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who cares about the snowfall when the night is so much more beautiful

there is a cry in the distance that wants you to think its
closer than it appears, and it's shuddering, sticky with
an inherent fear of the unknown, "i'm not racist, my mail
man is black but i think that just might be the shade of
my guacavocado tree covering his skin, because this is a
nice neighborhood."
and with each passing moment, that cry will get further
away and will only get louder in your ear, desparately calling
for you to calm down even though you have only been waiting
in line for your big mac for a few minutes, "look out! we got'a
special snowflake here, impatient because she can't get her
welfare check on time so she's feeding her children the devil's
meat!" you hesitate to tell them that the only meat they'll be
eating today is a knuckle sandwich - there's something much more
vulgar here, but you're a nice lady.
not today, though. today you are furious, and you pop off in the mcdonald's at the corner of 32nd and Grand;
        i am not your backbreaking mule,
        your whipping girl or your little drummer boy,
        your footrest after a long day of sucking shit through
        a straw made of benjamins,
        your punchline to a joke covered in brick and mortar,
        in stale peanut sweat and orange wheat ale,
        i am not your goddamn experiment or
        the rat in your hedge maze with the mousetrap
        disguised as a liveable wage, racial and gender equality,
        i am not some textbook social studies case and i am
       certainly not the act you put on for your friends
       i am the goddamn sun and moon, the burning gods and
       goddesses of lost civilizations, i am fatigue and sorrow
       and disease but i am fulfilled, i am love and lust and beauty,
       i am what you chase and desire but refuse to admit,
       but i am not your fucking wankfest, i am not your fucking
       justification for your payless shoesource bought brand of empathy,
       i am not your tax cut,
       your exemption,
       your happiness,
       or your fucking folk song you sing with your parents around a campfire
       you built on the ashes and backs of my people
"#86, your order's ready!"
       i am not become death, the destroyer of worlds,
       i am become life, the giver of the light at the end of the tunnel
"have a good day!"
       i am my own good day

3 Jul 17

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Fantastic. Well done. You haven't been posting much. That's a shame because I so enjoy reading your poems most of the time

 — PollyReg

Thanks, Polly. I haven't had much inspiration as of late; but my mood has worsened considerably over the past few months, so you should be seeing a lot more content from me now.

Also, most of the time? :P
 — ARedLetter

Well, not everything every one writes is appealing to all people, at every juncture.

And I think that's what you are asking...

There are a handful of writers I like regardless, tho. Michael Farrell, an Australian writer is one of them (of course, lol, I'm nothing if not a patriotic, elitist snob)...and I recently bought one of his books.

It's light, funny prose-type pieces, that allow a glimpse into an alternate reality type thingo. And I love it, it makes me laugh, tickles where it counts.

I feel the same about some of yours. A little peek into a tongue in cheek, American type, reality, that I do not 100% 'get' but that makes me like it.

That's a good 'voice' (If there is such a thing) And It's easy, fresh, inviting to read. I think you should keep on it.

 — PollyReg

By the way, you are the recipient of the best review I've ever given. Be honoured, be very honoured, I mean that biz
 — PollyReg

Here's a link for you to have a read, tho you will have to put it in the address bar. Links never work here

https://cordite.org .au/poetry/notheme5/i-love-you-and-i-still-call-australia-home-me et-at-daisy-bates/
 — PollyReg

Sorry for the late reply, polly, but i am 100% definitely honored to have that review from you! :) And thank you very much for the link, too, I'll be sure to read that soon!
 — ARedLetter

Awesome. It's worth it.

And you're welcome. Some people like some. Others, Others.

What a boring world it would be for opinion 'other'wise. And how so that love of text (Yada, Yada lol) would be rendered redundant.

I'll see you tomorrow in selfies ;-)
 — PollyReg

Song for your poem:

https://youtu.be/47y5bo8wtq M

"The warrior, Patti Smyth"

Not to be in anyway confused with "Patti Smith" (holy God forbid)

Still good tho
 — PollyReg

rly bad.  If you were Jewish I would give Hitler the okay on this one.
 — percocet

I'm okay with it in Kremlin sight too
 — percocet

You are everything that you sat you are not.
 — percocet

That's right... You have come nowhere near to those that have become death.
 — percocet

Your tone on his, " I have become death,"  Is entirely different from the man that made the bomb that destroyed millions.
 — percocet

pollyreg u need a swift kick in the pussy.
 — percocet

Yes, Percocet.
 — ARedLetter

^In this instance, right now, after your comments, I'm really sure that's true, Perky, but in a different way than suggested with your charming 'personality'...

it's a bit of a joke really, tho. No wonder it's allowed to stay without being removed. Congrats, you achiever, you. You're so sexy. Your poetry lifts the proverbial (heh) bar.

Kylie Minogue song?

"What do I have to do" ...I used to dance to that one in clubs when I was 15, trying to get fucked by strangers. See now, we do have something in common.

Sorry RedLetter.
 — PollyReg