guy

Then a month to the day I realised the truth
About this new prince and his wishes
So after much pain and deliberation
Our relationship lies with the fishes

The boy I once knew I loved was waiting for me
And I told him I was confused
He said he was too and he didn't want to risk it
We both had too much to lose

But in the shadows he holds my hand
And we drink until late
I don't know if he knew my plan
But I was hoping the alcohol would determine our fate

My prince hugged me back
But that was all
Then he was on his way
And the boy that I loved still roams past
Each and every day

With no definitions and predispositions
I don't know what we've got
But the boy that I loved is the boy that I love
Whether he knows it or not.
Alex Salazar Nov 2019
Forests of stone, glass and light.
The truth cries out in the night.
Dearest oatmeal, Sometimes we fail to be whom we need to be.
Sometimes trepidation assumes form and takes judgment.
I need you to ASK yourself,
Can I trust this voice?

Discover the self,
And feel for what you say,
Does it strengthen my position or fragment it?

This world full of thunder,
Awaits someone more than you.
Someone outside the domain of opaque
Predispositions.
Someone ready to tender, and accept the world for its stench, and will enough the courage to make it better.
Classy J Dec 2018
Reese’s pieces scattered on the floor,
Different species like E.T but yet I’m deemed a predator.
Got the heart like a triceratops but looked at as a raptor to the cops.
Population drops; more like population control.
Darkened representation that be invading normative rules.
Starving depression that gets sliced open like a c-section.
All based on first impressions, all based on racist predispositions.
I say Watson this **** sure locks us in a precarious position?
No wonder the majority of minority’s are in prison!
Which then makes me wonder about authority and how it’s chosen?
For I don’t see the wisdom?
And in this rigged prism based elections,
I wonder why there hasn’t been any correction?
Maybe there is a conspiracy correlation,
That believes coloured folk are the ones that need correction.
Making coats with our lost kin,
Then rationalizing the destruction of seven generations.
Which then brews hatred that kills any validation.
Then to take matters worse they took our blood for their ink quill to write on the constitution.
Which is an intrusion on our human rights son!
Man whiteness is such an infection,
That gets injected into everything and everyone. **** what a great invention.
Investing into slavery, genocide, drugs, and prostitution.
Country build from the bones of primitives,
Man I haven’t seen such a betrayal since Samson feel victim to seduction!
I get it everyone got a hierarchy of needs like they Maslow!
And as the cash flows like riddles, snitches start packing so I got no time to fiddle.
For guns are more popular than instruments, and that was so instrumental in me being jailed by these corrupt governments!
**** the establishment!
For they think they subtle trying to fiddle with the actual documents.
Thinking only one fib will do,
Then the next thing ya know,
that one gets turned into two-thousand twenty two!
Telling us to respect the rules they broke,
Getting tangled up like fools yet we say there ain’t no strings on me!
Where’s Shakespeare because that’s quite an ironically sad tragedy!
**** these institutionalized structures where the rich slip through the cracks.
Where the one’s in poverty get sacked!
Where the blues spread from the use of a sax, where jazz shattered the glass!
Then rap took the mantle to disperse the facts, for being shackled impacts like income tax.
And I don’t know about you but I’m not ok with scraps, or getting the strap!
For slavery is the back bone of this country, yet whites try to subtract this dark history.
Time to pay up for I’m not ok with just a sorry!
Sorry if I lack classiness,
Sorry if you can’t handle my savageness!
But in a land of supposed progress?
It doesn’t seem like a success!
For this slow process feels like a tightrope or game of chess.
Feeling so frustrated and aggravated,
Wondering whether to do a peaceful or violent protest?
Who cares if we are emancipated,
When society is constipated!
Why do we have to make this so complicated?
Do we have to start resorting to stripping and going down on our knees like king David?
Do we continue being ok with being domesticated?
Can we be rehabilitated when the actions of our past was premeditated?
Idk man all I know is that’s just the way I see it
Michael Angelo Jan 2018
I want to find a way
To be pretty
For the USA.
I am more than my eye color.
More than my skin tone.
Underneath the mask I wear
Is a being that looked upon the world
And thought,
"This is not enough."
The soul knows better, but the flesh is used to the rough conditions we are kept in. Trapped in our skin. Trapped in our looks. Trapped in our insecurities. The judging eyes of others are hooks reeling me in towards their predispositions and maligned visions.
No one seems to see,
I am not the me they think I am.
I'm more than anyone could've ever imagined.
Offspring between close family members
not biologically fit nor ablest
even if direct immediate relations
consider themselves best
buddies, emotionally intimate, and offload
heavy matters weighing down

on their respective figurative chest,
cuz lurking within brethren and cistern genes,
and/or chromosomes dwell deadliest
nastiest, and weakest link undermining
searingly robust reproductive human stock,
thru molecular hijacking gungho extremest

right wing trumpeting malefactor breeding
distilling, fomenting, et cetera the faintest
self destructive invisible agents provocateurs
dredging existentially faultiest
predispositions, and vulnerabilities
compromising in utero body electric,

asper offspring saddled with funniest
itsy bitsy teenie ****** yellow Polka dot bikini
donned flesh impossible to remove,
which surgery could imperil and render feeblest
unto Caesar, an ides of march, sans flimsiest
excuse for a successor

to the royal porcelain throne,
which progeny could exhibit the frailest
constitution, and possibly appear as freakiest
looking hominid this side of Schwenksville
with napped hair most frizziest
affixed to a beanpole gangliest

androgynous cisgender metasexual
being description also including geekiest,
not to mention ghastliest
simple minded looking gruesomest
human being, who presents grimmest

prospects quite dim tubby happiest
bellowing soul since...******
came back in vogue when polar vortex
ushered necessity to bed with kindliest
people professing unconditional love.

— The End —