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#political poem
w1tchytr1als · 3 months
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i cannot write in more palatable ways, there are people dying-
i used to write about candles and old rickety houses,
about flowers and how it felt to kiss girls. now i write about the news.
i check the news,
and feel my body age ten years.
the war goes on. it wears different faces.
it's the war on gender, then drugs, then communism,
then 500,000 are dead in Ukraine and 28,000 Palestinians are dead.
in the space of one blink, five more have have died.
another lake was drank dry to collect
oil in little barrels we charge 7 dollars a gallon for.
we destroy everything we were made to love.
a mother deer falls on weak limbs.
we all watch the earth wheeze her last breaths in slow motion.
and they're taking that oil in buckets to the big city,
filled to the brim with righteous vengeance and fox news articles.
it's the same story:
something goes up in flames
and i watch the hope leave our eyes again.
mom, i'm tired. will you forgive me
if i drop out of college and
and forget what it is to be responsible?
would you still brush my hair out of my eyes?
mom, everything hurts.
can i crawl back into the ocean of your womb and
come back out when the price of adulthood
isn't wordsmithing my grief so others will acknowledge it?
this grief turns me into a child.
children are turned to headstones from good-old American rifles.
tell me stories like you did when i was six, and maybe i can make something out of them.
tell me about jesus' second coming, how he
left us all behind and we held hands
and sang kumbaya and made curry over open flame. tell me he at least hesistated.
that he sat with us.
tell me he looked in our faces and apologized.
tell me the story where the moon swallowed us whole,
and we stopped growing dasies from the trails of tanks. tell me
that they finally started growing on
their own again.
that the earth started her careful reclamation and we stayed out of her way.
the war won't stop for our despair,
the war won't take a consistent name so i don't know who we are fighting.
this war is turtles stood on the backs of turtles holding up the weight of the world,
each shell cracking more under the pressure of our negligence.
this poem is a means to an end.
this is not the story where it ends okay.
mama, i need to know that love will win out in the end, and that the earth or god or whatever name you call it by will forgive us.
mama, will my nephew know the name Palestine?
original work, 2023
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dead-immortal · 29 days
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The following is a beautiful poem by my amazing friend @aphroditesanxiety:
We look like kids but walk like smoke
Drifting through crowded rooms, the excess of the adults we know
Decidedly better than them, but just barely
Finding joy in that difference, but just rarely
WE ARE NOT THEM painted on our clothes and skin, reminding us of our goal
Reminding us to be better while we're young, and greater when we're old
Never grow up, because the adults are selfish and cruel
If thats what it means to be older we will stay young forever
The white lies of their innocence stays with us as the scars we carry, little lines etched on the skin of our sleeves, settled in next to our hearts
We get tattoos to remind us of every lesson learned, every person lost, every childhood fear and every ghost that still follows us around
And we are children
And we still talk to ourselves and the walls, the spirits of those long past seeing us and telling us to keep going, keep fighting, keep strength and we're making slow progress, they can see it.
We still drink out of juiceboxes and paint on walls, but this time the images have meaning and the world will understand it
We still cry when we are not heard and we will scream when the crying is ignored
We punch walls and use curse words we're not supposed to know
We fuck up our hair for the fun of it, we make messes of the perfection around us and call it art
Because it is art, and we are moved by muses unseen by our elders
We know more than you think we do, and when you realize it, it will be too late to unteach all your bad habits and bad attitudes.
We will test authority and run from every rule set before us
We will find ways around your stupid boundaries and do what we want to anyway
We will remain children as long as children remain the ideal form to take
When children stop exhibiting strength and power to rival the gods, that is when we will grow up.
When adults start acting like they should be in charge, like they're smart and strong enough to make the rules, then we will obey them.
That is when we will grow up.
That time is not now.
For now, we will continue to paint on walls and depict the things we see as we see them.
We will continue to scream and cry for attention.
We will continue to fight every step of the way, because we can and we should
We will continue to make a mess of your suffocating prefection.
Again, credit goes to @aphroditesanxiety
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cpmhew · 2 months
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who would even want to inherit this kingdom now
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autumnsprophecy · 5 months
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The poor have always been steps of a ladder in the eyes of the rich. Just another thing to step on in order to reach the top. They don't care if the step breaks or crumbles, as long as they can continue climbing. To them, nothing matters but themselves, and the others of their kind climbing the ladder. They race, and race, and race, climb, and climb, and climb, yet they will never reach the top. This is because there is no "top." There is no "winning." There is no glorious "prize". Even if they could climb for eternity without death or sleep, they would find no enlightenment. The higher the ladder takes them, the more the light of humanity fades behind them. They are the kings of dust, the harbingers of their own downfall. Their legacy is the crumbled steps in their wake, the stench of blood and poison gas.
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env0writes · 5 days
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Idle Steps 3.19.24 “Wrong Right Turn”
Lace up your boots, boy Crimson and white Wear ‘em to school where you’ll show ‘em who's Right Put up a fight, when the man is little and brown Smile in their face as you force them to frown You’ve got the world, bully, boy, bully boy– you And at the slightest of sleights you will beat them all blue So pull up them boots, laced up tight and up tall! Show the world Rightly, who should beck at your call Take to the streets with your leather, your chains, and your studs Stipe every rules of the Stars with your buds Bigger the crowd grows, camaraderie loose You stand on by as they bring out the noose Small is the feeling inside of your chest Little-boy drummer goes rat-a-tat-tat, trying his best March to their step boy, you’ve laced them up locked No turning back now, the exits are all blocked Don’t say a word, don’t show a sliver of fear Whether you do or you don’t snarl or jeer Whether you lace or unlace those boots The dye won’t wash from your hands, no matter dressed up suits So whilst the world burns around you Riddled with magazine-burst words that slew Look around in the aftermath–at the world you destroy
@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!   Photo by @env0
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theredrabbit28 · 5 months
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"I hear the screams and cries of children hearing Israels lies
I feel the earth shudder and shake as bombs carry people to an undeserved fate
I see death's guiding hand pick up the remains of Palestinian land"
Thousands of innocent people have died because greed has lead others to start a holy war a genocide is happening before our eyes now is not the time to lie still but instead rise up and help save the people left of Gaza
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They yell “Fee Palestine!”
