Got the urge to right a new poem. I call it, The Suppressed.


You look at me

You hate me


Here I stand

Poor to my name

As my voice sings

A song of freedom of speech

As my hands

Paint a picture of freedom of expression



You tell me to lean

Lean a certain way

That which offends

You must hate


Hate 

What I tell you to hate

Suppress

What I do not approve of

Mock

What I tell you to mock


My political correctness

Is the only political correctness

Even

If in truth

It offends


It does not matter

Spread my cancel culture

Spread my infection

Spread my disease


Let them come

I say

Let them march

I shout

Let them bring a fight

I bellow


When cancel culture knocks

I shall reply

A simple reply


Go fuck yourself

Humanities Genocidal Legacy

 

Crimson paints the dirt

Sidewalks become red

Fields are blessed by blood

Rain washes it away

The Earth receives the bodies

Voices are silenced

 

History

Does not stay silent

Yet, those with a voice

Those with a powerful influence

Simply do not speak

 

They hide it

They cover it up

 

Only for history to teach us later

But Humanity

Still refuses to learn

Crimson continues to paint

In everlasting cycles

As our legacy

Becomes a legacy of genocide

Nothing but Children

 

The children stand

Ready to verbally abuse

Fanatics sit on the side

 

They cheer

Save us

Save us from this other party

 

Oh

How naïve

These fanatics are

As the children prod them ever onward

 

Oh 

How blind

These fanatics are

As they do not see

The hate

The division

The fear

 

Oh 

How the puppets

Become indoctrinated

Into fanaticism

 

Yet

Here I stand

Ready to do what needs to be done

As I say to the children

The red’s

The blue’s

To shut up

Stop bitching

Work together

And make the country

For the people

By the people

And not against the people

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Name Painted in Crimson

 

I am a painter

That paints in crimson

My name

Is on everyone’s mind

But not all act on it

 

Save for those in power

Who spill crimson paint

Through their civil wars

And their genocides

 

Fight on

Humanity

Fight on

In your civil war

 

Take in the name of your nations

In the name of your gods

Paint the world in blood

 

And when you commit self-genocide

When you reach Heaven

Or Hell

And the gate keeper asks 

Who sent you

 

 

Tell them 

Violence sent you

 

 

 

At a Platform’s Discretion 

Here she sits

The digital world

Waiting for her

 

Enter

Enter and explore

 

Walk down the halls

Join the rooms

Chat with its occupants

 

Do not mind the chains

Do not mind the tape

Do not mind the black bars

 

You are still free

These platforms say

But it is all lies

 

She tries to escape

She looks to other rooms

There is only darkness

There are only false facades

 

Hate them

Say the big tech platforms

Condemn them

The big tech platforms shout

 

Alternatives

Are to be forgotten

They are to be erased

Says big tech

 

She runs

More 

And more

She runs

 

Until she realizes a simple truth

Free speech

Is only as free 

As the platform says it is