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So many men treating wo/men like shit
it feels like it doesn’t matter even a bit
But that isnt the bad thing about it
Its the matter of course thats the shit
Getting dickpicks without asking
Is the thing thats so blasting
Or be treated like a peace of meat
Doesn’t matter if you take a seat,
jump on the beat
or just stand on your feet.
They always find an opportunity
to catch a sight of your body heat.
Men thinking we cant see them gazing
They really think they are hazing
Their disrespect is just amazing.
Thinking we are dumb enough
To not recognise all the disgusting stuff.
Thats so unfair please remember that shit
Cause u wont be laughing about it
If that once happens to your kid
Never mind if daughter or son
They will be the burned one
It will stick to their memorys like a gum
I wonder what place you are from
there is nothing good you’ve ever done
And the world would be better when you’re gone
So go ask your mom
Where did this asshole behaviour come frome ?
What was the reason ?
Who’s fault
And what is this all about?
-B.I
The things we leave behind,
always seems like a lost battle.
Because of we could,
we'd lug them along.
But that's not how this works.
We are meant live within these lines,
cross no more and no white space.
Why do they call it life,
when it resembles the very thing that hells are made of?
It seems as if there's anything but hope in here.
Tired sighs and worn out souls.
All the corners taken up by the lost ones.
We were meant to be free and happy and be at peace.
But look at us, look at us withering away to charred remains.
Why is it so wrong to smile when we feel like it.
And why does everything always have to be done,
like they were done before us, for centuries.
We are not ghosts of the past,
but the pioneers of a better future.
Yet here we are, burned and hunted down,
all because we won't fit the box.
With every bone that breaks, the lines expand.
But how many more lives shall be lost,
before we can breathe again.
This cursed system has been going on for so long,
that now all the dreams we had have become mere passing fancies.
We can't afford to pay the price for choosing to have them,
when we ourselves have been so out of focus,
and so so close to an unattainable end.
Are we real, or are we too,the remnants of some far fetched dreams?
Out of focus, out of focus,
We've been anything but alive.
Because the world does not know how slow it has become,
and how far we are from the light.
Thus we shall remain out of focus,
till the last bone breaks,
and there's no one left to fit into the box.
There's a pool of sadness in my being.
And sometimes I can hear it sing.
An eerie voice lingering long after it ends.
Accompanied by ghostly visions of the past.
Sometimes it sings at dawn.
And sometimes it sings when I am asleep.
But always, always, it sings only when I am alone.
The constant hum has a blue softness.
Almost like the way my smile looks on my tired days.
But on rare days the hum becomes a vibrant violet.
And feels like the shade of the magic in my eyes.
The songs are about the things I hold in my heart.
Like the stories of my childhood times,
and the places where I left pieces of who I am.
But on nights when I can no longer fall asleep,
the songs take on a familiar tune.
They become the whispers of the restless sea,
and the slow crackling of the campfire on the shore.
It brings back the smell of the waves,
the vibrations of their crashing spreading through my bones.
For a brief moment, I become a child again.
Free to laugh and smile,
and free to sleep without the usual accompaniment of nightmares.
Even though all of this is in my head,
simply the long gone moments from my past,
the ghostly visions are what keeps me sane.
Reminding me that not always will life be so blue.
And that blue is not always so sad.
Knowing this, the pool of sadness sings on and on.
The humming taking on a sweeter tone.
© Moonyloonywitch