Are And Dee

Like an angry wind,
He stirs things up,
Makes people’s minds bend,
Like a tree bowed over double,
Amid a storm’s leftover rubble.

She follows him,
Like a loyal dog,
Pleasing his every whim,
For her card’s,
Pulled from the same deck,
And it’s not that hard.

What a life they lead,
Nosy, nosy, nosy,
Laughing ’til their cheeks are rosy,
Happiest when meddling,
Putting on,
A Christian facade,
Thinking they’re not sinning.

Pretty is,
As pretty does,
These are two,
Downright ugly slimy slugs.

Oh it sickens those,
Who’ve been bruised,
By their ruse,
But what can we do,
Other than pray they stray,
From their wicked ways.

Solo Confidence

The little boat,
Drifts along,
In its heart,
Beats a psycho song,
Full of anger,
Full of angst,
Mad then sad,
It goes far beyond bad.

The song appears,
To come and go,
Caused by whatever weather,
Has determined,
The river’s flow,
But from the banks,
We never know,
To what extent,
It’s taken its toll.

Look it over closely,
Before taking the little boat,
Out for a drive,
Look every day,
In case a storm showed up,
And riled its waters,
While you were elsewhere,
And it needs a repair.

You can’t know for sure,
At only a glance,
So why take the chance?
From where you’re at,
There’s no telling,
If winds were blowing,
Making holes that aren’t showing,
But will be made known,
After you’ve taken it,
Away from its home.

You must remember,
The storm has no friends,
It tosses every boat,
In its path,
And some are made,
To resist its wrath,
But some just can’t withstand,
A strong storm’s demands.

Though it’s controversial,
Technically,
Boats are optional,
And it’s more than acceptable,
To let that boat,
Be for someone else to float.

Though the river is mandatory,
How one navigates it,
Is their own little story,
A boat is escapable,
If you’re capable.

All Cut Up

Intensely felt,
Gashed down deep,
But unable to bleed,
Caused by a thing,
It feels like from which,
There’s no being freed.

It’s immense,
Needing stitches,
Though it won’t be sewn shut,
The best of soothing salves,
Can’t begin to mend the halves.

Weighted down,
By something not seen just felt,
Nearing now to the bottom,
Not quite but almost drowned.

Invisible,
But so powerful,
Easy to forget it isn’t obvious,
Since it’s gathered you such an audience.

Uncomfortable,
As a broken bone,
It assures,
You never feel at home,
Though you know it’s just in your mind,
And indeed,
You’re in reality just fine.

It seems fake,
Compared with headaches or toothaches,
You’ll be told to suck it up,
And made to feel like a fuck-up.

All too common,
Because society is rotten,
Sick in the head,
Is what will be said,
An insult,
That will make you see red.

Never talking of emotions,
Always leads up to explosion,
Tragic though,
That you must choose between,
Being wrecked,
Or causing some bullshit commotion.

What A Terrible, Terrible Man!

Maurice Michaels,
Is he cursed,
Or is it patterns and cycles?

Maurice Michaels,
Any lady,
Who’s tried that man,
Has turned tail and ran.

Maurice Michaels,
King of all psychos,
Calls cute sweethearts,
Little hoes.

Maurice Michaels,
Denies the King of Kings,
Meanwhile,
He’s got absolutely nothing.

Maurice Michaels,
Likes to stare,
At the pretty lady,
Who for him,
Will never care.

Maurice Michaels,
Sickeningly shady,
And with a personality,
Straight from hell.

Maurice Michaels,
Lacks self esteem,
What he wants,
Will never make it,
Past a dream.

Maurice Michaels,
Without willpower,
Picks on others,
Can’t do shit for himself,
So studies habits,
And makes fun of another’s.

Maurice Michaels,
A big round belly,
The rest of him well balanced,
He looks so silly.

Maurice Michaels,
Never was one more rude,
And just so happens,
He’s also a prude.

Maurice Michaels,
Has a heart of stone,
All he does,
Is piss and moan.

Maurice Michaels,
Always willing,
To lend an ear,
To someone wanting,
To laugh and sneer.

Maurice Michaels,
Sends out bad vibes,
They mirror,
Where his heart resides.

Maurice Michaels,
Is one fucked up guy,
Never has one,
Told more lies.

Maurice Michaels,
Doesn’t know how to have fun,
He may as well be done.

Maurice Michaels,
Is spiritually blind,
To the devil,
His soul has been signed.

Maurice Michaels,
A first class jerk,
Not worth the work.