“Liberation for all!”
But only if it means
I can have my PSL in the fall
Starbucks can fuckin’ kiss it
I’m never gonna miss it
It’s one strike you’re out
Laxman go ahead and pout
Boycott!
Boycott!
Boycott!
It’s the least we can do
Our tax money pays for bombs
You don’t need McDonald’s too
Burger grease ain’t the only thing
Coating the Israeli soldier’s hands
They’re bathed in the blood of children
While desecrating the Holy Land
It’s all interconnected
We can’t cherry pick how we reject it
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felltheadequate · 3 months
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Why.
Why the fuck is this our situation
When anyone could see the truth of it?
Learning costs its weight in gold
So I'm deadfully sorry if I've lost my wit.
Why the fuck does no one listen
When the future of the country is at stake?
They'll hem and haw and when the bad guy wins
Then pretend it wasn't of their own damn make.
Why the fuck does no one care
About history repeating in broad daylight?
It's a rogue Ferris wheel covered in flashing colored bulbs
And those in the middle pretend it's not all going to shite.
But why the fuck would anyone listen to me?
I'm just some college libtard fag to the worst
And dramatic or evil to those weighing principles.
The ones who see what path we tread will be those condemned to the gallows first.
(9 January 2024)
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jrambles · 2 years
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-my poem
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oh-honey01 · 4 months
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Dare You Let Me Die
Dare you let me die of AIDS, Or at the hands of hatred, Or to the shot of a police brigade, Know that this will not be negated.
Dare you let me die in such a way, Do not bother with a burial next to a spouse, Instead leave me simply to decay, Upon the lawn of the white house.
Dare you let me die so unjustly, My blood will stain your hands evermore, Just as well as the walls built around me, Until your groups, too, are destined for this floor.
Dare you let me die for my "sins", Or my brothers, sisters, siblings, for theirs, Then those who hide enough to keep their skins, Shan't be your saviors when your "sins" are declared.
I will not fall without fighting tooth and nail, For those coming before me have given me so much, That I belive to lose dignity by calling for justice at a wail, Is preferable to keeping silent and falling into oppression's clutch.
Dare you let me die, May the bricks in my messenger bag Break down what you have built so high, For those after me that carry my flag.
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llanekee · 6 months
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Your windows are tinted Blue and obscuring Zero foresight with that alarming view
It’s a whole debacle of who has it better
The tinted or clear windows One to paint the world blue and One to show the absolute truth
No matter how terrifying it bleeds
The grass is not greener Except, a window must be clearer In order to see the grass grow
It’s an unending debacle of who has it better
-by Lane Key :]
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musingsofmemory · 5 months
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I feel like I’m going deaf.
Deaf to the noise.
Deaf to the world.
Deaf to my own common sense,
Deaf.
The TV is nought more than static
I have sight, but do not see anymore
Tunnel vision consumes the corners
Drastic
Tired, I watch in chains.
Bombings, blood soaks the earth and it recoils in return.
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
The world does not decry the evil.
Do they see???
No. They are blind.
They buy into the noise.
We are eating ourselves alive
From the inside
A parasite.
Make it stop.
I want to see the light
To remember what is true.
But it’s hard. I’m stumbling.
Going against my being,
My mind recoils against me.
It screams.
I am afraid.
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ourburningbridges · 1 year
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I’m their puppet, stringing wealth
I’m a stranger to myself.
It’s hot winters; cool summers
Living in their suburbs.
Close us in, control our eyes
They won’t ever tell us lies.
It’s no place for the lovers
Living in their suburbs.
a chorus in progress, transformed into anarchism poetry. ♡
I.F.L 🐇
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trans-writes · 2 years
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transcript under the cut:
we’re watching the news and we are crying and we are avoiding televisions and phone screens the same way we avoid mirrors, unable to look at the things staring back
we’re hiding behind bedroom doors, frames painted blood red, covering our heads with the blankets and praying please let it pass us by
we’re in the streets and the protectors carry tear gas and tasers, just waiting for us to step out of line. we know which people to stand in front of, which to push to the front lines, an algorithm for Who Is Least Likely To Get Beaten, and the answer is no one. no one is safe. but some of us will get beaten and some of us will die, so we prioritize 
we’re running from the preachers and burning down the churches but it doesn’t stop us from falling to our knees on the pavement at our improvised altars and whispering to a god we stopped believing in long ago to fix this, fix this, fix this because we’ve exhausted every other option
we go out in masks and long sleeves, hair covered, no tattoos showing, leave your phones at home. we get home and turn on the news if we can bear it, listening for which rights are gone today like the death tolls that echoed out every night not-so-long-ago
they say they are saving lives
we don’t have enough left in us to laugh
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env0writes · 2 months
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Janus Estuaries Vol. 3, 1.14.24 “Soaking In"
Sweet watermelon Squished on the sidewalk With my thai milk tea All over the stonework All over my clothes Stains In my stitches They will not come out They cannot get out Watermelon, thai tea stains On my lips and name Scattered across the sidewalk What a mess has been made How little some care What we wear How we live, how we care Sweet watermelon The rivers call to thee Back to the sea, back, you shall see Soon to be free Watermelon free Sweet thai milk tee Spilled for what cause Silence? Give pause No Keep marching on
@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!   Photo by @env0
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