How many Anarchist poems,Are enough?Trick question.There can never be enough voices,Or art,Screaming at injustice.The system is fucked.Broken beyond belief.But remember;It was designed that way.Wage slavery -To First Past The Post Electorals.Break our chains.Remember your dreaming.
Even us old mountain folk,Are angry.Coming down from our summits,Full of hot rage.Disgusted at how broken things are,Between a shattered social contract -& an ugly rule of oligarchs.My pacifist vow,Grows more & more stifling.Demanding transparency.True democracy.Of which we have neither.
Fuck Boomers.Get these decrepit old fucks,Away from & out of power.As a generation;Leaded gasoline stupidity.Some politicians literally going non verbal,Yet refusing to give up the ghost,Or their post,In favor of the host.Wretched leeches,Fucking over young people,For shortsighted greed.
Misfortune follows us,Like a curse.I'm sure that "good luck,"Doesn't exist.Not that luck ever did in the first place.Probabilities of Chaos Theory,Unmappable as they are.Excesses of input data,Making quantification impossible.Still,I'm tired of getting fucked over.Tired of losing.
Nightmare.Visceral.Home invasion.Alone.Vs.Many Dozens.Violence.Them?Guns.Me?Unarmed.Kitchen knives,Scissors,Aiming for eye sockets.Arteries.Efficiency.Stealing automatics,Conserving ammo with headshots.Scrambling for guns.Too slow.I die.It repeats.Die.Repeat.Die.Repeat.Die.
Should focus on the small things.The grey neighbourhood cat,Rolling on his back -Demanding a quick pet,On the sidewalk as I come home.Having plumbing,Or electricity,After living in trailers in the bush,In my youth.Small things,To quell the injustices,To dull roars,In the back of my mind.
Forget me.I'll go crawl back into my hole.One place I can escape the abuse.Become a nobody again.Faceless,Under my many previous pseudonyms.Using my real name -Strange as it is,Seems to embolden the ignorant.Easy to hide faceless in the crowd,Throwing stones.Not me.Them.Still hurts.
Stop.Still.What happened to thy infinite patience?Cultivated against bigots,Haters,Or the malicious?Why now?Dam fit to burst;Rage pouring from the cracks,Until I want the whole world to burn.Do the innocents deserve that?Because you can't just target the cruel,Or evil,In an extinction.
INSUFFERABLE EXISTENCEI JUST WANT TO LIVESANS ALL THE MICROAGGRESSIONSAND HATE CRIMESAM I FUCKING CURSEDENDURING DAILY INSULTSCONSTANT STARESDO MY PAINTED NAILS BOTHER THEMTHAT MUCHAS TO MAKE MY DAILY LIFEUNCOMFORTABLE AT BESTINTOLERABLE AT WORSTNEED I MEET HATEWITH HATEWITH HATE
Can always tell our stress levels,Or anger,Based on cheek muscles.Gritting teeth,Flexing our jaw muscles,Fangs clenched tightly.So fucking angry,These days.Furious with everything -From societal norms,To stupidity.Misanthropy rises.Humanism wanes.Craving an extinction for all of them.
Is it possible?To just be tired of people?Mildly disgusted with the ineptitude,Ignorance,& steadfast traditionalism?Why do I constantly find myself butting heads?Waging daily battles with those -Who have zero self awareness,Self reflection,Or outside the box thinking?Frustration;Grows.
Why is it always me?Attracting fools,Or abusers.Idiots,Or bigots.Do they see a large AMAB person -Seeing a target?Or am I just fucking cursed,With these layered neurodiversities?Is it too much to ask?To want love,Or at least simple kindness?Because I rarely experience it.Only the hate.
What to do,With all this Infinite Fury?Once Upon A Time;Tried to use it for alchemy -Transmuting rage into cold fury,Fuel for my machines.Nowadays;My infinite patience is waning.Angry at haters,Who seemingly there's no shortage of.If you can't say anything nice,JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Idiots make me angry,These days.Opening their mouths -Spewing shit & ignorance,About everything they know nothing about.Shut up.Just shut the fuck up.Haven't survived this long,To waste what precious little time I have left,Listening to morons.Intolerant of the intolerant.Infinite Fury.
I'm not your cup of tea?That's fine.Then leave.But don't stand there,To spit in my eye.I'd rather have silence -Than ignorant negativity.But perhaps that's the lot of artists,Eh?To justify their entire body of work,Or existence,To uncultured idiots,Who feel the need -To shit on others.
Half the world is trapped in the bulge,Of the bell curve:Mediocre intelligence,Deigned to ignorance.Unable to understand depth.People being shitty to me,Out of nowhere?An everyday occurrence.So used to the shitty words,Plus actions,That my Humanism struggles,Against purest Misanthropy.
Fuck this. I'm gonna go for a walk up a hill. Play monk yet again. Mockeries of Buddha. Life is too fucking depressing. Keep looking for outs, yet such madness is akin to eternal repetition. Some folks' definitions of madness. Only thing I can control is my body. Damn the rest.
My life:Padded room.Sans windows,Complete with locked steel doors.Escape is impossible;So I remain.Scribbling poems on white walls,With the only medium I have:My very blood.Mimicry of Uncle Iroh,In outlets of Philosophy,Poetry,Or exercise.This hidden space.Alone forever.Mad,They say.
Just assume now;I'll be shadowbanned.Across every single platform,Or social media trite tripe.Too radical,Despite my achievements -Hidden like video games,Until unlocked.Similar;Folks have to already know me,To google me.Dead Art Forms,Useless records.Operating in isolation,Forever.
Some of us learn,Saviours don't exist."Pulling ourselves up,By our bootstraps."Ignorant boomer talk,Ignoring our survival.Continued existences,Of knowing nobody,No one,Is coming to save us.Bootstraps?As if we haven't learned to grind -Merely to subsist on scraps.Salvation isn't coming.