Tag Archives: America

But Then People Won’t Think Everything In My Life Is Perfect And Be Indifferent/Slightly Insecure About The Whole Thing!

There’s something to be said

For chatting without snap,

Books without face,

Interacting without that crap…

Gramming that’s not instant,

Interests that aren’t pins,

Singing without tweeting.

Real friends don’t need log-ins.

I think our society’s forgotten

The value of offline truth

So why not forget your password

And go enjoy your youth?

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Thanks State-Funded Early Childhood Education!

I read my child the story

Of a little red poultry whom

I respect, thus its female genitalia

Did not cause me its gender to assume.

My child looked up and said “Parent,

“I like when you do funny voices

“But why can’t we read about princesses

“Then make our own damn political choices?”

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The Absolutely True Diary of a Trans-Whale

I’ve always admired blue whales,

The largest animals ever

Who traverse the world routinely

And are beautiful, noble, and clever.

And so I became a blue whale

But a good choice, alas, ’tis not been.

I’m surrounded by feminist bloggers

Who just wish they could grow baleen.

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Back When Some Men Weren’t Rapists

I remember yesterday

When to look at someone was okay,

When an elbow or a shoulder touch

Didn’t mean nearly so much.

I remember yesterday

When a compliment would make her day,

When “you look nice” was not a slur

When casually said by him to her.

I remember yesterday

When a man held doors and asked to pay,

When a bit of gentle care

Was not met with a dour glare.

I remember yesterday

When a guy could idly say

“What’s your number?” and not fear

Her screaming “rape” for all to hear.

So if you remember yesterday

In the aforementioned way

And know its loss would lead to sorrow

Let’s keep the past in mind tomorrow.

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But The Microwave Is Silver…

The pot called the kettle black.

The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,

But then kettle saw that the pot was black too

And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.

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The First Ever Skate-Park Graffiti Artist

Amidst the canyons of cement

I, with my board and spray-paint saw

Amidst the half-pipes, sad and gray,

A never-before-dreamt-of flaw.

For who would want to ride downhill

While listening to bands like “thrust” and “taint”

If there were no large bubble letters

Or titties drawn in low-cost paint?

And so I shook my can of blue.

My conscience whispered “make some art.”

And on the hill, for all to see,

In indigo I spelled out “fart.”

Inwardly proud I swallowed a sob

Then went back to congress to do my job.

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Impression: Los Angeles

I stood out here once before

Seeking what could not be found

Head to toe in the neon cloak of midnight

Listening for the absence of a sound.

I saw humans crawl past empty sidewalks

Burning gas and paying fares

On the way to work that will empower them

To buy their surplus worries and cares.

They seek comfort in a glasses, pills, and needles,

Pray for hope through a politician’s lies.

Paychecks promise them the satisfaction

Of being happy in someone else’s eyes.

Red-eye pilots flee this urban heaven

Carrying those with sense enough to flee.

I just read my scripts and idly wonder

What it’s like to see a real tree.

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