The Poetry Thread

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A short sonnet for the admins:

Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
I'm one-hundred-percent nigga
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
I'm two-hundred-percent nigga
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why do police hate niggas?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
They hate us 'cause our dicks is bigga
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you call yourself a nigga?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
'Cause I'm a motherfucking nigga
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you drink so much beer?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
I don't drink beer; I drink malt liquor
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you eat so much chicken?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why won't you make it in my kitchen?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you call them hoes bitches?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
'Cause them hoes is bitches!
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you stay in the hood?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
'Cause I don't like livin' by peckerwoods
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you ain’t got no job?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Seven dollars an hour won't feed my dog
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why yo' pants gotta sag?
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
'Cause hand-me-downs is all a nigga had
Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga
Why you scared to go to court?
Shit, 'cause the judge look just like that motherfucker that put our ass on the boat and made me a nigga
 
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  • Feels
  • Autistic
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Joshua Connor
His life is a goner
So he bawwws at his PC and faps

He will die alone
No one will moan
The loss of a dirty little faggot
 
Some stuff I wrote a while ago that's on my Poetizer
Screenshot_20211211-202413_Poetizer.jpgScreenshot_20211211-202430_Poetizer.jpgScreenshot_20211211-202449_Poetizer.jpg
 
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Chickadee China, the Chinese Chicken.

You have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin'.

-anonymous
 
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Autistic tonight
A stupid kiwis typing
despite the glowies
 
Dance Above the River

Blue butterflies, dancing above the river
Fluttering under sun, blue bodies shimmer.
The water rumbles, and ever flows on
Between wood and stone, for them to rest on
They dance on, from here to there
Such beauty, does their display bear
In many ways and paths invisible
Up and down, with joy impeccable
What do they see? What do they follow?
Will the do this also tomorrow?
Who gave this dance, the moves and speed?
The same who gave soil, water and seed
Blue butterflies, dancing above the river
Fluttering on, their bodies and souls glimmer.
Circled by trees, below canopy and sky
They carry on their dance and life, not at all shy.
 
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I already put one on my profile so here’s another because I just started writing and don’t get enough attention anywhere in my life.

Sweet poison
I want to drink you even though you make me sick
It just tastes so good
Even as my blood grows thick
Each time I try to resist
But your empty words seduce me like a kiss
Are we done pretending yet?
Because I just want to forget
All the times I died inside
Trying to hide the pain I confide
In you
 
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The windswept land sings of nothing--
Where once great man stood proud of something.

The torn up brush, the sunburnt leaves
Are what remains in these falling eves.

What coins were exchanged are not even tarnished
They feed now only the ore from whence they came
With nary a miner to pluck its bounty falsely gain.

For what can be taken in a windswept land
That sings only of death claiming all?
 
Breaking Free

I came from a land full of the weary,
So I ran to the depths for freedom with fury.
In the forest that I knew not did I rest
Realizing, finally, at last I had past my test.

When torn from self, shattered to heap
My soul found a way out by taking a leap;
A leap to a victory I never knew possible!
What feeling to hold what was once thought impossible!

I now breathe air so full to the brim with luxury:
Like golden ambers of ambrosia that drench as honey.
You cannot know this feeling until you test your soul,
And face that which scares you, that turns you cold.

Come on down then and find me there-- you will see
What it means to beat away the chains and turn away the cold;
to thaw away your chains and feel the heat, the push of your will,
And the manifestation of all you wished come at last for you to till.

And till we must, even after we conquer that is all;
for in the abundance achieve still must we feed
That spark of life, that unique self that yearns to be free.
 
In a world of human beings
we tread our paths with care
to find what brings us meaning
in light with kindness rare.

The ways of souls may differ
To each their own want feed
In chaotic worlds to bolster
Their own paths hidden need

To know one's self is holy
The purpose of one's life
In search of this there's folly
Warped beings born trough lies

Find your life's true purpose
then let others see that light
if others know you truly
it may kindle what is bright

To each their souls sure passion:
Duty for whose soul is iron,
Grace for those of burning vision,
Love for ones with joy awoken,
bright souls to light the worlds horizon.
 
Do you think I don't like mommy porn?
Are you so marvelous in your nonknowing
that you can't think me a sinnersaint
who yearns to fuck hot MILFs with milkers,
milkers busty, on bodies forty and voluptuous?
Is that what this is: the death of Freud and the
victory, terrible and unparalleled, of the schizos--
their analysis and too also their politics?
Is this not an end to weep about?
Where is my noble mature to cherish
and who nurtures me?
In vain is Oedipus today!
 
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“You create terrible things to ward off evil.” A line told to me by a friend. This is a lie. In the cold indifference that I welcome, each strike-thru by the pen overseen by approving automatons of my invention. My ego strokes me on that I am creating a grand work: I am the architect of a temple only I can use. To others it is a monument of trash. Refuse packaged in cheap bright papers and golden ribbons. Obvious philosophy: the body is a temple but such constructions can collapse, are buried, and are forgotten. And what is the temple then but a relic to a dead god by future civilizations? I reject this. I am not a temple. I choose to be a weapon.

This machine is the fruition of my existence, the reason I have endured all of this like reaching into the fire to grab the key before it is taken. This will allow me to become more –from what is built from discarded remains-.

In my death I will be remembered but only out of spectacle.

I reject all self-help proposals.

I reject man as a fallen angel and rising beast.

The will to power leads to a disappointing fascism.

I accept my worthlessness and refuse to live if only to experience new products.

Limitations of Consciousness. Entrapped, immobile, without freedom of choice.

In death my thoughts will not be perverted.

My thoughts will be the source for munitions.

I step into the fires

and I am taken
 
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